*(It’s a reference to “All Your Base…Are Belong To Us.” Ah, the classics.)
Dialogue question. I recently joined a new writing group (I’m going to use this as a quick opportunity to toot my horn [because I almost cried when they told me this] but the group actually said my descriptions were “literary” and they loved my metaphors. On a first draft! Having started this journey with my descriptions completely sucking, I’m treasuring this as a mark of progress) and we had a lengthy discussion on depicting dialect in prose. My character Mevy uses some heavy dialect, but it affects her verb tense and word choice, not really her pronunciation. A newer character, Vouri, speaks in a manner that is inspired by Russian accents, but since there is no “Russia” in my world, I can’t just reference the country.
Some writers insist that all misspellings are no no’s, and others use them with reckless abandon. I *could* just pepper a phonetic spelling here and there as a reminder; there are so many opinions out there! I’d like some feedback on what is a “turn-off” for you as a reader when it comes to this issue. I included the introduction to Vouri as an example of what (little?) I’ve done to represent his manner of speaking, which can be used for an example if you like (and because it’s a shameless way to get more feedback on my writing). Also, though I’ve read several novels on writing, if anyone can suggest a book that deals specifically with the issue of dialect (bonus for published examples), I’d be very grateful. Always room to learn more.
(Sorry the indent is all screwy.)
. A single man waited at the table, his face hidden in the shadow of a hat. The hat was a curious thing: fashioned with a sleek material the color of ripe plums, the crown dimpled inward on either side of the front like two scornful eyes, their empty sockets scrutinizing Branvick’s approach. The wide brim tapered to a slender point that curled downward like a cloth nose. Beneath the hat, a man wordlessly gestured towards the seat opposite himself before pressing his thickly-jointed fingers into a steeple. Branvick nodded to the man as he sat, but kept his own hands hidden in his lap. The stranger chuckled, the curious hat bobbing with amusement.
.. “Cautious, that is good thing! Makes my money easier,” said the stranger from behind the floppy purple nose. His voice was roughly accented, as if he were coughing words from his throat, only to bite into them with a buzzing sound. “I am Vuori. I have few questions before I take job. Yes?”
. “Such as?”
. “Trolls mean nothing; your destination is Mysted Veil, yes?”
. “Yes.”
. “If I take you there, do you expect me to protect you from them?”
. Branvick didn’t need to ask who the stranger meant. “I’m hoping to avoid the Mystians.”
. The hat bobbed again, the sightless eyes boring holes into Branvick. “They may avoid you, but you cannot avoid them.” The hanging nose swung back and forth adamantly. “That is not how things work in Mysted Veil.”
. “I can take care of myself if you can get me there,” Branvick replied, carefully placing a purse on the table. Thick knuckles burrowed into the leather pouch, fishing out a coin for inspection.
. “I have cousin, Ureche, I call him Uri,” said Vuori. “He once had dog he could not make go to ground. Dog was not scared, it just could not find holes, so it would run around and around like it was playing game. It was very good dog, but maybe it was hit in head when it was puppy. So I tell my cousin, ‘Uri! Just leave it be! Your dog is not meant to go to ground!’ But Uri is stubborn man, and finally he make dog go to ground.”
. Vuori leaned back then, throwing his right arm over the back of the chair while rubbing his left thumb over the surface of the silver coin. His face bore an odd resemblance to the purple hat. Two dark eyes glittered beneath bushy brows that arched so sternly it was as if the man’s face was frozen in an emotion between anger and surprise. Just below the droop of a long aquiline nose, the man’s mouth cut a thin line across the wiry grayness of a well-trimmed mustache and goatee.
. “Problem with dog going to ground,” Vuori continued, a smile cracking his thin lips as the purple hat began to bob, “is that he could not find way back out!”
I can’t bring myself to smoke. Tried it once in high school, desperately fought to not puke afterwards.