Keeping Dialect in Check

He sat a spell, chompin’ on chaw an’ whittlin’ a chunk ‘o hick’ry into a fine set of longhorns.

***

Quick! What can you tell about the character of the above sentence? I would guess he is likely an American who resides in a rural part of Texas, perhaps an aging cowboy on a ranch somewhere in the hill country. He didn’t describe the house, but I imagine him in a rocker on the porch of a faded white clapboard farmhouse overlooking land that’s been in his family for generations. I can even hear cattle lowing in the distance and see a vivid orange-pink-blue sunset ablaze on the horizon. All that from one sentence spoken in rich dialect.

Adding dialect to your fiction expands the imagery without “telling” your reader what you see in your head. It paints a picture without using adjectives. It authenticates not only the setting but also the personalities of your characters. If your reader can “hear” the speaker’s and/or the characters’ voices, he will be pulled right into the story and won’t want to leave the action until he turns the final page.

Dialect can be overdone, though. Imagine reading an entire book written like that opening sentence. The thought of it hurts my eyes! I recently read a novel set in 16th century Scotland that was almost as heavy with Scottish brogue as that line is with Texas twang. The author did a marvelous job keeping consistency throughout, and the dialect did accentuate the setting and the characters. However, I found it distracting to have the entire novel in an altered language. I found myself skimming words that were difficult to pronounce and rolling my eyes at some character interactions. I really wanted to like the book, but too much dialect knocked my opinion down several notches.

Writing dialect is tricky. Keep it in check!


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A Homeless Man in Holy Socks

I drove my usual route to work one gloomy January Tuesday. It was 42 degrees and misty in Dallas. Along the sidewalk near my office strode a slender man about forty, in need of a shave and carrying a small duffle bag. Nothing intimidating about him; he did not appear threatening. He just walked. But it was 42 degrees and he wore only a flannel shirt, jeans and flip-flops with socks. If you can call them socks. They were more like holes held together with string.

I was young, petite, alone in my car and afraid to offer a ride. I had maybe 50 cents in my wallet. I wondered what I could give him. I considered making a u-turn and running in to the convenience store to purchase something, anything, to warm him but feared he’d be gone before I returned. Just days before, I’d had a packing blanket in the trunk of my car. If only I hadn’t stored it away. All I had to offer was a prayer for his safety and comfort.

When I arrived at my office, I asked if anyone else had seen him. Though most had entered from the same direction at about the same time, they had not. I peered down to the street from my sixth floor window. I could see quite a distance, but the only people around were other workers scurrying in from the cold. Where had he gone? When I went out at lunch, I searched street corners. Surely, a homeless man in holey socks would be panhandling as there were no shelters in the area. He was gone!

A Colin Raye song played in my mind. “What if Jesus came back like that?” the song asks. “Where would He find our hearts are at? Would we let Him in or turn our backs? What if Jesus came back like that?” I had turned my back! The stranger was in need, and I had not assisted him in any way. I was unprepared.

At home that evening I packed the blanket back in my trunk. Then I took a brand new pair of my husband’s socks from his drawer and tucked them under the front passenger seat of my car. There those socks remained for five years.

I drove that same route to work every day, and each morning I hoped to see the man along the sidewalk. I prayed for him, that his circumstances had improved, and if I saw him again, I’d be prepared to clothe the King (Matthew 25:34-40 NIV).

Although the man did not physically get into my car, he has journeyed with me through the past 10 years. I’ve often thought of the homeless man in holy socks and wondered what became of him, or if he was even real. Perhaps the man was an angel sent to remind me, “There will always be poor people in the land,” and to instruct me, “Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11, NIV).

At this season of giving, let’s remember those around us who may are struggling to make ends meet. Let’s edit our finances and help another in need so no one else walks the thread right out of their socks.

An earlier version of this post originally appeared in 2009. As we celebrate the birth of our Savior, let's remember to BE Jesus to the world.

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Life, Edited

I will not mourn the passing of 2011. This has been a year I’m ready to put behind me. Good riddance! Adios! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out! You know, one of those years.

