Cameron Montague Taylor

Fantasy Author & Fiction Editor

writing dialogue

Commonly Misused Dialogue Tags

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Kermit The Frog Reaction GIF by Muppet Wiki

The most frequent dialogue-related errors I see when editing manuscripts have to do with how authors tag and punctuate their dialogue. To be more specific:

Authors tend to confuse dialogue tags with common, mouth-related action beats.

This isn’t going to be a post knocking said-bookisms. While I’m a big fan of reducing the number of said-bookisms in our writing (because I think they’re a crutch), alternative tags have a time and a place, and I’d never presume to tell authors to leave them out of their writing entirely. However, I’ve found that a proliferation of said-bookisms within an author’s manuscript often correlates with the improper punctuation of action beats.

To explain what I mean, let me briefly go back to basics:

What’s a dialogue tag?

Dialogue tags are words that:

  • Identify the speaker
  • (Sometimes) give a clue re: pronunciation or delivery
  • Are verbs which must have something to do with the production of speech

Said and asked are the most common dialogue tags, but said-bookisms like whispered, hissed, or spat are also common in published works.

In fact, here’s a whole list of the most commonly used tags I see in fiction:

  • Said
  • Asked
  • Replied
  • Exclaimed
  • Shouted
  • Muttered
  • Whispered
  • Yelled
  • Mumbled
  • Spat
  • Cried
  • Murmured
  • Snarked*

*Why an asterisk for snarked? Stand-by; I’ll get to it in the second half of this post

Notice that all of these words hit bullets 1 & 3; they identify the speaker and have to do with the production of speech. Everything but said/asked/replied also serves as a tone-tag.

Contrast those with action beats.

What’s an action beat?

When referring to dialogue passages, an action beat is a brief physical movement made by the speaking character. Beats are most obvious when they’re short phrases:

  • Rubbed the back of [her] neck
  • Bit [his] lip
  • Folded [their] arms
  • Ran fingers through [zer] hair

Action beats have to do with what the speaker is doing while they’re talking, but aren’t related to the production of speech itself. For example:

  • Gestured
  • Nodded
  • Sighed
  • Shrugged
  • Grimaced
  • Smiled
  • Grinned
  • Smirked
  • Sneered
  • Huffed**
  • Gasped**
  • Laughed**

Here’s the tricky part: many of these one-word beats have to do with the head, nose, mouth, breath, or sound one makes before, after, or alongside speech. While they don’t have to do with the production of speech itself, the simultaneity and proximity to speech means they’re commonly confused with or treated as dialogue tags and not action beats.

Why does this matter?

Because dialogue tags and action beats are punctuated differently.

Punctuating dialogue tags vs. action beats

Consider the difference in punctuation between the following examples:

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“I don’t think so.” She smirked.

When using a tag, the dialogue finishes with a comma instead of a period, and the word that follows the end quote isn’t capitalized. When using an action beat, the dialogue finishes with a period, forming a complete sentence, and the word that follows the end quote is capitalized.

Here’s another example:

“Oh, really?” he asked.

“Oh, really?” He grinned.

Or, to make a direct comparison, let’s take a look at correct vs. incorrect examples:

❌ “I don’t think so,” she smirked.

✅ “I don’t think so.” She smirked.

Or

❌ “Oh, really?” he grinned.

✅ “Oh, really?” He grinned.

In other words, while it’s easy to mix up dialogue tags and simple action beats—and it’s arguable that conflation doesn’t matter from a storytelling perspective—this confusion creates a grammatical error which won’t reflect well on the writing. Improper tagging isn’t always a make-it-or-break-it error, especially for action beats that might slip beneath the average reader’s radar, but when it’s so simple to exchange a comma for a period, why chance it?

“But standard tags just don’t have the same meaning!”

I suspect the conflation of tags and beats happens because action beats add flavor and meaning to the dialogue, enriching it in a way a simple tag can’t. This is understandable! However, there are a number of structural workarounds that let us preserve the intention of the beat while adhering to style guides like the Chicago Manual of Style.

