: Does the following dialogue sound stiff and formal? This is a dialogue from a short story I'm writing: Finally, a log caught fire, followed by the rest. And in no time Paola and I

@Candy753

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This is a dialogue from a short story I'm writing:

Finally, a log caught fire, followed by the rest. And in no time Paola
and I had a display of dancing flames before us, their warmth entering
every pore of our skin.

"You're pretty good." Paola looked genuinely impressed.

"I used to do it a lot," I explained, "when I was a kid."

"I see. I think it's nice—having a skill."

"Building a fire isn't a very useful one."

"It's still nice, though." Paola gazed thoughtfully at the flames, as
though trying to find a hidden meaning in their glow. "A skill that
has nothing to do with money. I think it's more simple, more pure. And
you do it just because you enjoy it. Sometimes we forget to do things
just for the sheer pleasure of it."

"Um. Never thought of it that way . . ." I was surprised. Paola had
suddenly become more talkative. That's when I realized I had no idea
what was crossing her mind. I might as well have been peering into the
murky water of a swamp.

Once the fire died down a bit, we took out the grill net and started
working on the barbecue. Not that there was a lot to prepare. The
things we bought at the supermarket—the chicken pieces, the diced
beef, the sausages, the pepper and onions—were already seasoned. All
we had to do was to slide them onto the skewers and throw them on the
grill.

While we waited for the meat to cook, we sat side by side, drinking
the beers we brought along. It was already dark, and the only light on
the beach was our improvised fire. Now and then, a piece of wood would
fall off, sending millions of sparks around. Short-lived fireflies
fluttering under a darkened sky.

"Uh, Paola?" This was the best moment to bring it up. "Can I ask you
something?"

Paola held her can in mid-air. "Sure."

"Why did you decide to come? I mean, even though the rest backed
out—including Natalia. She's the only one in the group you know, isn't
she? Please don't take it in a bad way. I'm just curious."

"You think it's weird?"

"Well . . . just a little bit. We don't know each other after all."

"I figured you wouldn't try anything funny. Oh, are you that kind of
guy? I warn you, if you try something I'll chop your dick off and feed
it to the fish."

"Wow," I said, "no need for that. You just killed a week's worth of
boners with that one."

We both laughed. I could feel the atmosphere
relax, become warmer. And it wasn't just because of the fire.

Paola said, "Joking aside, I came to visit my mom."

"Your mom?"

Paola nodded. A drop of fat fell into the fire, creating a flame that
illuminated the rocks nearby for a couple of seconds.

"Sorry," I said, "I don't follow."

"She disappeared long ago in the sea." Paola took a sip of her beer.
"Not here, in Viña. I was eleven at the time. Mom was teaching me to
swim when this huge wave came up and crashed against us. A really big
one. The size of a skyscraper." A deep crease formed between her
brows. "After that, I don't remember much—just that I was surrounded
by this mess of water, panic, and bubbles. Then total darkness. When I
woke up I was in a hospital bed. My father had rescued me. As for my
mom . . . he couldn’t find her, nor could the rescue crew. She just
vanished under that wave.”

I stared at Paola. I didn't know what to say. And I felt a simple “I'm
sorry” wouldn't be enough, so I stayed quiet.

She continued, "Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Since I’m moving to
Santiago after graduation, I wanted to visit the sea one last time, to
say goodbye to Mom."

"But I don't understand,” I said. “Why here? You
said the . . . the incident, happened in Viña."

"All the oceans are connected, you know? They are, in fact, a single
mass of water that goes all over the globe. So, no matter where you
drown, you immediately become part of that wholeness."

Does it sound stiff and formal at times? If so, how can I fix that?

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