Every novelist wants the reader to relate to a character . . . or at least be entertained enough by him to stick with the story. In other words, there’s a connection. But what about a character makes him appealing to the reader?

1. Commonality.

The reader sees himself in the character. They think alike, behave similarly, have the same job, have a job the reader wishes he had, lives in the same state, town, country. They hold onto the same dreams. They shared the same trauma. I dare say commonality draws the most readers to a character, especially a character that repeats throughout a series.

2. Aspiration.

The reader wishes he were that character. He wishes he had similar personality. Or he wishes he had the guts to do the character’s profession (i.e., James Bond). Or he wishes he had the education, the financial means, or the ability to travel the world. The reader clicks between his dream and the character’s life, or he hopes to pull himself out of his real-life dilemma and become more like the character.

3. Escapism.

The reader has no desire to be the character, but he wants to escape and for a few hours be daring, destitute, creative, romantic, dashing, gorgeous, thin, athletic, intelligent or big-hearted. I love Nevada Barr’s novels, but I do not desire to be a park ranger. I enjoyed Stephanie Plum for a while, but never cared to move north to New Jersey. I’ve been reading a new series by Glen Allison, the protagonist named Al Forte, a special forces kind of guy in New Orleans who saves endangered children through his organization, and in the process saves pieces of himself.  http://www.torturedhero.com/  I’ll never move to New Orleans, and I’ve never been in law enforcement, but I love what Forte stands for and what he accomplishes which exposing his soul.

If you’re a reader, you know what I mean. That book has to connect in one of these three ways. What the reader doesn’t realize is that the author has to paint these personalities, settings, behaviors and events so that the reader is successful connecting to the character. That means good writing so that the reader is swept away, not slogging through writing that still needs work.

If you’re a writer, you also know what I mean. Your writing has to be invisible as the reader engages. If he sees your writing, he loses that connection. But…what you should also see here is that you will not connect with every reader. Someone might dislike the South and never want to read my Carolina Slade books, or a reader might be put off by the family life I weave into her world instead of leaving her entrenched solely in the mystery. Someone might dislike her occasional bout of cursing or her evening bourbon.

Bottom line….good writing attracts the most readers. Our characters have to be solid, three-dimensional, and seamless. No trips. No stumbles. No . . . writers won’t please everyone, but they want to please as many as possible. It’s hard enough matching readers to characters, so don’t throw them into half-baked writing that’s noisier than the character the reader’s trying so hard to relate to.

(NOTE: Tidewater Murder comes out in mid-April for those who love to relate to Carolina Slade.)

Here lately, I’ve focused on raising the tension in my writing. One of the biggest worries of an author is that the books subsequent to the first are equal to or better than that debut release that started grabbing readers’ attention. The author worries she was a one-hit-wonder and fears she can’t improve on what she’s already done.

Silly, but every author out there loses sleep over that concern. How does one continue to create the “gasps” you need in a well-written, eagerly read book?

Thanks to some very seasoned authors that published before me, and some realizations of my own, I’ve come up with a list that makes me stop and regroup, reanalyzing the just-written page to see if I indeed wrote words worth reading.

1) Dare to speak boldly.

That doesn’t mean yell or make a character forceful. Boldly means using words that emphasize the feeling, setting, movement of plot. It means being willing to write using absolutes and fewer watering-down words. You may not write boldly in your first draft, but be unwilling to settle for anything less than brilliance and boldness when you edit. Then once you go bold, what are you promising your reader when you do? How do you deliver bold? Type the word BOLD and hang it big and bad above your computer, reminding yourself it’s the only way to grab readers. When you use bold words, you tend to deliver bolder stories.

2) Define the Ruby Slippers in your story.

I learned this concept from famous mystery novelist Hallie Ephron. In the Wizard of Oz, the ruby slippers are the vein of the story. Dorothy protects them, eventually using them to go home. The Wicked Witch covets them. They are in the opening scene of Oz and close the book, taking Dorothy back to Kansas. They are unclaimed power, desired by all. It is subtle but ever there and easily recognized at the end of the story. This theme is the glue that helps hold your story together.

3) Learn from experts.

While how-to books are a must for any reader, what’s more important is seeing how they pull off their masterpieces. When you identify weaknesses in your work, note it, then go to good books by well-published authors and note how they addressed your issue. The opening hook, dialogue, action, romance, tags, beats, whatever you strive to improve. Studying what is revered already in great books will teach you by osmosis how to correct.