(And keeping our copyeditors happy ;))

Let’s get into the nitty-gritty examples!

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The Inside/Outside Trick

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Do you struggle with talking heads or an overreliance on body language cues like smirking or eyes widening or brows furrowing when you’re writing dialogue passages? You’re not alone. It’s so tempting to reach for those easy, common body language cues, especially in early drafts.

As a developmental editor, I’ve recently realized that my advice to clients when strengthening or replacing body language descriptions always goes one of two ways. I encourage the writer to either:

  1. Zoom all the way into that character’s head, or
  2. Zoom all the way out to show the reader how they’re interacting with the setting.

I call this the inside/outside tip, and it’s all about adding richer context to dialogue by avoiding an overreliance on middle-distance description.

But why is an overreliance on body language a bad thing?

A GIF of Ursula from The Little Mermaid saying "and don't underestimate the power of body language!"
Don’t underestimate the importance of body language!

We overuse body language in fiction

Lemme start by clarifying my point: there’s nothing wrong with describing body language, and many descriptions of body language are useful, if not necessary, to our writing. But when crafting dialogue passages, we tend to lean on body language even when it isn’t the strongest possible way to convey a character’s emotion.

In particular, we often focus on facial choreography, describing the way a character’s eyes, mouth, or brows are moving. When used too often, these action beats being to feel meaningless—almost as if we plug them into dialogue passages in order to attribute the dialogue rather than enhancing it.

How important is it, really, that his brows raised?

That her eyes narrowed?

That he flashed a grin?

Though all of these cues tell us something about the character, they’re shorthand descriptions of emotion. At times, the shorthand is perfectly suitable; if the reader already understands the context, a small reminder is ideal.

At other times, however, body language cues can feel vague, repetitive, or even disruptive to the story flow.

This is particularly true when the point of view character uses body language to convey their own emotional state to the reader. Although most people are aware of how their faces move in conversation, we tend not to think too much about our micro-expressions in casual conversation. Why would our characters be any different?

Thus, when a POV narrator relies on descriptions of their own face to give the reader a window into what they’re thinking or feeling, it reads like they’re observing themselves from the outside, either

  • increasing psychic distance, or
  • creating a POV error.

How does that character know their own eyes have darkened? This implies the character can observe themselves from outside their own body, which could jolt the reader out of the story.

But… what about ‘talking heads?’

Many writers learn to incorporate abundant body language cues into their writing in order to avoid an issue called ‘talking heads.’

When we receive criticism that our characters feel like ‘talking heads’ during dialogue exchanges, it means that, while the bare facts of a conflict are conveyed through speech, the reader has no idea

  • Who these characters are
  • Where these characters are
  • What their body language is conveying.

New writers often lean on body language in order to avoid giving the reader the impression that dialogue lines are spoken by disembodied heads. Though it’s a good start, it won’t provide quite enough context; even the best-crafted body language can’t hit points #1 and #2.

Think of it this way: body language is one part of a much greater descriptive whole. It’s the connective middle between a character’s thoughts (interior) and a character’s actions (exterior).

And without the inside (thoughts) and outside (actions), the connective middle begins to lose its meaning.

So, if not through abundant body language and facial cues, how else can we enrich our dialogue and avoid talking heads?

A GIF from a music video by the Talking Heads.
The only acceptable Talking Heads

Go ‘outside’

One element of talking heads is called white room syndrome, in which the setting description is so minimal—and the characters interact so little with it—that they might as well be having a conversation in a blank, white room.

This is where ‘outside’ comes into play: give your readers a window into who your characters are and what your characters are feeling by showing their interaction with the setting.

Bear in mind, I don’t mean your character should repeatedly sip from a teacup during a sit-down meal; interactions with props can be just as meaningless as repetitive body language cues.

But could a character in the midst of an argument make tea aggressively in a Regency romance by setting cups down with a clank, stirring in sugar so hard the tea sloshes over the rim, dropping spoons with a clatter? Sure!

How your character interacts with the setting will lend context to the conversation they’re having. What other interesting interactions with setting can your character have in order to give a window into their internal world?