From its very beginning, 2011 has had it in for me. It has torn my heart to shreds, danced a little jig on it, then slowly started stitching it back together. Problem is, the pieces have all been rearranged—edited, so it seems. I guess it’s not really a problem per se, as the changes have brought improvement. However, the revision has required some major adjustments. Old ways of thinking have been radically transformed. Faulty mindsets have been corrected. “The old has gone; the new has come!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I believe life, like a masterful piece of literature, requires periodic tweaking. I know when I write, it is very hard for me to declare a work finished. Personally, I could edit to infinity! Even in my printed pieces I often see room for improvement. A time or two, I’ve been embarrassed to think I set a certain article before the public eye. Even here on my blog I’ve been known to go back and modify a post that had already published. You could call it obsession, but I prefer to think I’m striving to present the most effective message I can write.

When it comes to life’s edits, I believe the demolition and reconstruction occurs so “…that our God may count [us] worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of [ours] and every act prompted by [our] faith” (2 Thessalonians 1:11). So as painful and challenging as the tear down/build up process is, I welcome the stroke of the Master’s red pen.

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Edited by RA

Writing can sometimes be a pain. For me, literally. I am blessed with an autoimmune disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). That is a bit of a misnomer, as RA is neither rheumatic nor arthritic. It is a confused human body that wages war against its own healthy tissue, destroying joints, connective tissue, and internal organs, and causing a plethora of other potential debilities. It disfigures. It hinders. It hurts. A lot. It progressively worsens and it never goes away.

RA has edited my life.

But I know a real-life warrior! She battles this disease herself, but she doesn’t fight alone. Her name is Kelly Young, and she advocates for patients with autoimmune diseases, such as the one she and I share. This post today is part of a blog carnival to increase awareness of these illnesses and bring better understanding and better treatment and care to those afflicted. Thank you for indulging me a bit today, as this Aim for Perfection Editing post ventures from the realm of writing!

One thing Kelly has discovered by interacting with thousands of folks via her RAWarrior website is that RA and other similar ailments are often misdiagnosed and misunderstood, and therefore mistreated or not treated at all. I suppose I am fortunate to have received an accurate diagnosis immediately upon onset. Many are not so lucky and spend years suffering needlessly. Some are told repeatedly that they are not sick, because autoimmune diseases can be invisible. Oftentimes, symptoms do not show outwardly; there are no physical signs. Sometimes, the markers, or lab numbers, do not register in blood work. Other times, an uncompassionate physician simply dismisses the patient’s complaints.

What could be done to reduce the time it takes to receive a diagnosis in such cases? I think doctors need to educate themselves—not by reading textbooks but by listening to their patients—and stop looking at numbers and statistics to define debility. Every patient is unique. Certain symptoms can be present across the board, but sometimes they are missing from the equation. If our condition has brought us to the point of seeking help, we need you to help us.

We do not need to be doubted. We do not need to be judged. We do not need you to minimize what we say we feel. We do not need to be drugged and dismissed. We do need to be heard. We need compassion. We need relief. We need your support, because we need hope.

I have a wonderful rheumatologist now who listens to my concerns, who cares about reducing the limitations RA imposes on my life, who works with me to relieve flares and prevent further damage. She asks me questions, and she pays attention to my reply. I appreciate her very much!

People have asked me why I say I am blessed with RA when it seems a curse. My answer is simple. God has chosen me for this task. He deems me worthy to do His work. A difficult chore, yes, but I am honored to have been selected and I am blessed to receive this assignment.

Read others’ experiences and find my onset story at RAWarrior. See more blog carnival articles here.

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Today's Quick Tip

A member of my writers' group asked a great question. Sheila is working on a series of articles and wants them to have a certain tone. She asked, "How do I keep it casual and conversational without sounding uneducated?"

My friend will have to walk a fine line here, because she needs to present her material in a way her readers will readily accept, but she doesn't want to offend anyone by writing at a level that belittles them. She'd also like a little humor thrown into the mix.

Sheila can accomplish her goal by following the advice of an old college professor of mine. He said it's ok to break the rules [of grammar] as long as you know the rules you're breaking. When you break a grammar rule intentionally, and consistently break the same rule throughout the piece, it makes sense. The writing, then, is not full of mistakes. Rather, it flows beautifully and is connected, because you know what you're doing.

Sheila will not appear uneducated by mixing it up a bit. On the contrary, if her writing is cohesive, she will be very effective.