Is this Creole language just a spoken language?

The use of the creole language makes the reading difficult, inaccessible, slows down the pace, etc etc.
These words, these expressions, often nail ugly, nagging, little doubts into my writing, whenever I hear, see or think about them.
How do we as Caribbean writers, especially ones who are determined not only to preserve but to promote our creole language – those of us who are bold enough to brave this language which many will agree is only meant to be a spoken language – how do we brave it in our stories, our writing? Going boldly, where many others dare not even consider this challenge.
In response to Lisa Allen-Agostine’s article on navigating the use of Caribbean creole language in our writing, (www.guardian.co.tt/columnist/2014-04-22/sounding-creole-grenada-days-12), Pattrini commented,  “ If you were to read aloud a passage in creole (or dialect, as it is also called), that would be fine. But hearing/speaking as opposed to reading creole… there is a difference between the two…” And I have to agree to a certain extent. I found this example online, supposedly written by a Grenadian. “Da other day when a went by Sears a had so much problem with the bay who was helping me. first a try to get bay to help me and he juss keep runnin around de place like he stupid. Den when he finally came and a ack him to show me some o de frig and them de wuz acking like he en even no wah goin on.” Hmm. Do you get it?
I then googled what West Indian writers say about using the creole language, and came across this post by Barbadian writer Shakirah Bourne shared an excerpt from Trainspotting by Scottish Author, Ivrine Welsh, (read it here – http://getwritebds.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/trainspotting.jpg) Here is what she commented, “Now…I want you to understand this is the novel ‘that became the cult sensations of Britain. Trainspotting is the novel that first launched Irvine Welsh’s spectacular career—an authentic, unrelenting, and strangely exhilarating episodic group portrait of blasted lives.’ My point – and I always get there – is how the ramgeorge people can love, read and accept the language in this book, and then complain and cry down bout lil Caribbean dialect in novels, saying nuhbody won’t be able to understand it?” Read the complete post here –http://getwrite.com/2013/06/29/on-dialect-how-caribbean-people-supposed-tuh-talk-in-a-book-eh/

Yes still, as determined as I am, these little insecurities nibble at me continuously, and at times, painfully!
In my manuscript Force Ripe (soon to be published), I am adamant about using our Grenadian creole, despite all the warnings from literary agents and editors about making my book inaccessible to a wider audience outside of our Caribbean Diaspora. I have used this language, not only as dialect in dialogue, but also within the text, to demonstrate the nuances of the language, especially with personal and possessive pronouns. For example, “Me and me brother always home for weself.” I have also doubled up on adverbs and adjectives for emphasis. For example, “I grip Daddy neck tight tight.” Or “The damn boy head big big!” And to add to that, I have written the manuscript in the voice and point of view of a child, which changes as she grows and develops. This story is set in the north of the island, and some of us will know that, not only does the dialect vary from the north to the south, but so does the accent. Which is why, for authenticity sake, the use of dialect/creole is indispensable. For me, putting standard English on the narrator’s tongue, or most of the characters’ from the same setting, is like putting fillet steak or lamb chops in oil down. It just does not work.
Now I am halfway through my manuscript, editing and rewriting in the present tense because I realize this creole language works more effectively in this tense, especially as we tend to just leave out the past tense altogether. And so ‘Mammy goes …’, becomes ‘Mammy does go …’. ‘He went...’ might be ‘He did go…’ but we will say ‘He de go…’. Not easy! This reminds me of a little conversation I had with an American man at St George’s University, one evening (while attending an intensive editing workshop with our writer in residence, Trinidadian, Lisa Allen Agostini), about our creole language. He sang me a little chorus which he had composed called “Ah go go.” And I can’t remember the words now, but it went like this…ah go go and play jouvert. Ah go go and cook me oil down..etc etc. In an American accent! Can you imagine! And I am almost certain I recently came across this double use of the verb go in Half of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi. Now I wish I had marked the page, so I could reference it.
Anyway, this is all to say that this damn language is not easy to write, but if we as Caribbean Writers, if I as a Grenadian writer don’t write it, who will! And even if this means that my audience will be limited to the Caribbean diaspora, then I am cool with that. It is a conscious choice I am making. I am also challenging myself to hook and pull my readers into the story, so the reading, the understanding of the language will flow.
And this is what spurs me on, keeps me motivated…. injects me with renewed determination to follow through. This is what makes me put that oil down on hold; cover my preparations, make sure I attire myself appropriately, and venture down the road to that little shop, braving the rumsons (rum drinkers) gathered under the mango tree, raw, unguarded expletives, stand by the door, while the well admired shopkeeper deal with her customers – all of whose names she knows, some scribbled somewhere in her little credit book, until payday. This is why I wait patiently, stamping away flies and slapping mosquitoes, to order my pound of pigtails and chicken back and neck, even though that lovely piece of fillet steak and those thick chunks of chicken breast sit in the freezer.