Irish Accent In Writing Novels & Stories

I just stared at her, and then she stared back. Then she smirked at me. “Am I about to be reprimanded like I’m your secretary?” she asked in a very mocking tone. My mouth turned down. “What was that?” I asked. “Where were you going?” She shrugged, one-shouldered. “I was just riding. Is that not allowed among the Irish?” she still sounded mocking, imitating my accent when she said Irish, but instead of annoying me, I wanted to laugh. My wife is such an interesting woman.

The Irish coast rose out of the fog like an old god remembering its shape. Gray cliffs, sharp as knives. Grass so green it looked cruel after weeks of smoke and steel. The ferry moaned against the dock, ropes snapping taut as men shouted in a language that sounded older than sin. Silver stood at the rail, hood drawn, the cold cutting straight through her bones. Freedom didn’t feel like she thought it would. It felt like exile with better scenery.

“Sorry. How did I not notice the accent?” “What’s with the guys with accents, Iris? A friend of mine had a thing with a guy with an accent; Brit, Aussie, Italian, French, and she didn’t like an Angeleno dude.” “Ouch, really? I find them sexy, too?” I rose a brow. He shook his head in amusement. “See that? You’re a natural entertainer.” “I quite doubt my ability to entertain people, but I’m glad I could help.” “Honestly, I wanted you here to learn.”

“I mean, I guess I do like to pronounce the Rs in my words unlike you Boston folk.” “That's true. We like to leave them out. But you have that little twang in your voice, and I bet you say things like hey y'all.” “And I bet you say things like caa instead of car.” “You got me there. And we say paak instead of park, haba instead of harbor. We just don't have time for all those R's.” Jace gives me a big smirk and nods. “What did you do back home?” “I worked on my parents’ horse farm.”

She punched the air letting me know what the hell she just said. "Gob?" I asked her, confused about that part. "Ya know." She pointed to her mouth. I made an o face, nodding in understanding. "There's still a few Irish phrases in me that I forget you lot know nothing about." She shook her head disapprovingly of my uncultured self. "Sorry?" I made an unsure face, she just laughed. "Eh, it's no bodge." She smiled and I just stared at her quizzically again. "No bother." She explained.

I replied except my voice cracked on the last part. He flung open the curtain to see me sitting on the floor of the shower curled into myself. “Cad atá cearr, a d’ardaigh mo Ghael beag?” he said with alarm clear in his voice and he had slipped from English to Irish in language. He asked again in English as he scooped me up into his arms. “What's wrong my little Irish rose?” he whispered.

Jeremy laughed. "My mother was Irish and you know Xander is American. I grew knowing both languages so I always keep on shifting. Mostly, to strangers on the phone I use Irish. You don't know when the police would decide to claim to 'have a word'." He explained, his eyes fixed on the road. Oh, the sexy bilingual guy did know he didn't appear on our database. Bloody clever.

O’Grady joined in, his handsome fae earnest, as he rubbed his dark jaw, a day‘s stubble on it. Bianca felt her insides clench. She loved it when he kissed her, with his stubbled cheek rasping her skin. Swallowing crossly, she concentrated on what they were saying, frowning at the brothers with an intense scowl. “A mother of our children does not get to be treated…” began the Irishman pompously. Bianca held up an imperative hand and scoffed, “Spare me the corny speech, Irish.” And then, her eyes searching one face and then the other, she said,

I said and that was technically true but also heavily edited and he seemed to enjoy that “And your accent slips sometimes which is interesting because people from your claimed village usually have a rounder tone and you flatten words instead and that usually happens in northern territories where the Blue Moon once held power so it’s fascinating to hear that from someone who claims no connection whatsoever” he said while flipping to a blank sheet like he was about to write something down but he didn’t write anything because he just smiled at the page as if the page insulted him I said travel does that to a person and I met many people and accents blend and shift and I worked under a cook who

He looked straight into my eyes and my heart skipped a beat. It felt like a had a whole swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I felt so drawn to him for some reason and found myself beginning to reach out to him. He got even closer to me and put his head down next to my ear. In a thick Irish accent he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you love for a very long time, why haven’t you come to me sooner?” Before I could answer him something behind me caught his attention. “They are coming love and you need to run but don’t worry I'll find you again.”