Your story takes place in northern Scotland and you want to add a touch of authenticity to the characters. Why not write the dialogue in the vernacular? There’s nothing like a thick Scottish brogue to set the atmosphere. The problem with using the vernacular in dialogue (writing in the phonetics of the language common to the time, place or group), is that it may become cumbersome and, if translated into an audiobook, impossible to understand. Here’s an example taken from Marian Keith’s 1928 novel, The Silver Maple:

“Ye’re richt, Donald,” said Store Thompson, at length, “what wi’ the whusky an’ the wild goin’s on, this place is jist in a bad state. But it’s thae Eerish. Man,” he continued emphatically, “thae Eerish, whether Catholic or Protestant, are jist a menace to the country, aye, jist yon, jist a menace, like!” 

Pretty intense, wouldn’t you agree? Can you understand the dialogue in the passage? Did it slow your reading? It may not be difficult to understand when reading it, but imagine an audiobook trying to articulate the dialogue. A blind friend tried listening to this book and was quite amused by the verbiage that was spouted where mere vernacular dialogue was supposed to be. In other words (no pun intended), it was quite incomprehensible.

When writing my Middle-Grade series, The Piccadilly Street Series, some of the main characters were Brownies, little people, from Scotland. I wanted to give them a bit of Scottish brogue, but not too much. Here’s a sample from the first book in the series, Mrs. Murray’s Ghost (Tell-Tale Publishing, 2018):

Mary’s eyes almost popped out of her sockets. “Oh my!” she gasped. “If you really are real and you’re a boy…”

“It’s a man, I am actually,” Brùnaidh interrupted. “Well, a Brownie man, and an old one at that.” He paused briefly to allow his words to sink in. “Very old, in fact,” he added quickly, more in the volume of a mutter than an actual comment.

“How old?” Mary asked.

“I’m not rightly knowing,” Brùnaidh answered honestly, a placid look stretching across his face. “We Brownies don’t measure time as you.”

“But you are a boy,” Mary started again, then stopped to correct herself when she noticed the little Brownie grimace as if he took offense. “I mean a man. And a strange man. And you talk funny. And what’s Brownie?”

“Sure and there’s a lot of questions, lass. I’m a Brownie,” Brùnaidh explained.  “I’m not a what. I’m a Brownie. And so is King Peallaidh. He lives here, too, in this very house. Brownies are little people, but we are rather special little people. You see, we’re magical.”

I avoided intense use of the vernacular, using some commonly recognized Scottish words, like lass, and changing the order of the words so it has the lilting tone of the Scottish tongue. Taking this simpler manner of presenting the vernacular, Marian Keith’s novel, her passage might be easier to follow and still maintain the Scottish lilt by re-writing it as follows (of course, there are many ways this could be re-written):

“Aye, you might be right, Donald,” said Store Thompson, at length, “what with the whisky an’ the wild going’s on, be this place in a bad state. But it’s them Irish,” he continued emphatically, “them Irish, be they Catholic or Protestant, they be a menace to the country. Aye, be they a menace, like!” 

Easier to read? Definitely. And no chance of losing the reader’s attention while trying to recreate the aura of all things Scottish. 

Now, vernacular can also refer to writing dialogue in a foreign language. For example, if the characters are French, some dialogue in French might give it the appropriate flavor. Here’s an example from my historical fiction/ fantasy novel, Queen Mary’s Daughter (Clean Reads, 2018, winner of the N.N. Light Book Award):

“Oui Madam.”

“Non, non.”

Scream. Gasps.

Poussez! Poussez!”

“Non, non.” Sobbing. “It is my baby! Do not take my baby away from me! Please! S’il vous plait!” Sobbing. “Non, non.”

All I used were easily recognizable French words like oui, non and s’il vous plait. The use of poussez was recognizable in its sound and the context in which it was used. In real life, this entire dialogue would have been in French, as the Royal Court of Mary Queen of Scots predominantly spoke French. However, using too much French would require English translations (in brackets) and this would become cumbersome for the reader. I also used Latin in some of the dialogue passages in this book, but sparingly and only when an instant translation didn’t hinder the story’s progress. Just some thoughts to consider when using a foreign language in an English story.

I have, in some stories, attempted to use foreign languages I’m not familiar with, like German. In this case, whilst still using it sparingly, I made sure I had a native German read the passage to check for accuracy in both use and spelling.

Another vernacular tactic is to write dialogue with the accent appropriate to the setting or to reveal the nationality of the character. If one of your characters is from the far north of Scotland and has a very strong Scottish accent, you may want to write the dialogue to reveal that accent. But, again, remember that too much vernacular can, and often does, lose the reader, especially if it’s difficult and cumbersome to follow. It might be better to describe the accent rather than to duplicate it.

Something else that’s difficult to replicate is a character’s defect in speaking – in other words, a character who stammers or stutters. These character “warts” are some type of blemish, whether physically, psychologically, or emotionally. Warts help keep the characters straight in the reader’s mind. A wart that can be easily overdone is stammering or stuttering. Here is an example: 

“Then I w-won’t come over t-tomorrow,” Stacy said. “L-life is hard enough w-without you g-giving me s-such a h-hard time.”

Once again, don’t overdo the stammering/stuttering. Add just enough to give the reader the idea of the character’s malady. Too much will make the reading difficult. Just remember to sp-spell the entire first sound of the st-stutter before the h-hyphen, and be careful not to over-spell it, meaning, don’t spell what you don’t want pronounced. After all, s-stutter is not quite the same as st-stutter or stu-stutter, and p-pronounced is n-not the s-same as pr-pronounced or pro-pronounced (or, more realistically, p-pron-n-nounced).

The important thing to remember with using the vernacular is: don’t overdo it. Sometimes it’s enough to merely say:

She spoke with a strong Scottish accent.

The ladies spoke only in French.

The boy had difficulty saying a complete sentence without stammering.

To write something that’s too cumbersome to read. However, from a writer’s perspective, it can be fun, or at least entertaining, to add a little bit of vernacular spice.