Author Topic: I really shouldn't do this, but...  (Read 234 times)


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I really shouldn't do this, but...
« on: March 28, 2022, 03:17:05 PM »
If you're at a loose end -  and likely to be tempted by the devil - here's a comical little utility called the Dialectizer.  It can be found at

You type or paste in a bit of your work, or perhaps some famous speech or poem, and it offers options for rewriting in various dialects.

I gave it one of the short John and Frances tales from The Station Bar, and asked it to to render my words in 'Redneck'.  I can guarantee you've never heard Frances and Fred The Head, body-less barman extraordinaire, talking like this. Later on, when it's too dark to work outside tidying my shed, I may translate it into Cockney.


Frances took th' bran'y balloon an' sat alone at th' bar, gazin' into th' amber depphs as her han's warmed th' liquid inside an' th' vapours rose. She breathed them in appreeciatively.

Fred felt wo'ried, cuss it all t' tarnation. It was unusual t'see her alone.

"Whar's 'Is Nibs. Yo' haven' fallen out, haf yo'?"

"John-Boy? No he's fine. Busy wif a Kango gun diggin' out th' entrance to th' old fall out shelter unner th' noo house. We let th' builders pour a noo slab fo' th' flore on over ev'rythin'. We kin't haf an outsider doin' it, we're hankerin' t'keep it secret. So John-Boy's taken up th' floreboards, covahed ev'rythin' in mah noo kitchen wif destsheets, an' it'll take a couple of days t'git it all lookin' no'mal agin.

"We is livin' in th' van outside. But th' noise is ho'renjus. So I've jest excaped fo' a spell. It's not as though ah can he'p."

"Thet all?"

Frances shook her haid an' held up one of th' po'table Bost Viewers.

"No. I've been tryin' t'git a sneak preview of whut Th' Bost has in sto'e fo' us in th' next book. Shet mah mouth! He's already scared me witless. But it's blurry, which usually means it's sumpin purdy bad, cuss it all t' tarnation."

"C'd be he's jest undecided, cuss it all t' tarnation." Fred, like most of th' chareeckers, had a layman's unnerstan'in' of how th' Bost Viewers wawked, cuss it all t' tarnation.

"Thet one, undecided? He may change his mind sometimes, but he usually knows exackly whut he be hankerin' t'do wif us. It's probably sumpin ho'rible. ah can feel him diggin' into mah past, fum befo'e th' fust book, fum befo'e ah met John-Boy. Thar's nothin' ah's ashamed of, but I'd prefer some of it t'stay decently in th' past.

"Now ah knows how John-Boy felt when Th' Bost decided t'give him a fambly he'd nevah told me about.

"ah's happy wif th' me ah's now! Fry mah hide!"

She looked aroun'.

"Yo've got a purdy full house tonight. ah's surprised Rhonda hain't come t'arm wrestle th' trimenjus cowgal."

"Mebbe later." Fred was hopeful, ah reckon. He an' Rhonda had a nice li'l racket gwine on bets.

A tall pow'ful figger materialised alongside Frances.

"T'other glass of absinthe, mah Dear Feller." He glanced at Frances an' smiled, cuss it all t' tarnation. "Sumpin fo' yo', Mah Dear?"

She swirled th' bran'y in her glass. "No thanks, ah's fine." She felt he looked mo'e insubstantial than most of t'other patrons, even th' homely demon she was tryin' not t'notice. Eifer his autho' was about to snatch him back into a sto'y o' he was one of th' Wretched Incompletes, th' pore creatures who had nevah pow'ful been finished befo'e bein' supplanted by t'other.

Th' man drank th' absinth' an' shuddered, cuss it all t' tarnation.

"Eff'n yo' hate it thet much," Fred axed, "Whuffo' does yo' keep six packin' it? We haf all known an' a few unknown six packs hyar."

"Absinthe," intoned th' man sententiously, "Makes th' heart grow fonner. ah surmise thet eff'n ah six pack an inelegant surfeit of th' foul stuff mah creato', Ken, may, by proxy, become mo'e fond of me agin an' invite me back into a sto'y."

He lurched away an' slumped mo'osely into a co'ner, whar his aura of pa'pable mizzuy, tempo'arily displaced by his sudden movement foun' him af'er a few seconds of aimless drif'in' an' settled back aroun' him like a dark nimbus.

"Stone me." Fred winked at Frances. "I've heard some excuses fo' bein' a pisshaid, Frances, but thet one's real doozy. Sad thin' is it probably won't wawk eifer."

"Unlikely." Frances agreed, cuss it all t' tarnation. She looked at th' sturdy divah's watch on her slim wrist an' frowned, cuss it all t' tarnation.

"Have ah been hyar thet long already? Better git back an' wawk mah magic wif two burners an' th' li'l stove in th' van, as enny fool kin plainly see. An' eff'n John-Boy reckons he's sittin' at mah table t'eat wif all thet corncrete dest drif'in' off him on over our dinners he's got t'other thunk a-comin'." She finished off her six pack an' moved off wif determinashun.

Fred had see it all befo'e, but it still fascinated him t'watch th' way way peekoolyarrs moved aside t'let th' quietly cornfident li'l dark haired figger pass through th' crowd, cuss it all t' tarnation. He long ponytail swished jest above her hansum li'l bum an' once agin Fed was reminded of a distant time when he'd been mo'e than jest a talkin' haid. Sometimes it hurt, but at least it was a reminner he was, despite all probability, still alive.

"C'ess la vie, Frances."



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Re: I really shouldn't do this, but...
« Reply #1 on: April 06, 2022, 09:43:54 AM »
That is frankly fantastic.
The cool thing about writing what you know is that you can always know more.