hello Lj Hive mind. Come influence me.

So I’m half-way through the first sweep-through of hob an lam.

Some of you have read bits and pieces here and there so you’ll know what I’m talking about when I say the an issue is giving me a problem.

Okay, personally, I LOVE Jek’s an instead of and, and it seems to flow much better. However, a few people have said it’s jarring.

So in the interests of not shooting myself in the foot, I’ve been changing all the ans to ands.

And I hate it. I feel like I’ve lost Jek’s voice.

Now, of course, his voice shouldn’t rely on dialectic quirks, but really, something about the flow is crippled when I use and.

So let’s vote. Alas, I am not speshul enough to have the poll-thingy, but votes in comment will be calculated. 😀 If I’m making something out of nothing, you can tell me that too. I just need direction, please.

Original:

There’s going to be a burning down on Lander’s common.

Burning days don’t come along often, an here on the heap with all of us scrabbling in the lam-filth, well it’s a bit of entertainment.

So I’m cutting through the digs to get to The Scrivver’s Hole, where Oncle will be throwing back a pint, stone dust still in his hair. The Hole is upside, between pawn shops an a butcher’s. I turn down a dirt street, dodge-jumping nilly shit an squeezing between the crowds. Because of the meat-house, the reek of blood an inners almost smothers the sour-porridge smell of the brewery behind the Hole.

Speaking strict, I ain’t allowed in the Hole, but old Lyman never stops me coming in if I’m alone. It’s my pack he won’t put up with.

Revamped to use and:

There’s going to be a burning down on Lander’s common.

Burning days don’t come along often, and here on the heap with all of us scrabbling in the lam-filth, well it’s a bit of entertainment.

So I’m cutting through the digs to get to The Scrivver’s Hole, where Oncle will be throwing back a pint, stone dust still in his hair. The Hole is upside, between pawn shops and a butcher’s. I turn down a dirt street, dodge-jumping nilly shit and squeezing between the crowds. Because of the meat-house, the reek of blood and inners almost smothers the sour-porridge smell of the brewery behind the Hole.

Speaking strict, I ain’t allowed in the Hole, but old Lyman never stops me coming in if I’m alone. It’s my pack he won’t put up with.


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cat_hellisen

I write.