Colorful Language by Guest Author Donis Casey

This week, please welcome guest author Donis Casey, author of ten Alafair Tucker Mysteries from Poisoned Pen Press. Her award-winning historical mystery series, featuring the sleuthing mother of ten children who will do anything, legal or not, for her kids, is set in Oklahoma during the booming 1910s. While researching her own genealogy, Donis discovered so many ripping tales of murder, dastardly deeds, and general mayhem that she said to herself, “Donis, you should write a series.” Donis is a former teacher, academic librarian, and entrepreneur who lives in Tempe, AZ. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Goodreads.

____________________________________

Since I write a series set in early 20th century Oklahoma, I'm very aware of dialect when I write. And often worried about it, too. The characters in the Alafair Tucker series do in fact use what may be considered cliche terms and phrases. The reason is that this is really the way my grandparents talked, all of whom were in their teens and twenties in the 1910s. In truth, I don’t write exactly like they talked, because it would not be understandable if I did. Oklahoma is what linguists call a "transitional state." My northern Oklahoma-born husband's accent is different from my eastern Oklahoma accent.

Writing dialect is dangerous business, any as any writer knows. It's really hard not to sound ridiculous, and so most teachers warn students away from it. Now that most people no longer use such a strong dialect in their daily speech, I find that I miss it. To me it sounds like my warm and loving childhood, and that's why I try to give a flavor of it in my writing.

My grandparents—and parents—had the most wonderful way of putting things. One grandma was born and raised in Kentucky and the others in Arkansas at the turn of the 20th century. Their language  and vocabulary was absolutely Elizabethan. When Grandma went to garden over yonder, she put on her gauntlets and hunkered down to tend her "yarbs."

Now, I, of course, was desperate to get rid of my Oklahoma accent when I was young. My accent is not as strong as my parents', nor was theirs as strong as their parents. My nieces and nephews in their thirties sound more standard yet. But after years living away from my native place, I saw on a news program an interview with two young women from my home town of Tulsa. They sounded like Valley girls. I was shocked. What happened to that beautiful twang? That poetic way with words? That delightful Scotch-Irish combination of humor and fatalism? 

I grew up among people whose goal was to curse in the most imaginative language possible, which can really increase your vocabulary if you apply yourself. My mother was particularly good at coming up with ways to express disapproval using only G-rated words. One of her scariest curses was "I heap coals of fire upon him." The words themselves weren't as frightening as her throaty growl and the curl of her lip over her eyetooth. My father had been a Marine, and knew words that I don't understand to this day, but he had a house full of little daughters and controlled his language heroically.  He often had the pee-waddin' scared out of him and wondered what in the cat-hair was going on.

I've been known to use less than pristine epithets myself and find them extremely useful in times of stress. In fact, I am reminded of a dear friend of mine whom I have known since my salad days at the University of Oklahoma. At the time, he was an extraordinarily innocent boy who on frequent occasions would curl your ears with the most astoundingly filthy curses known to man. Because of his sweet face and gentle nature, the effect of this language was much less shocking than it was hilarious, and ever since, for good or ill, I've had quite an affection for dirty words.

I love a true evocation of language. I’ve always been fascinated by words and the mind-pictures they paint. I’m sure I come by it honestly. I've written stories since I could hold a pencil in my fist. Perhaps it's because my parents read to me from the cradle, or because I come from such a long line of tale-tellers. One of my grandmothers used to keep us fascinated for hours on end with her stories of life in the Kentucky mountains. Toward the end of my grandmother's life, one of my sisters asked her how much of what she had told us was true and she replied, "Well...some of it." So the truth is I didn't decide to become a writer. I'll quote the Achilles character in the movie "Troy"..."I didn't choose this life. I was born and this is what I am."

____________________________________

About Forty Dead Men

George Washington Tucker–a young veteran of the fighting in France during World War I, returns home to the family farm in Oklahoma. Overjoyed, his family gives him space to ponder what to do with his life. Only his tiger mother, Alafair, senses that all is not well with her elder son. One morning when she tidies up his quarters, she finds two cartridge boxes under his pillow, boxes that once contained twenty “dead men” each. All the bullets are missing, save one. When Gee Dub becomes the number one suspect in a murder,  his mother Alafair, who recognizes that not all wounds are physical, will travel any distance and go to any lengths to keep him out of prison. And that one bullet is now missing as well.

NOTE: Forty Dead Men has just been named a finalist in the Fiction category for the Oklahoma Book Award from the Oklahoma State Library's Center for the Book.