When Dialogue Speaks Volumes

The Art of Writing Zoom Class, Tuesday, 11 November 2025

I’ve been working with writers all week on one of the most important questions in storytelling: What is your Major Dramatic Question?

It’s such a hard question! And it can take ages to figure out the answer. But your MDQ is the beating heart of your story. Persist! Knowing your MDQ is essential because it’s what guides your scenes. It keeps readers turning the page because it creates momentum and meaning.

Will she find forgiveness? Will he tell the truth? What will she sacrifice for love? Every scene, every moment, and every line of dialogue begins to serve your MDQ purpose.

That’s exactly what we’ll explore in our next Zoom class, Dialogue That Does More Than Talk, on Tuesday, 11 November 2025. We’ll look at how to make dialogue reveal tension, deepen emotion, and move your story forward. There are seriously only a couple of places left. The Early Bird savings offer finishes on October 28.

🗓️ Details:

• Date: Tuesday, 11 November 2025
• Time: Sydney 7:00 PM (AEDT) | London 8:00 AM (GMT) | Central Europe 9:00 AM (CET)
• Location: Live on Zoom (link provided after booking)
• Cost: $120 AUD / €67.14
• Early Bird: $99 AUD / €55.34 (book two weeks in advance)
• Bonus: Downloadable checklist — “10 Dialogue Traps to Avoid” (sent 24 hours before the session)

I’m loving our recent submissions and so proud that The Art of Writing has become a place to showcase your work. Publishing online gives your writing visibility — it’s searchable, shareable, and helps your words find their readers.

And remember the Art of Writing creed: People don’t just remember what you wrote, they remember how you made them feel.

In news for Aussie writers:

A June articles says Australia’s book trade is enjoying another strong year in 2025, with memoirs and biography continuing to sell well among other genres. Good news for Art of Writing memoir writers!

The same report notes that independent bookstores, online retailers and publishers are benefiting from this resurgence — implying that demand is broad, not just in commercial fiction.

In Other News for our international writers

A good moment for memoirs and autofiction.
European and US publishers are still loving hybrid forms, which means memoirs that blur the line between lived experience and story. The Guardian recently noted that autofiction remains the form of the moment, especially for women’s voices and cross-cultural narratives. YAY!

Literary magazines are blooming again.
There’s a resurgence of small journals (like The Offing, Catapult, and The London Magazine) reopening or expanding submissions in 2025. It’s a great time to send shorter pieces while working on your book.

Travel writing is quietly returning.
With renewed global movement post-pandemic, US and European outlets are again commissioning travel essays with emotional and cultural depth. More inner journey than itinerary.

In yet more news:

I’m absolutely loving our writers’ submissions! It’s such a joy to have a space to showcase your work. Getting your writing published online isn’t just exciting, it’s powerful. Every post adds to your digital footprint, helping readers, agents, and publishers find you through Google searches. Being featured on The Art of Writing blog builds visibility, confidence, and credibility. Your words become searchable, shareable, and part of a growing community of emerging voices.

Art of Writing Showcase
Each blog features a short piece from one of our talented writers. An excerpt, a travel reflection, or a moment of clarity captured in words. This is our way of celebrating the courage it takes to put pen to paper and share your story. Keep in mind that your submission will be read exactly as you provide it. There’s no editing along the way, so make sure it represents the standard you want associated with your name. Each piece you share is not just writing on a page but a reflection of your voice and professionalism. And that’s worth presenting with care.

PLEASE SEND ME YOUR PIECE TO PUBLISH!

It’s going to be a wonderful year!

This week’s excerpt is from Kimberley Pearson’s book: Leaving Is Not a Verb:

If you look closely there is a tempest hidden beneath his eyes. I can read temperature from a distance. I can hear it in his tone or see it in his countenance.  A cold front doesn’t always appear in the forecast. A hurricane can suddenly materialize on a whim.

From the outside, everything looks normal.

A gilded cage on close-cut grass. Landmark, elite, secure. Street appeal, high fences, no hawkers allowed.

As I arrive a real estate agent hands me a brochure, it reads: “Where heaven and earth meet”.

Buttons in vivid red are placed strategically throughout my home, sterile, stark, and modern against tranquil tones of bamboo, cream, and beige.

Since moving here, he has changed the costume he wears. A Greg Norman uniform. He wears a collared microfiber golf shirt, bright blue plaid shorts, loafers, and a disingenuous grin. His clothes look identical to almost every other man in the estate. Yet he does not play golf, he does not own golf clubs.

He can’t watch the movie Catch Me If You Can. He says it reminds him of someone but he won’t say who.

He straightens his shoulders, and grins a smarmy, toothy smile as he waves at a neighbour as he speeds past in his golf cart, golf clubs in tow. He removes his mask and regains his usual expression after the cart passes by.

At the golf club, the maître d’ can detect his inauthenticity; like a springer spaniel digging for truffles, his 20-year tenure can detect a phony.  I hide my secret delight.

He is constantly in my thoughts. What does he think, not what do I think. His choice, not my choice. Will he like this or will he prefer that? I’m too fragile to have a confrontation. Any confrontation with anyone.

There is a red button on the wall. I moved cities to be close to this red button and I threaten to press it every time it starts. A panic button for emergencies.

I have high gates, security guards, and flashing lights. But …. “Will security get here in time?”

Before the gates and the guards and the red button, there was another house. And I wondered, even then, would this be the house? Like a haunted house on a hill. A turret, thick hedges, steep driveway. Gingerbread.

I imagine my neighbour being interviewed on the steep driveway outside my home.  Aromatic gardenias and jasmine flowers scent the air.

Would they say:

“But they were so quiet. We had no idea.”

This would be a lie. I am certain they can hear. His abuse is worn on my countenance. You can see it wherever I go. Hunched shoulders, eyes downcast, outfit of whatever-is-clean. Survive. Keep going. It will get better.

Once I had a dream. I saw faint streams of light from high windows, but they are just too high to reach.

I have taken a vow of self-imposed silence. We are at his friend’s coffee shop. I want to speak. But as I start to speak I see him shift in his seat. He gathers me in his gaze. He grins. It looks like love, or at least companionship. The glance is meaningless to anyone who is watching us.

Laughing melodically, she tips my glass, pouring cooled French champagne. I despise champagne. I take a generous sip. Painted beige nails clutch at the glass. I can see a little bit of light.

At first, she’ll have a tiny voice. She will be but an echo.

Leaving is a verb without meaning.

Pregnant with rain, the water in the atmosphere has long since evaporated. The denouement is long overdue. Is there safety in its delay? Or the opposite of safety.

There is a small red button in my bedroom. Cedar, rattan, bamboo. The double doors to my bedroom are locked. My dogs are sleeping on the cool timber floor.

I can feel the barometric pressure rising.

It is 3am. Adrenalin wakes me.

Furious fists fracturing locked double doors. Screaming expletives, a storm cloud of anger as he thunders towards me. I do not know why I am on my feet. I press the red button.

Let it rain.