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Writing Skills: Conflict and Dialogue
Excerpt from The Veldt by Ray Bradbury
In this article, I’ll give you a mini passage from a great work of fiction. Then, I’ll explain the writing skills you can learn from it.
Your job is to copy this passage, slowly, by hand or typing. This is called copywork, and it is the best way to learn new writing skills.
The Veldt, Ray Bradbury
The two children were in hysterics. They screamed and pranced and threw things. They yelled and sobbed and swore and jumped at the furniture.
“You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!”
“Now, children.”
The children flung themselves onto a couch, weeping.
“George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn on the nursery, just for a few moments. You can’t be so abrupt.”
“No.”
“You can’t be so cruel...”
“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”
And he marched about the house turning off the voice clocks, the stoves, the heaters, the shoe shiners, the shoe lacers, the body scrubbers and swabbers and massagers, and every other machine be could put his hand to.
The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery. So silent. None of the humming hidden energy of machines waiting to function at the tap of a button.
Why this passage?
Conflict is an essential part of fiction. A story without conflict is a vignette, a sketch — something that feels incomplete.
In The Veldt, George and Lydia are trying to manage their children’s use of a high-tech nursery room. This room generates imagery based on the mental projections of the children. In this scene, George is fed up with seeing bloody scenes of lions in the nursery and wants to shut it down.
Let’s take a look at the details:
First thing you see is that there are three parties to this conflict:
The Children — they want the nursery to stay on.
George — he is adamant that the nursery (and every other piece of technology) needs to be turned off.
Lydia — she is not sure whether this drastic action is necessary.
Now, take a look at how the author introduces the three parties in a 5 lines of dialogue. Notice how Bradbury doesn’t explain the positions of the parties. Immediately, you understand that George is committed to this decision, while the children cannot accept it.
CHILDREN: “You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!”
GEORGE: “Now, children.”
CHILDREN: The children flung themselves onto a couch, weeping.
LYDIA: “George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn on the nursery, just for a few moments. You can’t be so abrupt.”
GEORGE: “No.”
Then you have George’s rant. Notice how it doesn’t feel like info-dumping.
A monologue is a great way to tell the reader exactly how a character feels — but only in specific scenarios. During conflict, people would often go on long emotional rants. That’s why it feels natural.
“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”
And finally, a note on the metaphor at the end:
This story keeps coming back to the motif of death. After all, the conflict revolves around the fact the children conjured dead things in the nursery (eaten by lions). It seems only fitting to remind the reader, once in a while, that death is in the air.
The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery. So silent.
Choose your comparisons carefully! Every comparison serves two purposes: to paint a picture for the reader, and to create atmosphere.
Imagine if, instead of death, the author compared the silent house to a forest: There was not a sound in the house except George’s own breathing. It felt like a quiet forest. So silent.
See how different that feels?
Remember, copy the passage!
Type it out — or write it by hand on a piece of paper. It only takes 5 minutes. You’ll be surprised what you can learn.
How to Write Great Fiction (by Copying):
For centuries, people learned to write by copying great fiction. This is called copywork. It’s how Jack London and Ben Franklin learned to write.
How? It's simple: you type out great fiction, word for word, to learn all the hidden skills and techniques.
In the 12-Day Copywork Masterclass, you'll study and copy 19 world-class authors. This is exactly how I learned to write an award-winning novel that sold over 13,900 copies.
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