Awkward Dialogue Ruins Books

Dialogue can make or break a book for me. I can overlook a typo here and there. I can even forgive a slow chapter if the story is good enough. But awkward dialogue? That’s where my eye starts twitching.

One thing that drives me absolutely nuts is when authors write:
“She continued to say.”
“He continued to say.”

Why? Why are we doing all that extra work? Just say:
“She continued.”

We already know they’re talking. It’s dialogue. There are quotation marks. We’ve got this under control.

Then there’s the overly formal, robotic dialogue.

“I did not know that,” she said.
“We would not like that,” he said.

Who talks like that in everyday conversation unless they’re a Victorian ghost or delivering a speech in a courtroom drama?

People use contractions. We say:
“I didn’t know that.”
“We wouldn’t like that.”

Real dialogue should sound natural. It should sound like actual human beings speaking instead of two mannequins having a tense conversation in a department store.

And while we’re here, let’s discuss the endless parade of:
“He said.”
“She said.”
“He said.”
“She said.”

Now before the grammar police arrive, yes, dialogue tags are necessary sometimes. I’m not saying eliminate them entirely. In fact, “said” is usually less distracting than trying too hard with dramatic tags.

But if every single line ends with “he said” or “she said,” the writing starts to feel repetitive and clunky. Readers are smarter than we give them credit for. Once a conversation gets going, we often know who’s speaking through context, voice, and action.

Instead of:
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“I’m trying to help,” he said.
“I don’t need your help,” she said.

You can break it up naturally:
“Leave me alone.” She shoved the door halfway shut.
“I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”

See the difference? It flows better. It feels alive.

Good dialogue isn’t just people talking. It’s rhythm. Personality. Emotion. Interruptions. Half-finished thoughts. Sarcasm. Tension. Real people rarely speak in perfectly polished sentences.

And if your characters constantly “continue to say” things, I may continue to lose my mind.

The Word That Haunts Me

 

I had one of those moments this week—you know the kind. You know a word isn’t right, but for the life of you, you can’t think of the correct one. So, what do you do?

You rewrite the entire sentence just to avoid it.

Call it a brain fart if you will. I do.

Anyway, in one of the many books I read this week, I came across a word that made me physically cringe.

Undid.

She undid her bra.

He undid his seatbelt.

I mean… really? Can you see my face right now? Because it’s not pleasant.

Even in my moment of word-block earlier, I refused to use that word. I knew it wasn’t right, even if I couldn’t immediately replace it. And then, like a lightning bolt to the brain…

Unfastened.

There it is. Clean. Correct. Not cringe-inducing.

She unfastened her bra.

He unfastened his seatbelt.

Much better. Even “removed” would be better!

I moved on, finished the book (which, to be fair, was actually pretty good), and started another.

And within the first few chapters… There it was again.

That. Awful. Word.

At this point, I’m starting to think “undid” is following me. Lurking in the pages. Waiting. And if I see it one more time…

I just might unread the book.