Can your characters argue while reorganizing a bookshelf and start slamming books into their places? Would an anxious character in a restaurant scene start organizing condiments by size and shape? While planning a heist, would the easily distracted character click a pen over and over until the hair-trigger-temper character leaps across the table to rip it out of their hands?

Going ‘outside’ of body language to show interaction with setting is a great choice for all characters, but when it comes to POV characters, we have a second option that’s just as powerful:

Go ‘inside’

By going ‘inside,’ I’m referring to a POV character’s interiority: their thoughts, judgments, and how they unpack, contextualize, and make sense of the conversation they’re having. Interiority not only deepens the connection between the reader and the character, but it can also ascribe additional meaning to a non-POV character’s words or body language.

Interiority strikes back at talking heads by showing the reader who these characters are, preventing a back-and-forth dialogue exchange from losing meaning. It can take several different forms, including

  • Descriptive narration

“What do you want?” the shop-keep asked as he spun to face her. He had a blunt face with a scar cutting into one cheek. “Well? Spit it out. Don’t got all day, y’know.”

  • Verbatim thought

“What do you want?” the shop-keep asked as he spun to face her.
Damn, he’s ugly. “Uh, I—”
“Well? Spit it out. Don’t got all day, y’know.”
Impatient, too.

  • Narrative thought

“What do you want?” the shop-keep asked. He had an ugly mug and an attitude to match, and interrupted her attempt at a reply. “Well? Spit it out. Don’t got all day, y’know.”

All three of these examples show different flavors of interiority, but there’s no reason you couldn’t use a combination of them, moving between description and thought as necessary to show the reader both what the POV character is observing and what judgments they’re forming about it.

It’s also possible (and encouraged!) to combine inside/outside in a single line where appropriate.

For example:

The shop-keep slammed a cabinet shut and spun to face her. He had a blunt face with a scar cutting into one cheek, and an attitude to match his appearance.

“What do you want?”

Sara clutched the package to her chest. “I uh—”

“Well? Spit it out. Don’t got all day, y’know.”

Impatient, isn’t he? She’d have to sweeten him up or she’d never get her refund.

Tools, not rules

As always, remember that these are tools for your writer’s toolbox—not rules that ought to be obeyed to the letter. I’ll never tell authors to wholesale delete darkening eyes or cocky smirks or arched brows, but I will issue a challenge:

If you find yourself using a lot of the above descriptions, pick up a highlighter while working on your line edits and use it to pick out body language cues in your dialogue passages. For each one, ask yourself: is this the best possible way to show the reader what’s going on?

If I substituted one of these cues for interiority or environmental interaction, would it add meaning, balance, or clarity to the scene?

I suspect you’ll find that the answer is often ‘yes!’

Body language can’t carry a conversation on its own; as with all elements of craft, it’s a middle-distance tool we can reach for when neither inside nor outside feel quite right. In other words, I’m not asking writers to thinking critically about our use of body language in dialogue passages in service of eliminating body language, but rather, as a way to encourage balance: the secret ingredient for clear and compelling prose.

Do you overuse body language in your own writing? I sure do! I find it all the time when I’m self-editing. Here’s your boilerplate reminder that it’s impossible to get it all ‘right’ in the first draft, so don’t get discouraged! Words on the page can always be tweaked, and getting that story down in draft form is a victory in and of itself.

Let’s chat

Let me know what body language cues you overuse in the comments, or fire away with any questions you have about the inside/outside trick.

Or share a short excerpt of a place where you’ve used the inside/outside trick to enrich your dialogue passage!

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Said-bookisms are crutches…right?

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“I just read an article about writing dialogue and it said the only tags you should use should be said, replied, or asked. Anything else makes you look like an amateur. Do you agree with this?”

Pause.

Rewind.

There are two vitally important things we should recognize when reading a question like this on the bird app:

  • By virtue of being on the bird app, the question is snappy to the point it loses its utility. No, of course an author won’t look like an amateur for using a single ‘shouted’ tag in an 80k novel.
  • Always/never writing advice is reductive to the point of absurdity.

