Ug. Please. Said is not dead. It is alive.
First things first: We always work with raw material. Except when working with our own interior thoughts, musings, commentary, and interior dialogue, we always work with outside sources. And sometimes we will use other people’s words and quotes from sources—web pages, results from research, old emails. A writer can’t possibly use direct quotes for everything—the piece dictates what is directly quoted, paraphrased, paraquoted, alluded to, or cut altogether. So when working with raw materials, the writer has a series of options at her disposal. The writer needs to make choices what and how to work with.
Example of raw material: The remembered transcript. Here are notes of what I recall was said, to the best of my memory. It was a conversation from my teaching days in New York City in 1998. The student’s name has been changed.
Daniel Nester: Good morning.
Helga: What’s going on, Professor Nester?
Daniel: Nothing much, Helga. What’s up?
Helga: Well, umm, uh, I can’t make it to class today. I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.
How do we work with this raw transcript, raw notes, articles and other texts? I suppose quoting huge portions from sources and notes word-for-word is an option. But verbatim passages need to be essential to the piece to quote directly.
A word about conventions. Sometimes, in some pieces, you might read a piece where there is a transcript format. This is not the usual convention, since usually the transcript alone does not an essay or story make. If one does see a transcript, it is usually it is self-consciously a “transcript,” either to add to the realism of a piece (c.f., Joan Didion’s “The White Album” has a couple transcripts to place us in the room where official statements are made), or to add to the humor.
Worked into a larger piece, this raw transcript can take any number of forms. Working from raw material like above, here’s a couple scenarios.
SCENARIO #1
Convert to dialogue with attributive phrases/speech tags (i.e., he said/says, she said/says). Notice the way the punctuation at the end of the quote is inside the quotations. This is the American convention; you might see the comma outside quotations in those texts produced in England and Commonwealth countries.
“Good morning,” I said.
“What’s going on, Professor Nester?” Helga said.
“Nothing much, Helga. What’s up?” I said.
“Well, I can’t make it to class today. I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent,” I said.
This is working with quoted sources at its most basic level. We need to know who said what and, when applicable, to whom. Putting words in double quotation marks means what is said is a direct quote; that is, these are the exact words someone said or wrote.
Notice also I took out the “umm, uh” from Helga’s last quote. This is commonly referred to as “cleaning up” the quote. I made this editorial choice because, to me, it doesn’t add to the distinctiveness of the dialogue if we kept it in. Another writer might make another choice.
Let’s agree there’s some things in the above passage that are boring or at least not that important to quote directly. To tell readers I said “Nothing much, Helga. What’s up?” isn’t that interesting, at least in this instance. Other quotations, meanwhile, might be best served as a direct quote. When Helga tells me she’s accepted a job with a musical, I think it would be a strong candidate for direct quotation.
Let’s also agree that SAID IS NOT DEAD. As writer Jim Ruland tells John Warner, “A tag on a line of dialog is like a tag on a garment: you’re not supposed to notice it and it’s slightly embarrassing when you do.” The point is “just” using said, Warner writes, is to allow the audience to focus on the character’s words, rather than drawing attention to a “he exclaimed!” or “she enthused!” lingering there at the end.”
SCENARIO #2
Look at Scenario #1 and we’ll see at least one problem: I have both myself and Helga addressing the other person in the quotes as well as attributive phrases. So to have an attributive phrase after each line of dialogue is redundant and clunky.
One way to fix this is to use direct quotes and take out or don’t use attributive phrases, with a reader-friendly paragraph break for each line of dialogue.
The result:
“Good morning.”
“What’s going on, Professor Nester?”
“Nothing much, Helga. What’s up?”
“Well, I can’t make it to class today. I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
At least in this instance, it works. It’s obvious who’s saying what to whom.
From Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1987.
Here, the attributive phrase appears in the opening exchange, then goes away. Readers know who’s saying what to whom, and the dialogue is so distrinctive I suspect the author wanted the readers’ focus to be on that.
