Enjoy the silence
Just a note to say I have nothing to say.
Seriously, I have to catch up on some stuff in my life outside of writing, so I’m going easy on the blogging this next week. I will make sure to post on Tuesday, though. No cause to worry, no cause to celebrate … I’m just trying to do some delayed spring cleaning, yardwork, etc.
I leave you with this link for your amusement:
Try translating a paragraph of your WIP to Cockney, Jive, or Redneck! Post the results in the comment trail if you’re so inclined.
Here’s a bit of GOTH, translated to Swedish Chef (If you don’t remember the Muppet Show, this won’t be funny).
The dogs reached her first, pressing their wet, sniffing noses to her face, hands, belly.
“Shoo, Farthing!” Lucy whispered. “Sixpence! Off!” Blasted hounds. How was a girl supposed to play dead with one dog nuzzling her neck and another gnawing her boot?
“Lucy!” Henry hauled her to her feet. He performed a quick survey of her head and limbs. Finding her unharmed, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake that rattled her teeth. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Lucy was tempted to conveniently swoon, but she and Henry both knew she wasn’t the swooning sort.
Henry shook her again. “Of all the damn fool things to do!You could have been killed!”
“Not likely. The lot of you haven’t hit a thing all day.”
And here is the dialectized version:
Zee dugs reeched her furst, presseeng zeeur vet, sneeffffing nuses tu her fece-a, hunds, belly. Bork bork bork!
“Shuu, Fertheeng!” Loocy vheespered. Bork bork bork! “Seexpence-a! Ooffff!” Blested huoonds. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Hoo ves a gurl sooppused tu pley deed veet oone-a dug noozzleeng her neck und unuzeer gneveeng her buut?
“Loocy!” Henry hooled her tu her feet. Um de hur de hur de hur. He-a perffurmed a qooeeck soorfey ooff her heed und leembs. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Feending her unhermed, he-a grebbed her by zee shuoolders und gefe-a her a sheke-a thet rettled her teet. “Vhet zee defeel du yuoo theenk yuoo’re-a dueeng?”
Loocy ves tempted tu cunfeneeently svuun, boot she-a und Henry but knoo she-a vesn’t zee svuuneeng surt. Um de hur de hur de hur.
Henry shuuk her egeeen. Bork bork bork! “Ooff ell zee demn fuul theengs tu du! Yuoo cuoold hefe-a beee keelled!”
“Nut leekely. Bork bork bork! Zee lut ooff yuoo hefee’t heet a theeng ell dey. Bork bork bork!”
Happy weekend, everyone!
What a hoot! I put Suzie’s House from this week through and got this:
Suzieâ€™s House 21: Wal? Whut in tarnation Ju Decide, Drew?
Filed unner: Blogged Fickshun, Suzie’s House, fickshun — aliceaudrey @ 11:02 pm
Th’ wo’ld returned t’no’mal as Miran’a looked up fum her Jimmah Choo shoes.Â She stood in Drewâ€™s bedroom watchin’ Drew an’ Suzie stare at one t’other wif their hearts in their eyes.Â Lef’ t’their own devices they’d give etch other up an’ destroy Miran’aâ€™s happy home outta noble se’f-sacrifice.
I honestly didn’t know there were things beyond writing. 🙂 Have fun cleaning! Hmmm, how would I say that in Swedish Chef?
Here ya go:
“Hewwo, Gwen, uh-hah-hah-hah. ” Chwistian’s voice wafted thwough the aiw in swow motion, dwaped its famiwiaw cawess awound hew shouwdews, seeped thwough hew skin and tied a noose awound hew heawt. He spoke and thiwteen yeaws feww away. It onwy took a heawtbeat to way bawe a twuf as unwewenting as the ocean that stwetched endwesswy awound them. She was his. Oh, dat scwewy wabbit! Awways had been, uh-hah-hah-hah. Dewe wasn’t a damn thing she couwd do about it. Gwen towd hewsewf it didn’t mattew. It couwdn’t mattew. She was hewe to win the one-miwwion dowwaw pwize. Besides, she’d wuined hew chances wif Chwistian wong ago, and this time awound she had someone ewse’s heawt to pwotect. She didn’t dawe wet hew guawd down
Bwa! Can’t wait to try this–the excerpts are hilarious. =)
I kind of like the dogs gnawing at Lucy’s butt, rather than her boot.
Here’s PMA gone redneck:
“Ah hope yo’ doesn’t feel as terrible as yo’ look,” Olivia said when Isabella awoke th’ next mo’nin’.
Izzie turned her haid t’glare at her sister who had pulled a chair up beside th’ bed, cuss it all t’ tarnation. She grimaced at th’ bright light streamin’ in through th’ windows – windows thet’d, were it not fo’ her sister, still be covahed by heavy drapes.
“C’dn’t yo’ does thet-” She gestured t’th’ embroidery in Olivia’s lap. “-somewhar else?”
“Ah c’d,” her sister agreed, “but it’d be difficult fo’ yo’ t’talk t’me eff’n ah were in t’other room, dawgone it.”
“On account o’ ah’s not plannin’ on talkin’ t’yo’, thar sh’dn’t be a problem,” Isabella said through clenched teeth.
“Ah pow’ful reckon yo’ sh’d reconsider,” Olivia said, bendin’ down t’rummage through her sewin’ baxet.
I had to go with Elmer. I couldn’t resist. LOL!
“You do know, Miss Phewps, what they say about men finding it difficuwt to ignowe a chawwenge. I wouwd not have thought it of you but I bewieve you awe weading me a mewwy chase.” Dat smiwe again, uh-hah-hah-hah. Jackie stopped in hew twacks. Oh, dat scwewy wabbit! She had had mowe than enough. She gentwy set down the wibbons making evewy effowt to wemain cawm. She gwacefuwwy covewed the distance to Devon in few steps and stopped onwy when he took a step back. “You think youwsewf so cwevew. A witty saying pwoves nothing.” Jackie poked Devon in the chest wif one weww manicuwed fingew. “I have twied to be nice. I’ve twied being diwect and even insuwting and yet you insist on puwsuing me.” Anothew poke. “What do I have to do to pwove to you I am not youw next conqwest?” Too caught up in hew angew to be cautious, she found hewsewf standing cwose enough to feew Devon’s bweathe on hew face. His scent was eawthy, mascuwine and vewy potent. Hew heawt was wacing and she was afwaid it was no wongew due to iwwitation, uh-hah-hah-hah. She shouwd back up but she couwdn’t move. She wicked hew wips and saw his eyes wowew to hew mouth. De beww on the fwont doow wang jawwing hew back to weawity. She stepped back immediatewy and wooked up at Devon, uh-hah-hah-hah. What she saw was that bwoody smiwe and faiwed to fight the shivew that went up hew spine.
I had to play because of a tidbit I wrote today:
Julian sprawled in his carriage, a heap of disbelief and shame. True to Hennings’s word, the Italian courtesan had been mouth-wateringly beautiful. But her hair had been too blonde. Her eyes too brown. Her flesh too olive. And her bosom…well, it defied gravity.
Julian sprawled in his carriage, some heap uh disbelief and shame. True t’Hennin’s’s wo’d, de Italian courtesan had been moud-boozein’ly fine. But ha’ fro had been too blonde. Ha’ eyes too brown. ‘S coo’, bro. Ha’ flesh too olive. And ha’ bosom…well, it defied gravity. Slap mah fro!
I will treasure this always. Thank you, Tessa.
OMG, those are hilarious!!
Chwistian in wuv – Bwa.
Thanks for sharing, everyone.