So, do I ‘agree with this’ statement? Yes. But also no.

Let me explain.

What are said-bookisms?

Said-bookisms are dialogue tags that identify the speaker and, usually, how the speaker delivers their line. Compare this with standard dialogue tags, which exist only to clarify the identity of the speaker.

To define said-bookisms, however, it’s easier to list what they’re not. While there’s some debate about whether only ‘said’ is an acceptable tag, I think the following three tags fall outside the said-bookism category:

said + asked + replied

In other words, said-bookisms are alternatives to the three most common dialogue tags, ‘said’ in particular. Writers often feel pressure to write anything other than said, either because ‘said’ becomes repetitive in the text, or because they’ve made the rounds on writers’ blogs and read somewhere the ‘said is dead’. Thus, they reach for more interesting alternatives to avoid using the same tag over, and over, and over again.

Here are some common examples of said-bookisms:

100 Colorful Words to use in place of "said". The chart includes words such as: advised, agreed, bragged, bawled, denied, fretted, barked, hissed, muttered, lied, and wondered.

What’s wrong with said-bookisms?

Many said-bookisms are considered a type of purple prose. When overused, they describe the stage directions in our writing with too much detail or melodrama. Writers who hear that ‘said is dead’ or fear they’re overusing ‘said’ as a dialogue tag tend to lean too much on said-bookisms as a solution. But the truth is, said bookisms don’t solve our dialogue tagging problems. They create different problems.

Let me first add a caveat:

There will be times when a writer will, consciously and intentionally, choose a said-bookism for a particular line of dialogue. This is fine. As with all things, it’s the overuse of said-bookisms that weakens our writing. Too many, and our readers focus more on our tags than our dialogue.

“Said-bookisms tell the reader it’s vital they pay attention to how lines of dialogue are delivered—and thus, their inclusion can pull the reader out of the story.”

Said-bookisms distract and detract from the prose.

More often than not, said-bookisms detract from the prose instead of adding to it. Words like ‘said/asked/replied’ are invisible cues—they tell the reader who spoke and help the reader keep track of what’s going on without intruding into the story. Said-bookisms, on the other hand, draw the reader’s attention to the author’s word choice. They tell the reader it’s vital they pay attention to how lines of dialogue are delivered—and thus, their inclusion can pull the reader out of the story.

Said-bookisms will always catch a reader’s eye. Thus, their overuse breaks immersion—the ultimate kiss of death for a writer.

But wait, doesn’t using said, said, said break immersion, too?

It can.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“Oh yeah? Then what did you mean?” he asked.

“Now you’re being a jerk. You never trust me,” she said.

“I never trust you? Maybe because you always lie to me,” he said.

^That is objectively terrible dialogue. But the overuse of ‘said’ isn’t the disease; the structure of the dialogue itself is. Changing out ‘said’ for less repetitive words doesn’t cure a structural issue. Instead, it adds a second problem into the mix.

“That’s not what I meant!” she exclaimed.

“Oh yeah? Then what did you mean?” he demanded.

“Now you’re being a jerk. You never trust me,” she cried.

“I never trust you? Maybe because you always lie to me,” he hissed.

While there’s more visual interest to these lines and said-bookisms do give the reader cues re: tone and delivery, this is the equivalent of slapping a colorful band-aid on a gaping flesh wound. It’s distracting, but it won’t stop the bleeding.

If ‘said’ feels dead in our prose, it’s because our prose is the problem.

So when are said-bookisms appropriate?

There are going to be times when we as writers really want to use “shouted/growled/hissed” for stylistic purposes. How do we know when leaning on said-bookisms is appropriate? First, let’s get on the same page by identifying scenarios in which a said-bookism is almost always a poor choice.

The image reads: Ron ejaculated loudly. "Ron!" Hermione moaned.

Need I say more?

Look, I’m aware that most writers aren’t quite so egregious offenders and stick with words like “commanded, whispered, spat”. (Most writers also aren’t TERFs who weaponize their massive platforms to further their bigoted ends, either). That said, these two lines of dialogue do a fine job of showing us several Nos of said-bookism use.