SCENARIO #3
In addition to taking out or not using attributive phrases, I could also take the names out of the transcript. Writers and editors might refer to this as “editing down” or “cleaning up” the quote.
“What’s going on, Professor Nester?”
“Nothing much, Helga. What’s up?”
The result:
“Good morning.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing much. What’s up?”
“Well, I can’t make it to class today. I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
Minimal, dramatic, and easy to follow, thanks in large part to the paragraph breaks and the exchange’s brevity. I still think we can work with this, though.
SCENARIO #4
We could take the names out and add attributive phrases in the middle of the dialogue. This is commonly called “breaking up the quote.”
“Good morning,” I said.
“What’s going on?” Helga said.
“Nothing much,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Well, I can’t make it to class today,” Helga said. “I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
I stopped the quote and told the reader the basic information: who said what. It works a little better, pacing- and sense-wise.
Notice that I also took out the “Well” from the last line. Including it might work in another instance, but I made this choice here because it’s not that interesting. It’s completely within my ethical and editorial rights as a writer to do this. It’s done all the time, as a matter of fact, and the world is better for it.
But let’s agree the first couple of exchanges—the “Good morning” bits—aren’t that interesting or distinctive and worthy of quoting directly. So let’s see what we can do about that.
From Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1987.
Here, the author needs to describe an action as it a conversation is happening. We need to know someone left the place of action, and how he left.
SCENARIO #5
Let’s agree that those initial greetings aren’t adding much to the story or the distinctiveness of the exchange. Let’s also agree that we want to get to that line where my student tells me she’s off to Europe to play drums in Rent. That is the interesting part, right?
What do we do? We paraphrase—i.e., we put at least part of the exchange into our own words
“Good morning,” I said.
“What’s going on?” Helga said.
“Nothing much,” I said. “What’s up?”
My student Helga greets me one morning.
“I can’t make it to class today,” she says. “I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
Here, I’ve cut out the initial exchanges, paraphrased it, and got to the one remark I determined worthy of or useful for direct quotation. I’ve still broken up the quote with a basic attributable phrase. Notice I am using the present tense in the attributive phrase—i.e., I switched from “she said” to “she says.” I didn’t need to use this, but I felt the need to use active voice because the paraphrase narration sentence above the quote uses the present tense. A bit of obsessive editing, perhaps, but it’s an option for the writer to do this.
SCENARIO #6
Let’s offer some narration, and edit down and break up and paraphrase the one quote we do use.
My student Helga runs up me on Sixth Avenue one rainy morning as I walk inside the Parsons building.
She can’t make it to class today, she says under her umbrella, a little out of breath. “I’ve decided to take a job as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
Since I replaced the salutations and hello-how-are-you-doing business, I’ve opened up a little room for my own narration and commentary. I also get to add that this exchange takes place somewhere—Sixth Avenue in front of the Parsons building. I get to add some detail about what is going on around us. That’s a little better, pacing- and sense-wise.
We could also agree that the first part of Helga’s quote isn’t especially crucial or interesting to the scene. So off into paraphrase it goes.
What else might we be able to do with this?
From Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1987.
We are using paraphrase here, and it keeps the story going. Not all primary source material—in this case a letter from Miss Orchid’s neice—needs to be quoted in full, or even quoted at all. Instead, what’s important to the story—and remember, we are always serving the story—is that this letter arrived, and what it said.
From Augusten Burroughs’ Running with Scissors. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2002.
Narration with omniscient narrator description.
SCENARIO #7
Let’s put use even more narration, more commentary and edit the quote down to its essence.
One rainy Monday morning when I felt my life was thoroughly uninteresting and my writing career was going nowhere, my student Helga runs up me on Sixth Avenue. I was about to teach my third class that day as an underpaid adjunct instructor, something I did to convince myself that getting a master of fine arts degree in creative writing was useful for something.
From under her glamorously huge umbrella, Helga tells me she can’t make it to class today, because she had decided to take a job “as a drummer in the European touring company of Rent.”
