Two facts about life:
When people walk into our lives they don’t hand us a piece of paper or wear a t-shirt that tells us about themselves – where they’re from, what kind of food they like, how big a house they live in, their sense of humor. No, we learn this from what they say and do. We learn this from interacting with them and watching them interact with others. We learn these discrete details about them in context, either from what they say or how they say it. We learn these things from dialogue and action.
People also walk into our lives in the middle of everything. They enter while we’re doing life. We don’t get all sorts of context and backstory as we live life in all its aspects. We simply walk in. And everyone else simply walks in. Over time we take the parts and begin to constitute a picture.
Two facts about good fiction:
Good fiction reflects life. Good fiction doesn’t introduce characters to the reader. It doesn’t pause and tell the reader all about someone as they appear on the page. There is an ancient statement about writing fiction – “show don’t tell.” This is true for characters as well. Your reader should experience and learn about a character just as they would in life. It is important that you let what the character says and does define them. This is one key way you can allow the reader into the story.
Good fiction also opens a story in medias res – in the midst of things. There is again no need to inform the reader of anything. Let the scene start and the reader will accept the bits and pieces and will complete the picture for themselves. Your job is to simply provide compelling, unique bits and pieces coupled with conflict.

Another thing* that can happen is lifeless dialogue. This is easily identified. It is happening when characters sit around and talk about what is going on, when characters simply agree with each other or say things any character might say in any story, perhaps even using cliché. Here’s an example:

“Good morning, Bob, how are you today?”
“Doing great. I am so glad it’s Friday.”
“Me too. I could use a couple of Fridays a week, couldn’t you?”
“I sure could. Hey, by the way, can you believe how Julie called Tim out in the meeting last afternoon?”
“I was stunned. If she ever spoke to me like that in front of the team I’d come unglued.”
“You aren’t kidding! I’d ask her to step out in the hall and I’d let her have a piece of my mind.”

This can be deceiving. It can seem like the ratcheting up of emotion is action or conflict, but it isn’t. It is really only two characters talking about the conflict or action. There is no action on the page and the characters aren’t developing. In fact, what they are talking about – the scene that occurred in the meeting – is what we really wish the writer would write! THAT would be interesting!
I don’t have an alternative example for you on this one. The best thing you can do to fix this patch of dialogue is delete it and write the action and conflict these guys are commenting upon.
There are three options: seduction, combat, and negotiation. Dialogue needs to be doing one of these things. If it isn’t it is probably lifeless and needs to be cut.

And remember, you came to your writing life already knowing how to do this.

*See the blog post “Fixing Dialogue – Part 1”

Remember when you were a child and you played with stuffed animals, army men, or Barbie dolls? There was one thing you always did with these toys – you made them talk to each other. You had them chat it up or even argue with each other. You did this spontaneously, mocking whatever conversation you’d most recently heard. This a universal childhood experience.
Why do most beginning writers struggle to write functioning dialogue?

There are a couple of things that can cause dialogue to fall down. One is stilted dialogue. This dialogue sounds like lines were written for a character to deliver. Such dialogue is easily identified when everything a character says is in a full sentence and every detail that might be in the character’s head – their motivations and emotions are all spelled out.

Here’s an example:
“Hello, Mr. Henderson, I am Officer Jackson of the Danville Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions, if I may?”
“I don’t really want to be bothered with questions right now, I have just suffered a personal tragedy, but I suppose I’ll put up with a few questions as long as it doesn’t take too long.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. It makes my job a lot easier when folks simply allow me to take their statements. Do you remember where you were earlier this evening before you headed home?”
“Yes I do. My wife and I were at dinner. She ordered chicken and I ordered fish. The service was slow, but we go to Frank and Mary’s all the time, so we’re used to it.”

There are several actions you can take to correct dialogue like this: read the dialogue aloud, write more drafts using your delete key liberally, listen to conversations that are happening around you and become a student of how people speak to each other. Eavesdrop at Starbucks. Jot down bits of dialogue that you hear. This is a lot of fun and will build your skill. Your reader will best learn what your character is thinking through good dialogue, not by having the character (you) tell them.

Here’s how this dialogue might start to look after you’ve taken a few of these steps:
“Mr. Henderson, I’m sorry sir, I just need to ask a few questions.”
The old man looked at the small steel name bar on the cop’s chest. C. Jackson. “OK.”
“Do you remember where you were earlier this evening before you headed home?”
“Dinner. At Frank and Mary’s. It’s catfish night.”

[Continued in Fixing Dialogue – Part 2]

If your story is not compelling to the reader you should delete it and move on to one that is.
Here are five questions I’ve collected that you can ask of your story to determine if it will pull the reader in:

1. What is the big problem?
There must be something your character has to deal with. “One big 300-page problem.”* If your protagonist has several small issues nibbling at her, remove them all and create one big one. Perhaps one that appears insurmountable. A bunch of small to medium annoyances might reflect real life, but does not make good story.
2. What does this main character want?
Luckily you know the answer to this now that you’ve answered #1 above. It should be clear to your reader that they want to solve/avoid/control/eliminate the big problem.
3. How many drafts have you written?
It takes about 10 drafts maybe 11 to get a story down. Then there are more. About two more drafts are needed to tighten the voice (usually) by deleting extra words so that the ones left carry the weight.
4. Are you minding the story over the language?
Do you have beautiful language, charming characters, and settings in terrific detail demonstrating a command of vocabulary and flourish that will make your readers’ heads spin? Beginning writers are really good at creating prose that has no energy. These stories often have no clear answer to questions 1 & 2. These stories are usually a result of #3. If there is any possibility of the reader misunderstanding or misinterpreting the meaning of a sentence, fix it. Simplify the language so that this is not a possibility.
5. Are you at any point informing the reader?
Does your story have flashbacks, summaries of meaning, more than 50-word passages of description or explanation? Root these out. “Flashbacks are always a bad idea. They are fundamentally and inherently a bad idea. They are a dramatic crutch. The way to resolve this perceived need is to move ahead in the story. Flashbacks are for writers who are too lazy to work details into the action. It is never permissible to inform the reader of anything.”^

* To quote Dan Barden. Of course if you’re writing a short-story, one big 10 or 20-page problem.
^ Ibid