For me, inappropriate said-bookism use falls into one of four categories:

The thesaurus

Why use a fancy synonym (ejaculated) when a much simpler one would do? Whenever we’re tempted to pick up a thesaurus for a better way to say ‘said/asked/replied’, we ought to ask ourselves why.

Do we feel the need to Elevate Our Prose? This isn’t the way to do it—not when the end result is confusing, or when the full meaning of the word doesn’t quite fit the situation. Worse still, nothing pulls the reader out of the narrative quite like ‘ejaculated’.

Are we concerned about overusing simpler dialogue tags? Remember, dialogue problems require structural solutions (we’ll get to them)—not a double-down with an out-there tag.

Adverbial tags

JKR used an adverbial tag with “ejaculated loudly,” which… no.

But let’s say she didn’t reach for the thesaurus and used a much more reasonable adverbial tag like “said loudly.” Why not show the reader how the line is delivered instead of telling them? Ron can slam a door, pound his fist on the table, stand bolt upright with jaw agape.

While I don’t think we should strike all adverbs from our writing, their use should raise a yellow flag for our editorial brains. Did we use the adverb where a stronger verb would do? If so, let’s make the switch.

Just… don’t switch it to ‘ejaculate,’ please.

That word. It does not mean what you think it means.

Here’s the thing about said-bookisms: verbs tend to have secondary meanings or colloquial usage that will confuse readers.

“Ron,” Hermione moaned.

…interesting choice.

As readers, we logically know JKR meant ‘complained,’ which she’d use far more commonly than an American English speaker. That said, words like moan, groan, and ejaculate have unintended consequences when used for dialogue tags. Unless the situation and delivery are ultra-clear, they do nothing but muddy our prose.

Remember: a dialogue tag’s primary purpose is to add clarity. Some said-bookisms do anything but.

How is that even possible?

One of the biggest editorial complaints about said-bookisms lies in their physical impossibility. This includes common tags like ‘wept, fumed, smiled’ and more inventive ones like ‘husked’.

What’s wrong with those?

How do you weep words? How do you fume them? What is this, a séance?

You can’t smile words, either, though you can smile while speaking. And holy wow, don’t get me started on husked. What are we, shucking corn for the clam bake? No.

If our characters perform these actions while speaking, that’s fine. Including them in our prose is great, even! But we must do so with action tags, not dialogue tags. An example:

No

  • “You look more and more like your mother every day,” her father smiled.

Yes

  • “You look more and more like your mother every day.” Her father smiled.
  • “You look more and more like your mother every day,” her father said, smiling.

See the difference? Remember: a dialogue tag’s purpose is to clarify the speaker—not to tell the reader what the speaker is doing while delivering that line of dialogue. Those tags must be kept separate.

Despite this, the ‘said-is-dead’ community lives on.

At this point, I hope we’ve established that new writers ought to treat said-bookisms like adverbs. They’re crutch words that prevent us from developing our prose to a higher level, which is why the writing community cautions beginners to avoid them until they’re more comfortable tagging dialogue.

I’ve also seen editors bat statistics around and claim said-bookisms and other non-standard dialogue tags should account for less than 20% of all tags. (Read: tags, not dialogue as a whole.) Granted, if you quote that rule of thumb on the internet, someone will hop into your mentions to inform you that “YOU MUST HATE F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, THEN” to which I’d like to make the following point:

  • Literary conventions change with time. This is one of the conventions that has changed. There are many incredible classics that wouldn’t be published today because of stylistic change over time, and that’s okay. We’ve been there. We’ve done that. Time to move on.

Authors of the past, present, and future can, have, and will overuse said-bookisms. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

While preparing to write this blog post, I also encountered a twitter comment thread that started: “BUT MY SIXTH-GRADE TEACHER SAID—”

Yes, I’m sure their sixth-grade teacher did. But their teacher aimed to help a middle-schooler write within the conventions of the genre and age category they read at the time. Middle Grade, YA, and Adult fiction all have different stylistic standards. Ditto Romance and Literary Fiction. Said-bookisms are way, way more tolerated in MG than Adult SFF. As writers, we must know our audience.

