2(a*log(x))

DIALOG(X)

Here's a little writing idea that came up during late night sanzhversation:

Take a small passage of prose-intensive writing, and convert it into a dialog-intensive piece. That's it, really. The reasoning here is that dialog flows better than prose (at least, it does for me - you'd never guess it :P), and a small prose passage can expand into a much larger scene of dialog.

Blah blah dialog blah prose blah blah blah dialog.

I have no idea how to turn this into an actual writing exercise that all can participate in, so I think I'll just write my own until something comes to mind.

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The winds filled the chapel as the great doors were flung open. Behind them stood two silhouettes in the pouring, driving rain; one upright, the other cradling a bundle in rough-clothed arms.

Father Maddock ran onto the stage behind the altar, and approached the door. He smiled, then stopped as suddenly as the lightning that lit the sky behind them. Quickly, he took the bundle from the figures and loosened the cloth in the light from the braziers, revealing a crying baby boy.

He flung an arm at the silhouettes, and they faded into the stormy, velveteen darkness of the night.

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"Is this the place, Harven?"

"It must be, Kyria. It must be."

"Come on, come on-"

"No one's answering the knock."

"That-that's ridiculous! It's a church - the Church...surely we have the right to sanctuary..."

"Don't give up hope now, dear. All souls upon this earth are allowed upon the hallowed sacraments. It may not be too late. Oh? Oh look, the doors weren't bolted."

"Sanctuary! SANCTUARY!"

"Yes, yes, what is it, this time o' night?"

"Father! Father - baptize my baby!"

"Haha, surely the rain must ha' done that for ye already, lass?"

"Father, this is no time for jesting. Our son must be baptized, and at once."

"Surely it canna be tha' urgent, for I see your babe is healthy and well?"

"But we are not, Father!"

"Already we have chills."

"Ach. Ach! I see, I see - give him here. Yes. Now go!"

"Will you deny us - deny us the right to see our son grow?"

"I willna let ye haunt him whence your time has past. It isna the Lord's way."

"Father!"

"He will know his parents, ye ken. An' he will visit their graves every morning of Midsummer's Day, an' lay narcissuses on th' fresh soil wi' the morning dew."

"F-Father!"

"Now begone wi' ye! In the Lord's name!"

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I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE