TONE (attitude toward subject) AND DICTION (word choice)
What follows is the beginning of a story about an attempted car-jacking. However, the two versions have a rather different effect. The first creates a mood of suspense and eeriness. Notice how the word choice (diction) serves to create this effect. The tone in the first is more serious and suspenseful; the tone of the second more playful, though perhaps also demeaning, even immature.
Emerging from the fog in front of us were two cars at the bottom of the hill. Notice the effect of the fog imagery throughout. All the way
up at the top of hill, invisible, shrouded in thick gray mists, was the traffic light near
the church. We would have to pass between these two cars, both large Cadillacs from the
seventies, with their taillights seemingly encased in sharkfins. There were three men in
each of the cars, but as we came closer--and as I replay the incident in my mind, it seems
to be in slow motion--one man opened the door and, facing us momentarily, started across
the road directly in our path. The effect of slow motion generally
intensifies a somber mood. When it seemed that we must hit him, he turned to
look at us, sprang up, and disappeared. Until this moment, everything seemed encased in a
cotton gauze. Perhaps it was the fog, but it was as if I were watching a silent movie. The
danger at the center of the screen loomed larger and larger, but silently. But when we
heard him land on the roof of our car, the pandemonium broke loose.
My mother was hysterical, and why shouldn't she be, since the man was trying to hijack us.
But the man was so inept, I just had to laugh. First of all, when he stood in the middle
of the road to force us to come to a stop, he looked so comical, like a little kid caught,
having forgotten to look both ways before crossing. The image
here makes us not take the would-be thief seriously. Then he jumped on top of
our car, which did little good because once Mom accelerated, he flipped off over the left
side. Unfortunately, he managed to catch onto the sideview mirror. Then my mom swerved
from side to side, swinging the man around like big rag doll. He couldn't run fast enough
to keep up, so we just dragged him for a while, and when he still held on, Mom just ran
over his foot. The word "just" makes it seems like a
casual thing to do. He yelled bloody murder and dropped off. Unable to admit
defeat, the sorry character ran after us, trying to cut us off by running diagonally
across the park. He pants were pulled part way down, muddy from cuff to crotch, and his
white shirt was now a smear of brown and green from grass stains. The
language here demeans the character, making us laugh at him. He limped
pathetically after us. When we beat him to the park entrance, I waved at him gaily, as he
mouthed the words that would never come true: "I'm going to get you."