Too often we’re told to “write realistic dialogue.”
That’s no excuse to transcribe everyday speech verbatim. If you did that, it would sound like shit.
Real conversation is rambling, fragmented, repetitive, and often painfully dull. Screenplay dialogue, on the other hand, is compressed and alive with subtext, yet it feels real.
The trick, then is to write dialogue that sounds natural without copying real people word-for-word.
The way to do this is to understand everyday speech—its rhythms, patterns, tics, and awkward silences—and bring the point across without simple mimicry. One of the best ways to do this is to spend time observing people in their native conversational habitats: cafés, bars, park benches, waiting rooms, Ubers—wherever humans talk without thinking about being heard.
This blog post is your guide to becoming a dialogue detective. You’ll learn:
Let’s grab a coffee, find a corner seat, and tune in.
Bars and cafés offer the perfect mix of privacy and public life. People feel just safe enough to speak freely, but open enough that you can listen without being intrusive.
These situations are raw, messy, alive.
And they give you something that even the best screenwriting books can’t: that is, a feel for how people actually talk when they’re not performing.
Bring a notebook. Or your phone. Or just your brain.
Obviously you’ll look mega-creepy if you have your Voice Notes running on the table in front of you or you stare as you write down everything word-for-word. You’re not a court stenographer (plus they know shorthand!).
Take key notes; write down interesting phrases or snippets you hear. You’re not surveilling like the Stasi (or a tech company). You’re conducting a form of creative anthropology.
The goal here is to learn the DNA of conversation structure so you can manipulate it at will, just like a musician riffing off a melody.
This is where new screenwriters stumble. Real speech is not cinematic. It’s:
Screenplay dialogue is:
But good dialogue feels like real speech—without being real speech.
As an example:
REAL SPEECH:
“I mean, yeah, I guess I could maybe come, but like—I don’t know, I’ve got that thing on Thursday, right? Unless it was canceled or something. Is it Thursday or Friday?”
SCREENPLAY VERSION:
“I can’t. I’ve got something Thursday. Or Friday. I forget.”
The second version is tighter. It’s the same idea of hesitation and uncertainty, but note how it doesn’t waste screen time.
In fact, a reasonable rule when writing dialogue is to keep 95% of your dialogue lines under three lines of text.
Listening in cafés helps you spot dialogue tics—patterns of speech that real people use without realizing.
Tic Type | Real-Life Example | Screen Use |
Filler Words | “like,” “um,” “you know” | Use sparingly for rhythm or character (teens, anxious people) |
Over-Explanation | “What I’m trying to say is…” | Cut or condense to a single clear line |
Circling Back | “Wait, what was I saying?” | Occasionally useful for comic timing, but that would be the only reason |
Echoes | “Right? Right?” | Maybe if someone seeks affirmation, but usually cut |
Apology Speech | “I don’t mean to be rude, but…” | Cut bullshit setups like this; go straight to the punchline |
Intonation over Meaning | “Seriously?” “Are you kidding me?” | Use these for emotional beats—not to convey information |
The goal is to replicate the texture of real talk without the fat. Essence, not clutter.
People rarely say exactly what they mean; this is the battle between surface and subtext.
Translate these into scenes:
Dialogue is camouflage, tension, and subtext. See what people are doing beyond the words (even if the actual way they’re saying it is messy).
Try this exercise after a café or bar session.
A: “So, yeah, I was like, ‘Sure, totally!’ but inside I’m screaming, you know?”
B: “You always say yes. That’s your thing.”
A: “Not always.”
B: “Name one time you said no.”
A: “I—okay, shut up.”
A
I said yes. Out loud. In my head, I was screaming.
B
You always say yes.
A
Not always.
B
Name one time.
A
…Shut up.
This version preserves rhythm and tone, but by trimming the fat the emotional clarity comes through more clearly.
Each space produces different types of speech.
Bartenders hear the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Watch how the bartender listens, responds, deflects, or engages. In places where people actually sit at the bar (unlike a lot of busy pubs), watch how the bartenders handle regulars or defuse tension if a problem arises.
The goal here can easily be more than simply dialogue—try to gather scene starters. Here are examples of overheard lines that could launch entire scenes:
These lines are real, overheard, and inherently dramatic. Use them as jumping-off points for scenes, characters, or entire subplots.
Sometimes the best part of a conversation is what’s not said.
As you listen in public, watch for body language, silences, micro-reactions:
Such unwritten lines say more than words ever could. Good dialogue leaves space for performance—but real life shows you just how those gaps work.
*Says the American person. But it is true!
Every café, bar, bookstore, or subway car is full of unscripted dialogue.
Your job as a screenwriter isn’t to transcribe this dialogue militantly, but to understand it.
Learn its rhythms, absorb its subtext, and then sculpt it into something sharper and cleaner. Getting the point across but in its own poetic way.
So close Final Draft (or Scrivener) for an hour. Go outside. Find a noisy café or bar. Get a drink and a notebook. Listen: not just for words, but for tension. For rhythm. For truth beneath the noise.
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