4) Backstory requires a deft hand.

The biggest mistake made with backstory is telling it before the reader cares. A reader must feel drawn and willing to stick around, craving more of the tale, before you insert backstory. Even in social settings, we are drawn to individuals way before we care where they are from, where they work, or where they went to school. It’s boring stuff until the reader cares about the character. The same goes for the author. The reader has to care about the story before caring how the author came to write the book.

5) The charisma of a character.

Authors define their characters, often writing pages of description before inserting them into stories. They want to see the characters as humans before writing about them. Is a character vain or self-loathing? Judgmental or empathetic? Nervous or laid back? However, what if the character is both? Therein lies great material to take a reader deep into a character’s psyche. Find those opposing characteristics that cause clash in a character, when his opposing egos butt heads. That’s heady stuff.

Writing isn’t all promotion, and it isn’t just telling a story. It’s showing words to the point the reader can’t help but stay up all night reading, because he wishes the words were 3-D real.

Are any of these topics a revelation for you as an author? As a reader? What tricks and skills do you think make for fabulous reading?

Note from Hope:

I met Rochelle Melander at the Mississippi Writer’s Guild Conference this past summer. I kicked off the event with an opening keynote message . . . she closed the event with her closing keynote. The Yin and Yang of the conference. She’s open, vocal, and goes ninety miles per hour which was fun to watch in a room full of Southerners. But she fit in well, and we enjoyed our brief private chat. She’s published with Writer’s Digest Books and is quite the author with multiple books under her belt. She has offered us a guest message on how to deal with writer’s block, especially with the onset of NaNoWriMo in another couple of weeks. Enjoy!    ~HOPE

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Overcome Writer’s Block

By Rochelle Melander

“There’s no such thing as writer’s block. That was invented by people in California who couldn’t write.” -Terry Pratchett

I don’t have time for writer’s block. Every day, I juggle my professional life (writing and coaching) and my personal life—husband, kids, dogs, exercise, laundry, and other household chores. Nearly every book I’ve written has been completed in less than six weeks thanks to publishing contracts with tight deadlines. In the past five years, I’ve also tackled National Novel Writing Month (http://www.nanowrimo.org) and the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days.

Writing books fast with children and dogs underfoot has given me tools to prevent, diagnose, or overcome the infamous writing disease—writer’s block—and finish my assignments on time. While movies portray writer’s block as something you’d kill to get over (Secret Window) or drink your way out of (The Lost Weekend), I’d prefer to see it as something manageable, like a headache. Here’s how I’ve learned to thwart writer’s block:

1. Prevent it. Prewriting prevents writer’s block. Often writer’s block is simply a moment of panic—what do I say? Eliminate that fear by planning. Before facing the blank page, record ideas for your article or chapter. I like to use mind maps (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mind_map) as prewriting tools because I can brainstorm freely without worry about what comes first. Once I get to the computer, I have a whole page of ideas to work from.

2. Diagnose it. Writer’s block can also be a symptom of a manuscript issue. As writer-in-chief, it’s my job to dig around and find the problem so I can fix it and finish my assignment. Here are three common issues that present as writer’s block:

*Structure. When you feel bogged down or muddled while writing simple concepts or stories, chances are the structure does not fit the type of information you’re writing or the audience you’re writing for. The fix? Ask yourself, “Could I write this if I structured it as a . . .” and then give yourself several options. Look at books or articles in your field and note the structure. How can you borrow their structures to make your article work?

*Content. When you hit a speed bump in your writing, check to see if you have enough information to write the article or book chapter. The fix? Research! Take a day to read articles and interview experts in the field. When you go back to the computer, you’ll have plenty of info to wow your readers!

*Audience. Often we get writer’s block when we do not know who we are writing for. We struggle to put together a book or an article for the amorphous “everyone.” The fix? Forget everyone and find your ideal reader. Once you know who you are writing for, you can shape your work just for them.

3. Overcome it. So what happens when you prepare like a pro, check the big three (structure, content, and audience), and still feel stuck? Chances are good you are dealing with one of two issues: you’re tired or you have some other sort of writing glitch to overcome (e.g., you need a good lead or you haven’t figured out the angle you’re taking). Fortunately, the fix for both is the same: take a break. Engaging with nature or doing a menial, repetitive task will help you restore your ability to pay attention. And, the time away from your work may lead to what psychologists call the Eureka effect (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eureka_effect).