The only part of the original transcript, the only part in direct quotation, is in the last half of the last sentence. In this scenario, I decided that it’s more important to tell you why I am telling you this story; that what was actually said verbatim aren’t important enough to quote; that telling readers about my state of mind was really the point of telling this story.
The quote here adds to the veracity and verisimilitude of the scene. It adds color. I don’t even need it. I could even replace it with paraphrase. I could replace “Helga,” a name I changed anyway for my own reasons, and just write “a student of mine” all the way through. What’s important in this scenario, we could say, is the story, not the dialogue.
SCENARIO #8
How about all narration and no quoted dialogue at all, just a summary or paraphrase of what was said?
One rainy Monday morning when I felt my life was thoroughly uninteresting and my writing career was going nowhere, my student Helga runs up me on Sixth Avenue. I was about to teach my third class that day as an underpaid adjunct instructor, something I did to convince myself that getting a master of fine arts degree in creative writing was useful for something.
From under her glamorously huge umbrella, Helga tells she can’t make it to class today, because she had decided to take a drumming orchestra job in a European production of the musical Rent.
What could I say to her, other than I wanted to go to Europe, too?
None of the original transcript appears. In this scenario, I decided that it’s more important to tell you why I am telling you this story; that what was actually said verbatim aren’t important or distinctive enough to quote; that telling readers about my state of mind was really the point of telling this story.
Please make no mistake: Recalling the transcript helped. It got me started; it placed me in that situation. If I didn’t draft up the transcript as notes, at least in this example, I might not have been able to remember that this story stuck in my mind because I was feeling glum about those years after I got out of graduate school.
So: I started off with my raw materials, the transcript, and in the process of writing, re-writing and editing come up with something else entirely.
From Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1987.
From Augusten Burroughs’ Running with Scissors. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2002.
First Chapter
I wake to the drone of an airplane engine and the feeling of something warm dripping down my chin. I lift my hand to feel my face. My front four teeth are gone, I have a hole in my cheek, my nose is broken and my eyes are swollen nearly shut. I open them and I look around and I’m in the back of a plane and there’s no one near me. I look at my clothes and my clothes are covered with a colorful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood. I reach for the call button and I find it and I push it and I wait and thirty seconds later an Attendant arrives.
How can I help you?
Where am I going?
You don’t know?
No.
You’re going to Chicago, Sir.
How did I get here?
A Doctor and two men brought you on.
They say anything?
They talked to the Captain, Sir. We were told to let you
sleep.
How long till we land?
About twenty minutes.
Thank you.
Although I never look up, I know she smiles and feels sorry for me. She shouldn’t.
A short while later we touch down. I look around for anything I might have with me, but there’s nothing. No ticket, no bags, no clothes, no wallet. I sit and I wait and I try to figure out what happened. Nothing comes.
Once the rest of the Passengers are gone I stand and start to make my way to the door. After about five steps I sit back down. Walking is out of the question. I see my Attendant friend and I raise a hand.
Are you okay?
No.
What’s wrong?
I can’t really walk.
If you make it to the door I can get you a chair.
How far is the door?
Not far.
I stand. I wobble. I sit back down. I stare at the floor and take a deep breath.
You’ll be all right.
I look up and she’s smiling.
Here.
She holds out her hand and I take it. I stand and I lean
against her and she helps me down the Aisle. We get to the
door.
I’ll be right back.
I let go of her hand and I sit down on the steel bridge of the Jetway that connects the Plane to the Gate.
I’m not going anywhere.
She laughs and I watch her walk away and I close my eyes. My head hurts, my mouth hurts, my eyes hurt, my hands hurt. Things without names hurt.
I rub my stomach. I can feel it coming. Fast and strong and burning. No way to stop it, just close your eyes and let it ride. It comes and I recoil from the stench and the pain. There’s nothing I can do.
Oh my God.
I open my eyes.
I’m all right.
Let me find a Doctor.
I’ll be fine. Just get me out of here.
Can you stand?
Yeah, I can stand.
