Those Deafening Eaves
Cornell University has published a new study that confirms what most Introduction to Creative Writing Students already know: eavesdropping is a hard to avoid and harder still to master. The researchers looked at what they’re calling “halfalogues,” which is when you hear only one side of the conversation. Whether you’re on the Greyhound or in line for Starbucks, listening to half a conversation has become the norm with cell phones, and it’s annoying because our brains aren’t adjusted to it.
According to the study, hearing only half a dialogue makes us nervous because we like to actively predict what will come next during the conversation. When I read the write-up of the study, I remembered all of those writing prompts that asked students to go somewhere public, sit on a bench or at a café, try to catch a few phrases in dialogue and the intonation, and transcribe what people say. They warn to be discreet, because that eerie sixth sense people have about being watched or listened to, but since cell phones give most people the awareness and reflexes of drunk drivers, that isn’t so much a problem. But the prompts used to recommend that one take the dialogue and work it into a dramatic monologue. Since cell conversations make us so nervous, I wonder if the exercise shouldn’t be re-worked: take half a conversation and use it to write nonresponsive dialogue.
The direct transcription worked for Mark Twain in “A Telephonic Conversation,” but I’m convincing myself that tension-building cell phone halfalogues might be the new nest way to practice the nonresponsive aspect of communication.
Long pause.
I can’t be perfectly sure, because I haven’t the notes by me; but I think it goes something like this: te-rolly-loll-loll, loll lolly-loll-loll, O tolly-loll-loll-lee-ly-li-i-do! And then repeat, you know.
Pause.
Yes, I think it is very sweet—and very solemn and impressive, if you get the andantino and the pianissimo right.
Pause.
Oh, gum-drops, gum-drops! But I never allow them to eat striped candy. And of course they can’t till they get their teeth, anyway.
Pause.
What?
Pause.
Oh, not in the least—go right on. He’s here writing—it doesn’t bother him.
Pause.
Very well, I’ll come if I can. (Aside.) Dear me, how it does tire a person’s arm to hold this thing up so long! I wish she’d—
Pause.
Oh no, not atall; I like to talk—but I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your affairs.
Pause.
Visitors?
Pause.
No, we never use butter on them.
Pause.
Yes, that is a very good way; but all the cookbooks say they are very unhealthy when they are out of season. And he doesn’t like them, anyway—especially canned.
Pause.
Oh, I think that is too high for them; we have never paid over fifty cents a bunch.
Pause.
Must you go? Well, good-by.
Pause.
Yes, I think so. Good-by,
Pause.
Four o’clock, then—I’ll be ready. Good-by.
Pause.
Thank you ever so much. Good-by.
Tags: eavesdropping, halfalogue, twain
I like this idea, Amaris. There’s so much power of suggestion and reading between the spoken words. Very interesting.
[...] on the coattails of Amaris’ recent post, I took the eavesdropping process to stalkerish levels last night, and wound up getting six pages, [...]