So next time you get stuck, take a break to watch the clouds or sort the laundry. No doubt you’ll return to your desk refreshed and ready to write—and potentially with a solution in hand!

Your turn: How do you overcome writer’s block?

BIO

Rochelle Melander is an author, speaker, and certified professional coach. She is the author of ten books, including the National Novel Writing Month guide—Write-A-Thon: Write Your Book in 26 Days (and Live to Tell About It) Rochelle teaches professionals how to write good books fast, use writing to transform their lives, navigate the publishing world, and get published! For more tips and a complementary download of the first two chapters of Write-A-Thon, visit her online at www.writenowcoach.com

What the Glass Contains is a podcast performed by Austin Moss who is interested in introducing the world to writers in his region. He hails from Raleigh, NC, but he graciously asked me to participate in a podcast interview. So we hopped on Skype, chatted, laughed and had a grand time. He asked questions many don’t, and the exchange feels like what one would have over a beer – loose but in depth – relaxed yet intriguing.

Thanks, Austin. And I really appreciate that he used The Doobie Brothers as the background band (he uses an author’s preferred music in putting the show together – how cool!) Here’s the interview. Enjoy!

Episode 12 – C. Hope Clark

This week, you’re enjoying a seven-day discussion of How to Write Southern.  

 Yesterday was Part 5 – Narrative Color. Today tosses around the use of Beats and IM (internal monologue). Remember. . . this is not an I’m-Southern-and-you’re-not post. It’s more of how to pay attention to locale, culture and voice to pull off your story’s geographic specialty.

Beats and Internal Monologue can make a huge difference in your writing. They impact flow, show action, depict character motive, turn regular dialogue into 3-D, prime, grade A writing.

What is a beat?

A beat is a small piece of action that can serve several purposes.

1) Identify the person speaking.

2) Add flow to smooth out the phrasing, giving pauses that aid the message.

3) Add color to the characters or action.

Notice the three beats in this piece of dialogue from Lowcountry Bribe:

      “Give me a few days to get your money together.” He stood and reached to shake hands. “Listen, it’s been good talkin’ to ya, Slade. I like your spunk. Kinda spicy!”

      I refused his hand and waved to the door. “I said we’re through. Get the hell out.”

      Jesse touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll be back.”

If you had no beats, you’d still get the gist of this conversation, but try and read it without the beats. The image fades a bit, doesn’t it? With the beats, the story becomes more realistic, with imagery. We see movement, almost picturing the smirk on Jesse, sensing the anger in Slade. We don’t even need he said/she said tags because the beats do the same job. Notice that the beats can be within a paragraph as well, not just at the beginning, serving to buy time as dialogue settles into a reader’s mind.

What is internal monologue?

Internal monologue is a beat in its own right. Only instead of depicting action, the reader tastes what’s going through the character’s mind, ultimately serving the same purposes as a beat.

“So, who called them?” Being around a snitch I couldn’t identify was like being in a snake-infested coop. Eventually, she would strike again. (IM)

“Don’t know.” He plucked napkins from the dispenser and wiped up my spill. (BEAT) “My biggest concern is you.”

I licked dry lips. (BEAT) “I won’t lie to you. I’m petrified. I don’t know why Jesse hasn’t come after me yet.”

“I know.”

Did he? Really? (IM)

These are remarkable tools that new writers grapple with using too little or too much. But sliding them throughout your story can make a story slick and so easy to read. With these little babies you can show culture, attitude, and emotion and make a few words ten times more visual and dynamic.

 Beats and Internal Monologue impact flow, show action, depict character motive, turn regular dialogue into 3-D, prime, grade A writing.

This week, you’re enjoying a seven-day discussion of How to Write Southern.  

 Yesterday was Part 4 – Place. Today tosses around the use of narrative color. Remember. . . this is not an I’m-Southern-and-you’re-not post. It’s more of how to pay attention to locale, culture and voice to pull off your story’s geographic specialty.

Write narrative as colorful as dialogue.

You’re in someone’s head all the time, whether you’re writing third or first person, which are the two most common choices for genre fiction. The story is still smoking, moving along, told or enacted by someone. Why not let Southern color weave its way into the moments between people talking? You don’t need dialogue to make the story sound geographically or culturally connected.

