Graphospasm’s Ludicrous Attempt at Teaching People how to Format Dialogue

Let’s take a look at this sentence:

“My name is Rolando,” he said in a loud voice.

                Look at it. Read it. Read it hard. I want you to take very special note of how there are two parts to this single sentence. Yes. There are two parts to one sentence.  Two of them! Two! But it’s still just one sentence. With two parts. Are you getting this?

Part #1 is the dialogue, which is contained within the “quote” marks. “My name is Rolando.” Read it. Love it. Accept “my name is Rolando” as Part #1.

Part #2 is the modifier of the dialogue. It comes after the “quote” marks. In this case, it is the words he said in a loud voice. Read them. Love them. Accept he said in a loud voice as Part #2.

Obviously, the words in Part #1 are the words being spoken aloud, by a character, in a story, who is speaking aloud. Rolando is introducing himself by saying, “My name is Rolando.” The words are being spoken. Out loud. They are spewing out of Rolando’s sexy Spanish mouth, and you love them. You know you do.

Even more obviously, the words in Part #2 are modifying, or describing, the words in Part #1. They tell us information about the words spoken aloud—in this case, they are telling us that he said them, and not only did he say them, he said them in a loud voice! Without this information, we could lose ourselves in a murky quagmire of confusion for the rest of our days. Is he really the one saying the words? Or is she saying them?! That sneaky strumpet! And is how is he saying them? In what tone is his voice registered; with what emotion does the speaker speak? WHY MUST YOU CONFUSE US SO?!

Ahem.

Remember how Part #1 and Part #2 are still the same sentence? You do? Excellent! Make sure to keep remembering, for later, there will be a test. Rolando will love you forever should you pass, but for now, keep this information in mind to be recalled later, because I need to talk to you about periods.

…

No, not the bloody kind, you sick freak! I’m talking about punctuation periods. They, unlike Mother Nature and her monthly surprise, are your friends.

Only, they’re not. Not really.

Periods are dastardly villains who delight in breaking up families. They hate togetherness of all kinds—especially the togetherness of clauses. They wish to rupture your sentences from the foundation, separating all of your thoughts into distinct chunklets of independent clauses. They do. Really.

Don’t believe me? Well, then. Take a look at this happy family of a sentence:

We are together and we are in love.

Now, take a look at the sentence after a period sneaks its treacherous little hands into it:

We are together. We are in love.

You see? What was once a happy family of two clauses joined together by a conjunction is now a fractured set of two independent clauses! The thoughts are separate! They have nothing to do with one another! The period represents an invisible wall of force that keeps the thoughts from mixing! HORROR OF HORRORS!

Now I want you to recall our little talk about Part #1 and Part #2 of the sentence from earlier. Remember how, even though the parts are separate parts, they are still the same sentence? You do? YES. THANK GOD. ROLANDO LOVES YOU. The reason I ask is because you want Parts 1 & 2 to be together. You want them to be a happy family. You want them to be a unit, one cohesive party, two parts that express one thought, one idea, one concept.

Therefore, THIS IS WRONG: “My name is Rolando.” He said.

Note the unhappy not-togetherness created by the period, which separates the dialogue of Part #1 from the modifying description of Part #2 with its invisible powers of dishonorably evil intent. It creates a fragment of a sentence by separating he said from the dialogue he said should be modifying, and since fragment sentences are of the devil and should be burned, Rolando will be displeased. And that is unnacceptable.

Look at Rolando. Look at him and his grammatic exactitude. You wouldn't want to disappoint those abs--I mean, his standards like that, would you?

No. No, you most certainly would NOT.


Therefore, THIS IS RIGHT: “My name is Rolando,” he said.

Note how the comma very happily brings Part 1 & 2 together. Commas hold hands. They join things up. In dialogue, they are your friends. In dialogue, there’s no place for a period until the very very end of the modifying text—AKA, the end of Part #2!

“Alas!” you find yourself declaring. “What if I desire to use something other than a comma in my dialogue? What if I desire… to use an exclamation point?! WHAT SAY YOU THEN, BRIGAND?!”

Pish posh, says I, for that is child’s play. Watch carefully as I demonstrate many possible variations of dialogue formatting with the greatest of ease, young grasshopper:

“This is how you format dialogue,” he said.

“This is how you format dialogue!” he said.

“Is this how you format dialogue?” he said.

                The first word after the “quoted” dialogue should always be lower case… unless, of course, it’s a proper noun like a name, or is part of a separate sentence. Examples:

“I hate him,” Susan said without inflection. “He stole my dolly.”

“I hate him.” She spoke the words without inflection. “He stole my dolly.”

The modifier ‘she spoke the words without inflection’ deserves a period (which serves a friendly purpose, for once) because it is a complete sentence. It has graduated and moved out of its parents’ house, able to stand on its own as a complete thought. Only complete sentences, never mere fragments like he said, deserve such treatment.

Just remember, my children, my literati, my grammarians the world over… PERIODS HATE DIALOGUE AND WANT TO BREAK UP HAPPY FAMILIES. Do not fall prey to their seductive powers.

Fall prey to Rolando’s, instead.

Grrr-rowl.