Sometimes writers believe that adding a touch of their natural speak helps the reader feel more comfortable with their words. I believe this to be true to a point.
If you read Stephen King, you can almost hear that New England accent from many of the actors in his movies. If you read Charlaine Harris, you can hear the Southern drawl of the people from Bon Temps, Louisiana. Having that speech in your mind helps the reader hear what the characters are feeling as well as what they are saying.
But a little can go a long way in the written words. When the conversation of the novel or other work is so abbreviated or drawn out that it impedes the reading of the text, that is too much. A well placed “Y’all” isn’t too bad but making the Southern (or any other) lingo so heavy that it is unreadable or understandable defeats the purpose of writing the story.
This link provides an interesting view on when the use of translators is necessary even for people who are speaking the same language:
Which brings me to another point. In worldwide blogging, we often run into blogs written in the native language of the posting person rather than automatically to American or British English. There is always a button at the top of the blog which asks if you wish to translate. I’m always uncertain about using the translate button. We’ve learned from auto fill on our texts that what we meant to say is not what is sent a good portion of the time. How do we know that the translate button really works? How do we know we are reading what the posting person wrote or felt?
It is a quandary I am facing daily. For the people who often use the translate button, how well do you believe it translates what might be regional or other versions of the basic language?
I would like to know your feelings.
Photo Credit: How many languages are there in the world? Stephen R. Anderson https://www.linguisticsociety.org/content/how-many-languages-are-there-world
“Come closer,” she whispered, “Do not be afraid.”
Palm up, fingers curled ever so daintily, her bloody hand reached for me. I stared, transfixed, both horrified and entranced by her beauty. Again she beckoned, like a flower in a gentle breeze. I shivered as the same wisp of wind passed over me, thinking how the air that touched her elegance touched me. I longed to take her hand and become like her. But I knew I wasn’t worthy and turned away.
“Alright, everyone look alert.
Move over, Cxut, I’m standing here.”
“Damn crowded platform, don’t know how you expected all of us to even get up here, much less get in formation.”
“Up straight, I think someone’s looking!”
“Mpfl, be still, don’t look. I told everyone he was too young to come. He’ll give us all away.”
“Think beautiful. Hold your heads up—graceful, not haughty.”
“Don’t everyone look in the same direction! You look like a cadet review!”
“I heard that!”
“Silence, everyone. It will so be worth it. Just open your senses to the now.”
Now is our moment.
You tried to escape. But I said no.
I’m a Lucky Bear! I have my own little girl.
I have my own string! My girl put it on me. I get to ride around on the string, hanging close to her heart.
Mommy made her take me off and leave me here on the mommy bench so I wouldn’t get lost while she plays on the playground.
Once my string broke and I spent a terrible lonely night in a dark restaurant in a lost and found box. I was not a happy bear. My girl’s mommy rescued me the next day, but that one night away was hard. And scary. I could tell that my girl had been crying too. We never want to do that again. So here I lie, on the mommy bench, waiting on my lucky girl.
A drabble is a tiny piece of random writing, sometimes from a prompt, as this one is. They can be very short or up to about a page. The prompt can be a picture or words. Or just unprompted thoughts.