Colorful narrative is stroked and woven into the story, as if we heard it seated around a rocking chair, listening to grandmomma telling it.

First person is easier, in my opinion, but I adore writing in this point of view. I enjoy becoming the character, to such a point that I feel I’m writing a memoir in lieu of fiction. So dialogue continues in the character’s head. We think like we speak, most of the time, so don’t forget to let that wit, sarcasm, humor, and caustic attitude shine even when the character isn’t speaking. Take this moment in Carolina Slade’s office, from Chapter 7 of Lowcountry Bribe:

I opened my door, letting it bang against the wall. Jean jumped, but Hillary turned her back, composure intact. 

       Both possessed brains and efficiency when they kept their noses clean, but their gossip irritated the crap out of me. Biddies, my grandmother called such people. Chicken biddies poling their silly little heads into everyone’s business.

Let’s look at the same from another Southern book from Bell Bridge Book entitled River Witch, by Kimberly Brock, only in third person:

The cool evening breeze made her neck cold where the jagged little wisps of her self-fashioned hair-do did little to keep her head warm. But she liked it. No fuss. And it was shocking. Her daddy rolled his eyes when he first saw it–a boy cut that made her look like some dirty blonde clipper-job gone wrong.

This character is daring to be different, and we want to know why. We can see her, feel the new edge of her altered state with her fresh-cropped hair.

Dialogue can’t tell it all, and narrative doesn’t just need to be back story and information dump. Take every word, give it color, senses, personality to carry on what the characters don’t say but what the reader needs to know. Notice how you savor a hint of Southern in each one? We learn so much about the characters in these words, without it sounding like the author is intruding. It’s stroked and woven into the story, as if we heard it seated around a rocking chair, listening to grandmomma telling it.

Guess I’m trying to say show, don’t tell.  Give life to your narrative.

The storm blew up out over the ocean, spawned by a cold front roaring down from the north and fueled by the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. For the better part of three days it battered the South Carolina Lowcountry with a biting wind and relentless rain. Thousands of our annual summer visitors, desperate to salvage at least a few of their precious vacation days, had already packed up and escaped down I-95 to the more hospitable beaches of Florida.

We can feel the escape, the rain. We learn the location, that it’s a tourist community. Action words like roaring, spawned, biting, relentless, desperate, precious, escaped. . . give us an edgy feel from the outside of Kathryn R. Wall’s Sanctuary Hill, a Bay Tanner mystery series set in Beaufort County, South Carolina. Avoid passive voice, and don’t rely heavily on adverbs to show . . . it rarely works.

Show, don’t tell. Give life to your narrative.

This week, you’re enjoying a seven-day discussion of How to Write Southern. Yesterday was Part 3 – Family. Today tosses around the use of place. Remember. . . this is not an I’m-Southern-and-you’re-not post. It’s more of how to pay attention to locale, culture and voice to pull off your story’s geographic specialty.

Where You From?

Of course, my Southern mystery series, set in the rural communities of South Carolina, have to touch upon The War in one comment or another. It’s mentioned once in each book because it’s so deeply rooted in SC history. After all, we started the war, remember?

But the South is more than all that. As a matter of fact, I struck out writing this series with the intention of exposing readers to the backwoods, marshy, country sides of the state, in an attempt to pull people away from the stereotypical locations of Charleston, Hilton Head and Myrtle Beach. Rural living is not as Americana as the average urban dweller thinks.

 Insert place strategically so that it gives gold-plated oomph to the tale, instead of weighing it down.

Carolina Slade is proud of her home. Lowcountry Bribe is set on the outskirts of Charleston County.

Charleston County contains the stylish historic city, which everyone associates with culture, Southern charm, and plantation blue bloods living in antebellum splendor overlooking The Battery. No one envisions small-time farmers scrambling to make a living on Rhett Butler’s stomping ground, but the string of islands along the coastline offered them a reasonable subsistence with the support of federal monies. I admired their pride and tried to ignore their plight, so I could sleep at night.

Slade was my maiden name going back to my great grandmother from Mississippi. Only my Momma and Daddy called me Carolina and nobody who knew me used my married name, Bridges. I loved my heritage, but I didn’t love my husband. Slade was the best title for all concerned.