I stand and I brush myself off and I wipe my hands on the floor and I sit down in the wheelchair she has brought me. She goes around to the back of the chair and she starts pushing.
Is someone here for you?
I hope so.
You don’t know.
No.
What if no one’s there?
It’s happened before, I’ll find my way.
We come off the Jetway and into the Gate. Before I have a chance to look around, my Mother and Father are standing in front of me.
Oh Jesus.
Please, Mom.
Oh my God, what happened?
I don’t want to talk about it, Mom.
Jesus Christ, Jimmy. What in Hell happened?
She leans over and she tries to hug me. I push her away.
Let’s just get out of here, Mom.
My Dad goes around to the back of the chair. I look for the Attendant but she has disappeared. Bless her.
You okay, James?
I stare straight ahead.
No, Dad, I’m not okay.
He starts pushing the chair.
Do you have any bags?
My Mother continues crying.
No.
People are staring.
Do you need anything?
I need to get out of here, Dad. Just get me the fuck out of here.
They wheel me to their car. I climb in the backseat and I take off my shirt and I lie down. My Dad starts driving, my Mom keeps crying, I fall asleep.
About four hours later I wake up. My head is clear but everything throbs. I sit forward and I look out the window. We’ve pulled into a Filling Station somewhere in Wisconsin. There is no snow on the ground, but I can feel the cold. My Dad opens the Driver’s door and he sits down and he closes the door. I shiver.
You’re awake.
Yeah.
How are you feeling?
Shitty.
Your Mom’s inside cleaning up and getting supplies. You need anything?
A bottle of water and a couple bottles of wine and a pack of cigarettes.
Seriously?
Yeah.
This is bad, James.
I need it.
You can’t wait.
No.
This will upset your Mother.
I don’t care. I need it.
He opens the door and he goes into the Filling Station. I lie back down and I stare at the ceiling. I can feel my heart quickening and I hold out my hand and I try to keep it straight. I hope they hurry.
Twenty minutes later the bottles are gone. I sit up and I light a smoke and I take a slug of water. Mom turns around.
Better?
If you want to put it that way.
We’re going up to the Cabin.
I figured.
We’re going to decide what to do when we get there.
All right.
What do you think?
I don’t want to think right now.
You’re gonna have to soon.
Then I’ll wait till soon comes.
We head north to the Cabin. Along the way I learn that my Parents, who live in Tokyo, have been in the States for the last two weeks on business. At four a.m. they received a call from a friend of mine who was with me at a Hospital and had tracked them down in a hotel in Michigan. He told them that I had fallen face first down a Fire Escape and that he thought they should find me some help. He didn’t know what I was on, but he knew there was a lot of it and he knew it was bad. They had driven to Chicago during the night.
So what was it?
What was what?
What were you taking?
I’m not sure.
How can you not be sure?
I don’t remember.
What do you remember?
Bits and pieces.
Like what?
I don’t remember.
We drive on and after a few hard silent minutes, we arrive. We get out of the car and we go into the House and I take a shower because I need it. When I get out there are some fresh clothes sitting on my bed. I put them on and I go to my Parents’ room. They are up drinking coffee and talking but when I come in they stop.
Hi.
Mom starts crying again and she looks away. Dad looks at me.
Feeling better?
No.
You should get some sleep.
I’m gonna.
Good.
I look at my Mom. She can’t look back. I breathe.
I just.
I look away.
I just, you know.
I look away. I can’t look at them.
I just wanted to say thanks. For picking me up.
Dad smiles. He takes my Mother by the hand and they stand and they come over to me and they give me a hug. I don’t like it when they touch me so I pull away.
Good night.
Good night, James. We love you.
I turn and I leave their Room and I close their door and I go to the Kitchen. I look through the cabinets and I find an unopened half-gallon bottle of whiskey. The first sip brings my stomach back up, but after that it’s all right. I go to my Room and I drink and I smoke some cigarettes and I think about her. I drink and I smoke and I think about her and at a certain point blackness comes and my memory fails me.
From James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces. New York, Random House, 2005.
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