Click

"Hello?" Ink said, trying not to startle him.

The raven looked up. His movements were quick and exact. "Hello," he said. His voice was quiet and crisp, just like the sound of his typewriter. "I am Click. I'm typing dialogue."

"Dialogue for who?" Ink asked.

"For different characters," Click said. "Listen."

Click’s claws flew across the keys.

Click-CLICK-click-CLICK-click. The sound was warm and round, like a friendly laugh.

Then he typed a second line. Click... pause... click... pause... click. This time, the clicks were small and careful, like someone tiptoeing across a creaky floor.

He typed a third. Click-click-CLICK-click... pause... click-CLICK. This one was a jumble of fast and slow, a rhythm that couldn't sit still.

"The first line was Beacon," Click explained. "The second was Crouch. The third was Eight. It's the same idea, but it feels different coming from a different mouth. The typewriter sounds different for each one. The sound is their voice."

Ink’s jaw dropped. He had never thought of it that way. "You can actually hear a character's voice in the rhythm of the words."

"Exactly," Click said, polishing his glasses. "*Voice is percussion.* The words you choose have a rhythm. The length of your sentences creates a beat. When you put it all together, you get a special sound. That's a character's voice-signature. A good one is so clear, you know who’s talking without even seeing their name."

Ink knew his students had to see this. "Would you... would you come to my classroom?"

Click nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. "I'll bring the typewriter."

And that’s how Click joined the class.

He sits on his cushion in the corner, his little typewriter always ready. When a student reads a piece of dialogue they've written, Click types along. The whole class listens to the sound.

If a student writes a line for Beacon, the typewriter goes click-CLICK-click-CLICK-click. Warm and round. Perfect.

But what if the line is supposed to be for Crouch, the quiet one? If the student wrote a long, loud sentence, the typewriter's clicks will sound all wrong. They'll be fast and jumbled instead of slow and careful. The students hear the mistake right away. Click never has to say a word. The typewriter does all the talking.

During his lesson on character voice, Ink points to the corner. "This is our expert, Click," he says. "His typewriter helps us hear what a character sounds like. Remember his big idea: *Voice is percussion.*"

Ink reminds them. "Beacon's voice is warm and round. Crouch's is small and careful. Eight's voice is all over the place, full of different rhythms. You can hear the difference."

He looks around at the students. "When you write for your characters, ask yourself one question. Does this sound like something ONLY my character would say? If the answer is yes, you've found their voice. If anyone could say it, you need to keep listening."

At first, many students write dialogue that sounds generic. Any character could say it. So Ink has them read their lines aloud. As they read, Click types.

The typewriter clatters with the wrong rhythm. The student winces. They can hear it doesn't fit.

So they try again. They change a word here, shorten a sentence there. They read the new line. Click types. This time, the rhythm is closer. It takes a few tries, but soon the voice settles. It becomes something unique.