Use All Your Senses to Show Place

Many characters carry deep-seeded fondness or hatred for a place, and those feelings can work well in your stories. Setting, frankly, can be a character in its own right. It becomes very 3-D if you give it a chance . . . assuming you know how to use all your senses.

I grew up not far from the setting in Lowcountry Bribe. I know this stretch of road, and can envision, smell, and almost taste it if you count the salt in the air. It greatly deserved a place in the novel.

Blue herons flew overhead in slow motion like prehistoric birds.  Palmettos grew wild amidst wax myrtles that stayed deep green year-round, accenting the marsh grass and wet, dark mud saturated only at peak tide. The scenery nourished me, but visitors flew down that stretch in their speed to reach sand and surf, oblivious to what God displayed. Springtime dizzied me when the azaleas, redbud and dogwood bloomed, turning rural homes into Americana landscapes, disguising the poverty.

Raise the Stakes Via Your Setting

As the book peaks, the tension strained, the heroine frantic and scouring the rural countryside, I focused on character, action, and plot. However, a shrewd member of my critique group had this to offer: “On top of everything dumping on Slade’s head, you need to make it rain.“

Yes!!! Only I gave them a borderline hurricane and rain that never let up . . . in October so it chilled Slade to the bone. Slick leaves, wet high grass, slippery highways, wipers not able to keep up. One of the best suggestions ever from my critique group. So next time you need to ratchet up the tension, look at setting and place . . . and try to turn it on its head as another obstacle for your protagonist.

Take Your Time but Don’t Dump

Place helps orient the reader, insert him into the setting and, ultimately, the story. Remember, however, that taking too long to describe all that beautiful scenery slows the story. Every sentence is supposed to propel your story forward . . . that includes projecting place. Avoid half-page info-dumps unless you’re Pat Conroy and can write it so lyrically it excites you to read it. The rest of us have to insert place strategically so that it gives gold-plated oomph to the tale, instead of weighing it down.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 5 of How to Write Southern.

This week, you’re enjoying a seven-day discussion of How to Write Southern. Yesterday was Part 2 – Metaphors. Today tosses around the use of family. Remember. . . this is not an I’m-Southern-and-you’re-not post. It’s more of how to pay attention to locale, culture and voice to pull off your story’s geographic specialty.

(By the way, this is a picture of me, my  mother and my grandmother on grandpa’s farm, outside Rolling Fork, MS.)

Family matters and then there are family matters.

No, I’m not saying that the South cares more about its family than elsewhere. What I’m saying is that family often comes up, creates a problem, impacts reactions, twists thoughts. It’s no uncommon for people to ask here, “Who’s your family?” or “Are you descended from the Greenville McCormicks or the Spartanburg McCormicks?”

In book three of The Carolina Slade Series (still in edit), Slade steps into a heated discussion and asks for identification.

He gripped my hand like a vise. “Name’s Tucker Shealy. I own a few hundred acres near here.”

I nodded, seeking an ally. “You affiliated with that marvelous barbecue place in Batesburg-Leesville?” The two small towns had grown together over time and become one municipality. Everyone within a fifty-mile radius knew of Shealy’s Thursday specials. Vinegar or mustard based barbecue, fried or barbecued chicken. Worth skipping out on your grandmother’s cooking.

“A second cousin,” he replied fast as a bullet, as if he’d answered the question a dozen times too many. 

 Truth is, in my South, family is never NOT an issue. 

 It ain’t all good.

There’s good and bad family, too. Might be old family, new family, married family, someone else’s family. But in the South, family usually comes up in the conversation. At least in thought when characters analyze each other.

In Lowcountry Bribe, Slade approached the brothers Jesse and Ren Rawlings in Chapter One. Regarding Ren, she thinks, “He was tall but chose not to appear so, his stoop making him shorter than Jesse. Rumor was he’d been conceived via some form of incest. I fought to hide my pity.”

Then, when taking account of Jesse, she thinks, “A man to discuss the weather and commodity prices with, and admire for taking care of his brother.”

But the part that helps demonstrate her own family comes across in the description of alcohol. “To this day I drank bourbon thanks to my daddy. The occasional taste for wine came from Mom. My mood dictated which I preferred, which often meant a can of beer just to be me.”

Don’t forget family. It’s opportunity.

