What do you think of this?
‘I really don’t like you,’ she smiled.
Or this?
‘I think you’re just amazing,’ he grimaced.
In both cases, when I read those sentences, what I am forced to imagine is someone speaking through their teeth, like a ventriloquist.
Of course, this — speaking with a clenched jaw — is entirely possible. Not only ventriloquists do it. We all slightly do it when we’re being aggressive (‘Would you just keep it down a little?’) or insincere (‘I mean it’s just absolutely lovely.’)
Both smiling and grimacing require the showing of our gnashers, but any usual form of speech involves the opening of the mouth.
Try saying, ‘Opening of the mouth’ in your normal way.
Now try saying ‘I’ or ‘you’ whilst smiling.
Not do a whole sentence of your choice.
What you’ll have found is that you have immediately started to do a Jack Nicholson impression.
Or perhaps Clint Eastwood.
Or Miranda Richardson playing Queen Elizabeth I in Blackadder.
Speaking like this, I feel like a dog, snarling.
Perhaps we have another tag to add —
‘I really don’t like you,’ he snarled.
But snarling implies sound, whereas smiling and grimacing can both be completely silent.
Why is this important? Well, perhaps it’s not.
But one thing that very often comes up — when I ask for your good, bad or sarcastic writing advice — is, Don’t use adverbs.
Especially, Don’t use adverbs in speech tags.
This is something people do in workshops when I ask them to try writing the worst dialogue in the history of the world, ever.
‘Oh, Humphrey, I have loved you ever since that rain Thursday the 22nd of October in Cleethorpes when I first saw you across the crowded ballroom as the band played “Tiger Feet” originally recorded by Mud in 1975,’ she said, passionately.
‘Oh, Jemima, I feel exactly the same way, and for exactly the same reason,’ he replied, thrustingly.
Mills & Boon is often mentioned as the epitome of going breathlessly too far.
With speech tags.
(JK Rowling is also quoted as an egregious example of this. I’ll write about speech tags in Harry Potter another time.)
The basic advice of best practice comes from Elmore Leonard’s ‘10 Rules for Good Writing’—
Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said” … he admonished gravely.
And to obey this is playing it safe.
However, I think never is foolish.
‘My husband is standing right behind you,’ she said.
doesn’t do anything like the same work as —
‘My husband is standing right behind you,’ she whispered.
Though perhaps you could get some of that with —
‘My husband — right behind you.’
And —
‘I am really very unhappy about this,’ he said.
fails to convey —
‘I am really unhappy about this,’ he said, very slowly.
Though we have the contemporary option —
‘I. Am. Really. Unhappy. About this.’
Volume, pace and tone can often be conveyed through context or word choice in the speech itself.
And perhaps that should be tried first.
But if there’s no other way, because text is silent, and we read it rather than overhear it, then speech tags can ensure the reader isn’t failing to catch something.
He said, somewhat regretfully.
I never use any speech tags. I put a dash in front of my dialogue and don't signify who said it. But if you can do it well enough, there's no need. It's clear who said what in my books. I use occasional descriptions of atmosphere and tone between dialogue, here and there, to give feeling to it. But my scenes are heavy with atmosphere anyway, so the emotion and intention are obviously apparent.
Then you have to deal with your publisher's house style. I had one who wouldn't allow adverbs at all. Or at least, only very, very sparingly (behold!). It was frustrating having to rewrite sentences to avoid an inoffensive adverb. However, I got out of the habit of using them, but now I'm with a publisher who absolutely (there it goes again!) loves them, because they heighten emotion. You do have to use them discerningly (<---), of course, because if they're all over the place, they'll loose their power, as well as encourage lazy word choices. There just needs to be balance. A garnish of adverbs rather than an avalanche.