Five Ways to Wrangle Dialect

I almost stopped reading the book that eventually opened my eyes to the power of inspirational fiction and set me on a path to author and agent. Almost set the book aside after a few pages.

Why? Because the dialect was so heavy in Janette Oke’s breakout, bestselling novel-now-movie-dvd-and-phenomenon–Love Comes Softly.

At that time unaccustomed to the strong 1800’s prairie dialect with its truncated or creatively spelled words which were heavily peppered on the page, for me (back when I was a youngun’), reading the book quickly turned from relaxation to work.

The language fit the story, and certainly didn’t stop it from reaching pinnacles of popularity with readers.

But I very nearly missed falling in love with the characters and the series and the author because dialect erected a barrier. Temporarily.

The same danger exists with any heavy, distinct regional, time period, or foreign language elements on the pages of a novel.

“But that’s how they talk in that area of Appalachia,” an author might protest. “Every g at the end of a word is missin’. Every one. It would read as inauthentic if I don’t mimic all those nuances precisely.”

Think of it, though, like adding fresh blueberries to pancake batter. The right amount lets you know it’s definitely a blueberry pancake. No mistaking it for any other kind.

But too many berries, and the batter won’t cook through without burning. Or allow the pancake to be flipped onto the plate. It’s more a plop at that point. Or blueberry sauce with dollops of pancake scattered throughout. Not the same thing.

How cumbersome would it be if every sentence or every line of dialogue read like this?

Ifn I’uz ta lay m’finners on sum cash money, ya knowz I ain’t ’bout ta spend no ‘mount a time worrin’ ’bout all ‘at gov’mint tax garbidge. It izzn gone stay long any which way ya’ look at ’em bills.

Why does it matter that we avoid overusing dialect?

• Clear communication
• Keep from turning the dialogue into a stereotype with negative implications
• Ensure the dialect itself doesn’t draw attention away from the storyline
• Keep readers reading

How do we wrangle dialect–not wrestling it to the ground but taming it enough so the story can easily ride it right into the reader’s heart?

Consider these five ways to wrangle dialect:

Establish the dialect, then dial it down.

Psychologically speaking, once the brain adjusts to the rhythm and pattern of a particular dialect, if the character is well developed, the reader will subconsciously “hear” dialogue in that dialect. The word on the page may maintain its g at the end of going, but the reader will “hear” it as goin’.

Avoid ladling it on so thick that it slows the story pacing.

How can you test whether it’s too thick? Hand a page to a younger or older reader who is unfamiliar with their story and ask them to read it aloud. Do they stumble, pause, squint? Or does it flow smoothly despite the dialectical wording and spelling? Do they assume the page is full of typos rather than expressions of colloquialisms or accent? Does your test reader quickly catch on to the rhythm and start to sound like your character, or are they tripped up?

Use word choices or phrasing to communicate dialect without needing so many unusual spellings or truncations.

“S’il vous plaît, your help I could use with my luggage.” (The order of the words “your help I could use” maintains the character’s dialect without needing every other word to be French.)

“Well, hog tie me and leave me fer dead! If that ain’t a story for a man with a sturdy rocker and a place to plant his boots, I don’t know what is.” (The colloquial phrases eliminate the need for all but a few touches of actual dialect, but the reader still has a clear visual image and auditory image as well.)

“Like a copperhead who hadn’t had much chance to scare folks lately, that teacher’s prowling for something. I can just feel it.” (You may have automatically dropped the g on prowling. The use of hadn’t for hasn’t set the pattern for the reader. The light touch was still able to communicate volumes about the character.)

Imagine someone needing to create closed captioning for the dialect-heavy dialogue you just wrote.

Would it wind up looking like gobbledy-gook on the screen? Then that’s how it may sound in the reader’s mind. Work at trimming back all but what’s necessary to keep the feel and lock the reader into the scene.

Trust the reader.

Your reader is part of the equation. If you’ve written the book well, he or she will have no trouble staying immersed in the era, the circumstances, the culture, and the region even when you tame the dialect. As mentioned earlier, the brain is a magnificent machine that “hears” in dialect once it’s established.

Along the lines of avoiding creating stereotypes rather than compelling characters, writing dialect also requires a level of sensitivity. Do all impoverished people speak a certain way? Are you inadvertently communicating poverty through language use? Or lack of intelligence? Nuance and dialect make great, believable, realistic partners in novels. So does thoughtfulness.

For more on this subject, take a look at this.

Let’s reconsider the complex dialogue from earlier in this post:

Ifn I’uz ta lay m’finners on sum cash money, ya knowz I ain’t ’bout ta spend no ‘mount a time worrin’ ’bout all ‘at gov’mint tax garbidge. It izzn gone stay long any which way ya’ look at ’em bills.

Would it still communicate regionality and character if it were wrangled into:

If I was to lay my fingers on cash money, you know I ain’t about to spend no amount a time worryin’ about all that gov’ment tax garbage. It isn’t gonna stay long any which way you look at them bills.

Do you have a complex line of dialogue you’d like to see tamed a little? Give us a peek-see. We may jus’ have us some advisin’ to offer yas.