The muted TV flickered from the ‘out of service’ colored bars to what would be the start of yet, another day in television during the early hours of the morning. The housewife rolled her already open eyes from the tv to the roof as she allowed her head to fall back into the warm, but distant comfort of the pillow.
She had learned, flickering through one of her son’s sci-fi books the other day that in the ‘wheel of time’ there were no beginnings or ends to the wheel. She figured the writer must be much alike herself as she felt all her days seemed to blend together. She had a hard time sleeping though, the nightime is the only time she has to think about these seemingly important questions, the only time she feels like herself. She came to the conclusion long ago that if she continued with this lifestyle, she would have to endure countless comments like “Are you alright?” or “You look tired”. It seemed that it would be no problem back then, but lately those comments infuriate her to no end.
Yes things had definately changed since the old days when she used to be tired in the morning from having sex all night, or just talking with Simon, her husband. She looked over at Simon’s back, facing her as he slowly drifted closer to consciousness, the morning sunlight tapdancing on his eyelids. A couple years ago she mighta rolled him over, at least in an attempt for some attention, and maybe an early morning fuck, but he seemed so peaceful, his torso rising and falling with these precious seconds ticking by.
Yes, peaceful. She was so tired of anything which did not resemble it.
She slide out of bed, Simon wasn’t disturbed in the least. He had recently purchased a new bed which was made from a special type of ‘space’ material which besides being incredibly comfortable, did not transfer weight to other areas in the least. In other words you could jump on the bed next to a glass of water, and it would not spill. Simon was certainly no glass of water, although he did drool from time to time. Sometmes the housewife would try and induce the drool by jumping on the bed next to his sleeping self.
She stood at the foot of the ‘space’ bed, looking down at Simon as if somehow he might see her look of confusion and frustration.
“Space material” she thought, “What the fuck does that mean anyways? They float around in space, so why do they need a bed?” She shook her head at this and glanced at herself in the mirror to find herself standing there goofily, in white a t-shirt and panties. By the Hollywood standards of ‘hot’, she thought of herself as not too bad. She had managed to stay in shape somehow; she guessed this was because she never really had time to eat save for the few meals she usually burned more calories making, than ingested eating. She gave the edge of the bed a kick, whose reverberations would never reach Simon, and turned to walk towards the bathroom. “Fucking ‘give me some space’ material” she breathed. He might as well have bought a present for some mistress of his, as clearly those little sluts he visits during his sleep are more important to him than her reasonably firm ass.
She turned on the shower and wandered over to the window which overlooked the backyard. The sky looked bare, the whisps of cloud which did reside here and there seem to be present in the upper atmosphere, but not enough to have most people say it was a ‘cloudy day’ She found the whispy ones particularly interesting, they are higher in the sky, and much more tempermental. It is only on much rarer occurances like this one, that the housewive sees the message so many youthfull kids used to, as they stared up at the puffy cumulous clouds right under their noses.
She entered the fog of the hot shower and let the water wash over her cold skin. There are no beginnings or ends to the wheel of time she thought, but still, this was a beginning.
Needs dialogue. And possibly a moose. Otherwise very good.
…
Well… it’s only the first chapter… she just got out of bed. The dialogue will come
and maybe even a moose 
…
This is worryingly wrong. Dialogue is hard to get right, and requires great thought if it is to carry the weight of characterisation and feel natural.
As for nobody really needs it, I can’t see how a decent book gets away without it.
Of course, if you’re a great writer and finds dialogue easy to write that’s different, but I imagine you would be rare among writers.
I have but 3 comments:
- Try writing a screenplay without using dialogue
- Try writing a full length novel without using dialogue
- If you write literary fiction then dialogue is central to everything
I find it easy to write dialogue, but I’ve spent a long time listening to people speak and I’m also relatively adept at coming up with topics and derivations of topics.
It’s easier to write a novel without any physical description than it is to write one without dialogue.
I find dialogue easy… but i also think it’s crucial.
Expect the next installment in this story sometimes soon.