Note From KMW: This week’s post is a quick one—but it covers a sneaky little habit that can creep into even the best of stories: overexplaining in dialogue. I’ve seen it in books I’ve read, and I’ve definitely caught myself doing it too. It’s easy to do when we want to make sure readers really understand what’s going on, but often, this dialogue mistake just ends up slowing the story and undercutting our characters.
If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re trusting your readers enough, this one’s for you! The post was inspired by an example so bad I’m paraphrasing rather than directly quoting it. :p I’ll be back next week with a longer post (and podcast), the first in a two-part series I’m really excited about. Stay tuned!
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As writers, we work hard to earn our readers’ trust. Nothing shatters that trust faster than treating them like they’re not smart enough to keep up. One of the most subtle and common ways authors do this is by overexplaining in dialogue. This usually doesn’t happen intentionally, but out of the fear readers won’t “get it” unless you spell it out. Unfortunately, when you overexplain or repeat yourself, especially in dialogue, readers can feel like the story is talking down to them or even, simply, below their level. That’s a fast track to losing their interest.
Consider a fantasy novel I once read. The author wrote some good dialogue that effectively explained situations while also conveying attitude, nuance, and subtext. Unfortunately, she submarined the dialogue’s inherent buoyancy by having the narrating character explain everything that was said, almost to the point of paraphrasing the dialogue.
For example, in one particular scene, the narrator worried another character might react violently if awoken. This was made clear in the narrative, then repeated, almost word for word, in an immediately subsequent dialogue exchange. The story was otherwise a smart, funny romp. But the author’s penchant for explanation added deadweight that slowed the book down and made me, as a reader, want to start skimming.
Here’s a paraphrased example of how dialogue that repeats the narrative (and vice versa) can feel condescending to readers:
Marcella hesitated outside the bedroom door, clutching Marcus’s supper with both hands. Her fingers tightened around the clay bowl. The last time she’d tried to wake Marcus when he was having one of his episodes, he’d come up swinging—half-conscious and convinced she was someone else. She’d ended up with a sprained wrist and a bruised cheek.
She looked at Angelina. “I don’t think I should go in there,” she whispered. “Last time he had one of these nightmares, he thought I was someone else and attacked me. I hurt my wrist pretty badly.”
This version needlessly repeats the same information in both the narrative and the dialogue. The reader is told twice about Marcus’s violent outburst and the character’s fear—without any additional depth or emotional layering. It slows the pace and makes Marcella sound like she’s explaining the situation not to another character, but to the readers—as if the author doesn’t trust them to retain or interpret what they just read.
The best fiction respects the intelligence of its readers. When your narrative and your dialogue work together, rather than redundantly repeating each other, you create a more immersive, efficient, and respectful reading experience. Before you hit publish, take a pass through your dialogue scenes and ask yourself: “Am I letting the story speak for itself, or am I explaining things that are already clear?”
Trust your readers. They’re smarter than you think—and they’ll thank you for believing it!
Wordplayers, tell me your opinions! Have you ever caught yourself overexplaining in dialogue—or spotted it in a book you were reading? Tell me in the comments!
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