My least-favorite argument in favor of said-bookism usage is: “BUT I JUST READ AN ADULT ROMANCE ON AMAZON LAST YEAR THAT—”

Was the book self-published, or trad-published?

I’m a banner-waving, card-carrying fan of self-publishing, but let’s not call a spade anything but a spade: self-publishing is expensive, and many authors skip stages of editing that trad-published books always go through. Sometimes, skipping editing comes around to bite them—but not always. An author who hits the market with a fabulous idea at just the right time can do well in self-publishing without professional copy or line editing.

Some authors are pretty darn good at proofing their own work, so this doesn’t necessarily mean the aforementioned Adult Romance was littered with errors. However, I think it’s safe to say that said-bookisms are only ‘making a stylistic comeback’ in spheres where books aren’t required to go through rigorous rounds of edits before showing up for public consumption.

“There are few hard-and-fast rules in tagging dialogue, and even fewer ‘this always works’ or ‘this never works’.”

Alternatives to said-bookisms

Whenever a segment of dialogue gives me trouble, I break down my potential ‘fixes’ into four different options. These are structural options at their heart, and being able to flip between them with facility gives dialogue the depth, breadth, and contributes to the veneer of realism we chase with our writing.

Why do I think in terms of structural options instead of rules? As I mentioned earlier in this post, there are few hard-and-fast rules in tagging dialogue, and even fewer “this always works” or “this never works”.

(Aside from ‘ejaculate’. For the love of god, let’s stop using ‘ejaculate’.)

Redundant tags and crutch words in dialogue are structural issues—thus, I try to think in terms of structural solutions when I’m writing. The standard advice when issues crop up is to leave dialogue untagged. Sometimes, simplicity is the way to go! Yet for me, a white-room-syndrome writer, untagged dialogue isn’t always the answer.

Let’s say our character has stormed across the room, positively seething, to ask the POV character, “did you just call me a liar?”

Here are four ways to structure this line of dialogue:

  1. “Did you just call me a liar?”
    • No tag. Context already implies the identity of the speaker.
  2. “Did you just call me a liar?” he asked.
    • Simple dialogue tag identifies the speaker.
  3. “Did you just call me a liar?” he demanded.
    • Said-bookism, but not an outlandish one. It identifies the speaker and how the line was delivered.
  4. A vein pulsed in his temple. “Did you just call me a liar?”
    • Action tag replaces a dialogue tag to identify the speaker, provide information on the delivery of the line, and give a visual cue.

Depending on the lines preceding and following the dialogue, some of these options are better than others. In this case, I’d actually say the standard dialogue tag of ‘asked’ is the weakest given the character’s emotional state. Now, if he were miffed rather than truly raging, ‘asked’ would work better than ‘demanded’. In this case, however, ‘demanded’ is fine—providing said-bookisms aren’t overpowering the rest of the scene.

The other options—no tag, action tag—are also strong candidates. Which of the four we pick, however, is all about context. What does the POV character see? What is the speaking character trying to express? What do we want to communicate to the reader? What do we absolutely need to communicate to the reader?

Depending on the beats surrounding the dialogue, the action tag might prove unnecessary. Or, perhaps there aren’t enough action tags/descriptions in the surrounding lines, and “A vein pulsed in his temple” brings visual interest to an otherwise sparse scene. Here lies the structural fix to the repetitive use of said—and a far more nuanced one than simply replacing ‘said’ with more colorful verbs, or striking every single said-bookism from our writing.

Said is not dead

In conclusion, no, said isn’t dead. Yet deviating from the standard tags ‘said, asked, replied’ won’t necessarily stamp our work as amateur. As with all things fiction writing, balance is paramount.

Do our word choices suit the needs of the story? That is the question we must ask when tagging our dialogue. Anything else simply feeds into a sensationalist social media cycle meant not to stimulate nuanced discussion, but to garner likes and retweets.

How do you tag your dialogue? Do you think ‘said is dead’? Let me know in the comments!