Quote:
Originally Posted by bobavey
Most of the advice I've received on writing accents or dialect indicated that the writer should write a small bit of dialog -- in accent -- when the character is first introduced then tone it down and rely more on word choice to get the point across. It's not good to overdo it. If you've ever read a book or manuscript where the writer does this you will know what I'm talking about.
|
Sounds like you guys mostly do it the same way I have done it. Use a few keywords to indicate their dialect, or just describe in a sentence where they are from and a key clue about their particular pronunciation and leave it to the reader to imagine the sound.
As an example, here's an excerpt from
my book 65 Below . In this scene are three Marines (2 Brit & 1 Yank) and a pub proprietor. The regional accents of the men were mentioned at their first introduction (Scot, Middle Class, & Alaskan). Tell me if you can 'hear' it in the writing.
---
Allison, the pub proprietor, walked across the mostly empty room to their table.
“Well Gunnery Sergeant Johnson,” she said with a stern look on her face, “it looks like you have quite a bill to take care of. How do you plan to pay, love?”
Allison was tall, nearly six feet. A slender athletic build accentuated her height. She had a narrow face that ended in a pointed nose and chin. Tight small bundles of wrinkles graced the corners of her eyes. Her long nut-brown hair was pulled back into a thickly woven braid that ran to below her shoulder blades.
Allison’s age was hard to tell. The life of a barmaid often ripened a person prematurely. Marcus’ best guess was that she was somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five. Whatever her age, she filled her blue jeans and tee shirt out very well, displaying the body of a woman who had taken fitness seriously since she was young. There were no rings on any of her long, slim fingers, which extended from smooth hands that seemed well cared for.
Her lips were full, even youthful looking. There were few lines or wrinkles at their edges. This led Marcus to believe that although the smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air of the pub, she was not a smoker herself. She probably inhaled enough smoke in her job every night to get a more than ample nicotine fix.
“Do you take VISA?” Marcus asked as he reached for his wallet.
She raised an eyebrow. A frown pulled down the edges of her lips. After a second of silence, Allison broke into a smile, which quickly grew into a laugh as she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you worry about it none love, I was only playing with you. I heard you’d be here for a while yet, so I’ll just keep your tab running as long as you need. These jack’s like to bully a fella into buying all their beer so they can save their shillings for their girl friends.”
“Poker’s more like it,” laughed Barclay, “those blokes ain’t got time for girls, we make sure of that don’t we Colours?”
“That’s right Sergeant,” said Smoot. He rose from the table stamping his hand on the hard wooden surface with a resounding thud, “Thanks again Miss Allison, as usual you are a most gracious host to me and my men. The company thanks you, the troop thanks you, and the Queen thanks you.” He bowed courteously as he uttered the last words.
“That niceness with the Yank about his tab, doesn’t apply to you Reggie.” She replied, one eyebrow cocked back up.
“Oh come on now Allie my love, you know I pay up every month. Whatever the ex-wife’s lawyers let me keep back that is.”
“I know you do, but I also have been getting a feeling that you boy’s may be shipping out again soon, and so am just letting you know you’ve nearly gotten to your five hundred quid limit.”
“As always,” Smoot said, his face blushing slightly, “you are truly oblique about your approach to dealing discreetly with your most trusted clients.”
“Its the German in my blood, my grandfather was a tax collector.”
“Gestapo, you mean?” mumbled the Colour Sergeant.
“Say that with a smile Marine.” She threatened jokingly.
“Pay out is this Friday, tomorrow, I promise.”
“Thanks Reggie.” She smiled.
“Five hundred quid?” questioned Barclay, “Hey I want a tab like that!”
“You’ll have to wait till you grow up there little Billie. Reggie’s been lining my till for most of a decade now, so he gets special treatment, not that you’ll blab that bit to the Inspector General now, will you. Besides, he’s the one who came up with the now accepted “tradition” of the new guy buying a round.”
“Oh is that so?” Marcus shot an accusing glance at Smoot. “So you’re the one who just cost me two hundred and fifty pounds?”
“Oh thanks again Allie my love, I’ll probably nae make it home in one piece now.”
Everyone laughed as they backed away and rose from the table to leave.
“Well, let’s head home then.” Said Barclay, “we’ve got PT in the morning at oh six thirty. Johnson, you’ll be meeting our Captain and the Lieutenants at the session. We’ve also got a Colours Sergeant to frag on the way back to the base.”
“Don’t even try it you young’ns. This old man’ll kill you with both hands tied behind my back, by the mighty blast of a Guinness fart from hell.” He paused for a moment then added, “On second thought I’d better put me hands in front, no need to burn me own flesh.”
----------