I write mysteries. I’m amazed how family is not an issue in many mysteries. If it’s touched upon, it’s under someone’s breath or through a dry mention of being related. What a waste of material! Truth is, in my South, family is never NOT an issue. Whether writing about historical, romantic, scifi, fantasy, literary, mystery or children’s fiction, family IS a point somewhere in the telling. Through the sorting of second cousins, aunts, step-brothers, great-grandmothers and parents, we can give new meaning to characters since we all know that family, good and bad, molds us.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 4 of How to Write Southern.

This week, you’re enjoying a seven-day discussion of How to Write Southern. Yesterday was Part 1 – Dialect. Today is metaphors and similes. Remember. . . this is not an I’m-Southern-and-you’re-not post. It’s more of how to pay attention to locale, culture and voice to pull off your story’s geographic specialty.

Watch the metaphors and similes.

In the South, especially the rural South, we were raised on stories. We can be late to work and turn it into a tall tale to last until lunch. However, what’s unique is the fact we make up our own metaphors and similes as we go. After all, we’re storytellers from birth. Why use a cliche when an original version sounds so much better?

If I say, “The bigger the hair, the closer to God,” does that not paint a picture about the woman in question?

In Carolina Slade’s second mystery, Slade’s best friend Savvy tells her, “Hon, you’re gooder than grits,” when Slade tells a white lie on her friend’s behalf. Look at how those few words spray a variety of thoughts through your head about Savvy’s feelings, upbringing, and loyalty.

What’s the difference between a metaphor and a simile?

Daily Writing Tips is my favorite daily dose of grammar and writing style. Founded by some pretty sharp writers, editors, and linguists, it puts writing rules in memorable layman’s terms.

A simile is a metaphor, but not all metaphors are similes. Per Daily Writing Tips: Some metaphors are apt. Some are not. The conscientious writer strives to come up with fresh metaphors. Metaphors used too often are called cliches.

Metaphor: In a literary sense metaphor transfers the sense or aspects of one word to another.

Simile: A type of metaphor in which the comparison is made with the use of the word like or its equivalent

 Bananas, Bingo Cards, & Toilet Paper – Using metaphors to define character

Carolina Slade is known for her metaphors, which is a strong part of her character. Many readers have responded about her sayings. These figures of speech take a moment to conjure, but once you nail one, it paints the most wonderful pictures for your reader. (**note that metaphor in that sentence?)

When speaking about filing for divorce and breaking the news to her mother, she says, “I felt like the bruised banana in the bunch — still edible but not as pretty as the rest.”

When the antagonist, Jesse Rawlings, comes on to her in her office during a meeting being recorded by the agents, she thinks, “After seeing the ease at which the farmer could spin a tale, I realized I’d been played like a bingo card . . . by both the agents and Jesse.”

And during a particular frustrating moment, she professes, “This investigation is wearing me thinner than cheap toilet paper.”

 Metaphors can tax your creative genius, because only the cliches roll off your tongue.

A common fault of writing, however, is to mix metaphors. An example might be: “This gig is as simple as falling off a piece of cake,” thus confusing “simple as pie” and “piece of cake.” While you might not envision yourself mixing metaphors, one day it’ll happen. Actually, you might mix a metaphor on purpose to tell a joke, make a point of ignorance, or show someone’s flustered moment. Just recognized it as such.

Metaphors can tax your creative genius, because only the cliches roll off your tongue. The great turns of phrase take deep thought. I quit counting the times I stopped writing, ran into the den and told my husband to mute the television. “I need a metaphor. Slade has something special to say.” We then spin all sorts of wild and crazy comparisons of items, actions and description until we find one that snaps in place and clicks.

 Metaphors take a moment to conjure, but once you nail one, it paints the most wonderful, memorable pictures for your reader.

Received this email from a Lowcountry Bribe reader, and she made me stop and think.

I’ve been writing several books for a few related series and struggle with wanting to accurately portray my southern roots without bringing obvious attention to it.  I cringe at nearly every movie I’ve seen, because they portray “Southerners” as slow, not knowing proper grammar, or talking as slaves spoke fifty years ago – it’s the lifestyle that moves at a slower pace, not the Southern people in general. We say our words with feeling, not with cotton in our mouths; we make contractions wherever they seem logical, but we speak English as properly as any other part of the country; and our language has evolved with time.  Attempts in literature can sometimes be more accurate, but can be annoying to readers who aren’t familiar with the sounds, rhythm, and pacing of the southern language(s).  Kudos to you for doing a  pretty damned good job.  I’m going to have to go back through your book and dissect just how it is you achieved this – in dialogue, in setting, in character development – and how you did it so indirectly.  Thanks for giving me a good example to use as a guide. If you have a “Hope’s Notes” version of “cultural guidelines” for writing character and social environment/setting that sum it all up without my dissection of your (fabulously entertaining, by the way) book, I’m sure a lot of writers would be appreciative.

