What’s That Question Doing There? (a few thoughts #17)

I have a bit of an involuntary tick when it comes to seeing questions in drafts of plays – whether those plays are mine or anyone else’s. Why? What have I got against questions?

In everyday life, we ask questions all the time. How are you? What’s that over there? How about that, huh?

When we do it, we’re often not interested in the details of the answer. We’re doing it to get along.

It’s a mode of talking that linguists call “phatic”, confirmation that we’re alive and that we’re showing/feigning being interested in being in the company of the person we’re talking with.

But if you’re trying to write a dramatic scene, I’m not sure it’s a great idea to put questions in the way of either character.

I’m going to work with an example here. A first draft of a scene I made especially for this exercise – but if you’ve ever read or written the first draft of a scene yourself, you may recognise some of the sorts of questions that come up. (Regarding formatting of the dialogue, I’ve kept it bare for the purposes of working on it as if it were a sketch. If I submitting it somewhere, it’d take on a more formal look.)

– Toni. Where have you been?
– What do you mean by that? I’ve just walked in the door.
– What do I mean? What do you think I mean? It’s eleven thirty. I put the kids to bed at eight. It was your turn.
– What are you doing with that don kabana in your mouth?
– What do you think I’m doing with it?
– Why am I supposed to be the one putting the kids to bed every night? Haven’t I done everything else during the day?
– So. Do you really think it’s appropriate to walk out the door straight after serving up dinner and, what, do what? What do you do? Have you been at the crocheting club again?
– What if I have?
– You said you’d left the crocheting club.
– Why does that matter?
– Because all they do is smoke weed and crochet blankets that don’t really keep you warm.
– When did you start hating weed?

Obviously, it’s not the greatest scene you’ve ever read, but there are some basic elements that we can hang on to if we want to improve it.

One character wanted Toni to put the kids to bed, but Toni wanted to go out, get stoned and crochet. One wants to extract from Toni an apology and possibly a promise that it will never happen again. There’s also some don kabana that we could use as an object of negotiation, but we might leave that for the last edit.

In terms of the dialogue that’s there at the moment, you’d be surprised at how often I read dialogue, particularly at the beginning of scenes, that is full of characters asking one another questions like these. Maybe this happens because the playwright him- or herself is uncertain of the answers.

One solution to the problem is to find a way to turn the questions into statements or accusations – or to cut the question out completely.

Definitely cut out questions where a character asks another, “what do you mean by that?” or any of the variations such as “what are you talking about?”. That’s the question of a playwright in search of the answer, not of a character looking to affect another.

Let’s edit.

– Toni. Where have you been?
– What do you mean by that? I’ve just walked in the door.
– What do I mean? What do you think I mean? It’s eleven thirty. I put the kids to bed at eight. It was your turn.
What are you doing with that don kabana in your mouth? Hasn’t stopped you from stuffing your face with kabana again.
What do you think I’m doing with it?
– Why am I supposed to be the one putting the kids to bed every night? Haven’t I done everything else during the day? I’ve done everything else today.
So. Do you really think it’s appropriate to walk out the door straight after serving up dinner and, what, do what? What do you do? Have you been at the crocheting club again? You walk straight out after dinner and… [sniffs] you’ve been at crocheting club.
– What if I have? [Silence.]
– You said you’d left the crocheting club.
– Why does that matter? My crocheting shouldn’t concern you.
Because All they do is smoke weed and crochet blankets that don’t really keep you warm that are full of gaps.
When did you start hating weed? You’re the one who keeps telling me I need to relax.

So. Still not the best thing you’ve ever read for the stage, but let’s have another look and a few little adjustments.

– Toni.  It’s eleven thirty. I put the kids to bed at eight. It was your turn.
– Hasn’t stopped you from stuffing your face with kabana again. Besides. I’ve done everything else today.
– You walk straight out after dinner and… [sniffs] you’ve been at crocheting club.
[Silence.]
You said you’d left crocheting club.
My crocheting shouldn’t concern you.
– All you do there is smoke weed and crochet blankets that are full of massive gaps.
– You’re the one who keeps telling me I need to relax.
[Partner is quiet, then takes their uneaten portion of don kebana and throws it at Toni.]

Hopefully, you’ll agree that that’s a more promising start. By transforming the questions into more dramatically active statements, the attention for a reader goes from the questions that the characters are asking to what it is that the characters are doing to one another.

We want our audiences to be asking their own questions about our characters, rather than waylaid by the questions that the characters ask because we unwittingly share the uncertainties of our beginnings.

Have you similar experiences with your scene writing? Tell us about it in the comments below.

Photo by Emily Morter on Unsplash