On Dialogue (Pt 2): What Do Tennis and Dialogue Have in Common?

On dialogue that serves the characters, banter, and what we can learn from romcoms. 

Welcome to part two of our dialogue series! The last blog post covered writing dialogue that reveals layers of personality by considering not only what people say in speech, but also how they say it. In this blog post, we’re going to expand even more on dialogue. This post, as the title suggests, draws a comparison between dialogue and tennis. Sounds weird, right? But bear with me! It will make sense, I promise. Just like the last post, my aim here isn’t to provide a rulebook but to explore what makes dialogue strong and study some of the elements that elevate it in a manuscript. 

We know that writing dialogue in fiction comes with uniquely interesting challenges. We want the dialogue to reveal something, and be a necessary use of word count. But we don’t want it to be telling us too much that the characters would inherently know about each other or the situation. This is why you’ll see advice about dialogue that doesn’t carry too much exposition. Imagine two coworkers having a conversation. Would one of them say this? 

“This meeting is going to be a big one since we’re going to meet the new owner of the company who wants to make all these changes.”  

Probably not. For several reasons, of course. But mainly (and for the purposes of our discussion!) because both characters in this conversation already know this. This is an example of dialogue that should be exposition. It’s information necessary for the sake of the reader, not for the sake of the characters.  

Remember that dialogue is a tool for characters to interact with each other. Good dialogue is like tennis. It has a give and take. It has banter. And I don’t just mean the flirty rom-com kind (though rom-coms do this really well because the genre thrives on back-and-forth exchanges). Banter, at its core, is a game of action and reaction. Character A says something, and Character B reacts to or adds to what was said.

Take this passage from Emily Henry’s Book Lovers, where the narrator and main character, Nora runs into the love interest, Charlie, at a bookstore: 

I clear my throat. “What are you doing here anyway, and how long do you have until the sunlight makes you burst into flames?” 

Charlie folds his forearms on the counter. “Can you keep a secret, Stephens?” 

“Ask me who shot JFK,” I say, adopting his own deadpan tone. 

His eyes narrow. “Far more interested in how you got that information.” 

“That one Stephen King book,” I reply. “Now, who are we keeping secrets from?” 

He considers, teeth running over his full bottom lip. It’s borderline lewd, but no worse than what’s happening in my body right now. 

“Loggia Publishing,” he replies. 

“Okay.” I consider. “I can keep a secret from Loggia, if you make it juicy.” 

He leans in closer. I follow suit. His whisper is so quiet I almost have to press my ear to his mouth to hear it: “I work here.” 

“You… work... here?” I straighten up, blinking clear of the haze of his warm scent. 

“I work here,” he repeats, turning his laptop to reveal a PDF of a manuscript, “while I’m technically working there.” 

“Is that legal?” I ask. Two full-time hobs happening simultaneously seems like it might actually add up to two part-time jobs. 

Charlie drags a hand down his face as he sighs exhaustedly. “It’s inadvisable. But my parents own this place, and they need help, so I’ve been running the shop for a few months while editing remotely.” 

He swipes the book off the counter. “You really buying this?” 

“I like to support local businesses.” 

“Goode Books isn’t so much a local business as it is a financial sinkhole, but I’m sure the tunnel inside the earth appreciates your money.” 

Notice the back-and-forth between Nora and Charlie here. The banter in this scene builds the chemistry between the two characters. But it also provides a tool for Charlie to reveal something vulnerable to Nora in a casual manner— which feels very authentic to many real-life conversations. 

You’re probably now saying, “Okay, Nour. I get banter, but I’m not writing a romance or romcom.”

So what does “banter” look like in other genres? Well, let me direct your attention to this passage from Oyinkan Braithwaite’s My Sister the Serial Killer (a thriller!): 

“Ayoola,” I begin again, gently. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Maybe I should take the knife.” 

She slows her movements, until all she is doing is swaying side to side with the occasional swing of her arm. “What?”

“I said, maybe I should take the knife.”

“Why?” 

“Well… you don’t need it.” 

She considers my words. It takes her the time it takes paper to burn. 

“No thanks. I think I’ll hold onto it.” She increases the tempo of her dance, whirling away from me. I decide to try a different approach. I pick up her iPod and turn the volume down. She faces me again and frowns. “What is is it now?” 

“It’s not a good idea to have it, you know, in case the authorities ever come to the house to search. You could just toss it in the lagoon and reduce the risk of getting caught.” 

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. We stare at each other for a moment, then she sighs and drops her arms. 

Of course, this dialogue doesn’t fit the definition of banter, per se. But what you can see in this example is that back-and-forth between the sisters— if not in the speech itself, then in their physical reactions to one another in between the speech. This is dialogue for the sake of the characters. It’s moving the plot forward and creating a tension-filled exchange that highlights the power dynamics and underlying conflict between Korede (the narrator) and Ayoola. 

Even in darker genres, the rhythm of action and reaction elevates the quality of the dialogue and keeps the reader engaged. 

Think of dialogue as a tennis match. Every line should serve a purpose, revealing something about the characters or driving the narrative forward. By focusing on the give-and-take, the rhythm, and the subtext, you can craft dialogue that feels authentic and engaging, no matter the genre. So, the next time you’re writing a conversation, ask yourself: is this a rally, or is someone just holding the ball? Keep the game alive, and your dialogue will shine.