Her comments gave me pause. Did I even try hard or was this Southern thing natural for me? Did I just write what I knew or did I make changes to give the dialogue authenticity? So I thought hard and came up with a few ideas, and I think they apply to most dialects and geographic regions when we write. However I, my dear, focused on the South that Carolina Slade and I love so very much.

I stared with one post, then it grew. Ideas kept popping up to the surface. Then they became too many to cover in one blog post. So I’ve put together a series for every day this week. 

What I hope you don’t do is take this as an effort to compare the South to the North, Northwest, Midwest, Southwest, or anywhere else. It’s my take on incorporating authentic culture into a story, and without much maneuvering, you can use these thoughts to work on your story wherever you are, wherever your characters live.

Hope you enjoy it!

Dialect rationing is a sleight of hand effort that takes little thought on your part as the author, but it carries a powerful wallop for the reader.

Writing Dialect

All born and reared Southerners have accents. I not only can recognize a South Caroline accent but can usually tell what part of the state you’re from. In a book, however, that’s difficult to depict, and in most cases, that much detail isn’t needed to perpetuate the story. Use a light hand in showing intellectual differences, cultural opposites, or strong/weak personalities. It doesn’t take much.

In Lowcountry Bribe, Jesse is a high-school educated farmer and poses the most challenging in terms of showing through dialogue. He lives in serious country on a farm with hogs.

(Jesse) “Listen,” he said, with a face like stone. “I ain’t jokin’.”

(Slade) “I’m not joking, either, Jesse. I’d hate to see you lose your place  because you don’t pay your bill. What would Ren do?”

Slade uses proper English. Now, in reality, she might have said ain’t, to be on Jesse’s level and communicate better. Someone educated will force the use of ain’t, but someone less educated will use it as proper grammar. The simple difference between “ain’t jokin’” and “I’m not joking” speaks volumes. Again, it’s a slight of hand effort that takes little thought on your part as the author, but it carries a powerful wallop for the reader.

Doesn’t Everybody Say Y’all?

Take y’all, for instance. Sure, we say y’all down here, but write y’all into dialogue every time one person greets another, and you might start seeing y’all’s all over the place if you used them realistically. Additionally, too many y’all’s from your educated characters, and you start to lose their intellectual bearing. That’s why the occasional sprinkle is all you need. You might even consider using y’all only when the person is thrown into a rustic situation, or exposed to lesser educated characters, or talking with family where guards are let down. Just be aware of when and how you use such flavorful words, so that they have value.

Southerners can read non-Southerners trying to write Southern. There’s a huge difference between Southern comfort, redneck, trash, good old boy, and gentile, and I’m sure I missed a few others. Like any part of the world, we have degrees of culture. Here, in the dialect, you get to subtly denote the variety without stereotyping. You just have to do it so the reader can’t readily tell what you’re doing. It just works.

He said I could strip away the tags in my dialogue and could still tell which character was speaking.

When Dialect Speaks Instead of Tags

In Book Two of The Carolina Slade Series, a character has an ethnic sense about him, with a Gullah history but an educated upbringing. He speaks without contractions. I had a member of one of my critique groups comment on my use of dialect, as well as selective non-use of it. He said I could strip away the tags in my dialogue and could still tell which character was speaking. One of the biggest compliments of my writing life. That’s what you want. . . identifying dialogue so that you don’t need support devices when your characters start chattering away.

Dialect and accents are heavier in real life, but in writing, you only drop hints about it, or the reader’s eye trips on the crazy spellings and hidden meanings in abbreviated or unique wording. Write it verbatim at first, if you like, then read it aloud. I guarantee you will find it difficult to do without verbally stumbling. Like salt in a recipe, a little dialect goes a long way, and too much ruins the stew.

Like salt in a recipe, a little dialect goes a long way, and too much ruins the stew.