You can now buy the audio version of Writing Out Loud.

If you ask me, the best way to enjoy my new book is to hear it…out loud. So now’s your chance: The audio version of “Writing Out Loud” is now available at Amazon.com. And Audible.com, too

I would have liked to have narrated the audio book myself, but I’m not good at reading Braille and talking at the same time. Eyebrows up! Nancy Sayre at Golden Alley Press invited Mike and me to help audition potential narrators. We used an online service called ACX, which matches publishers with readers and audio producers. We auditioned several narrators and ultimately identified Robin Sitten as just the right voice. And—thanks to Golden Alley Press—you can win a free audio book! Just email bethfinke@goldenalleypress.com and enter WOL Freebie in the subject line. Golden Alley Press will choose the winner from the first 50 entries.

Audio book narrators have been an integral part of my life since I lost my sight in 1985. For all those years, I’ve wondered how it all works, and this audio book gave me the opportunity to ask the questions. Robin generously agreed to be interviewed for the Safe & Sound blog, and she provided so many enlightening answers to my questions that we decided to run the interview in two parts.

So here goes with Part I of the interview:

What got you into reading audio books?

I started recording textbooks for Learning Ally (Recording for the Blind and Dyslexic) in 1995, just because I enjoy the challenge of reading out loud! I had always wanted to do it, but my work schedule didn’t allow it. I had to be out of work before I could give RFB&D the two hours per week they asked for.

Robin Sitten sittin’ at the microphone.

Can you give me a brief explanation about how this ACX thing works? How did you find out about it?

ACX is a kind of matching service for authors and narrators, and is part of Audible.com. Authors (or publishers) post books they would like recorded, and narrators audition for them. I found it through an Internet search.

What was it about Writing Out loud that motivated you to audition to read it?

I am drawn to non-fiction, memoirs, straightforward narrative. There is a lower expectation of “performance,” compared to novels.  Plus, I believe that fewer people audition for them!

How many books do you audition for?

When I am ready for a new project, I may audition for between 5 and 10 titles a week. In many ways, it’s a game of odds. Not quite a lottery system, but you certainly can’t win if you don’t play.

How did you go about recording Writing Out Loud—how do you prep, how do you keep your voice strong? Do you read the book through before you begin narrating? Do you do a trial run — read a single chapter say, and then adjust?

I tend to read “cold;” that is, I don’t pre-read the pages, or practice at all. I may give the manuscript the once-over when I first get it, to look out for unusual pronunciations, or formats. Nancy Sayre and I got on the phone and worked through a bunch of questions that I had. Some publishers are available to do this; some don’t. Nancy let me know you are something of a fast talker, and shared a YouTube interview of you. Not that I was trying to do an impression of you – just that the voice should seem like yours, and it did help to get a sense of your rhythms.

I don’t do much prep otherwise. I just charge right in. Sometimes I will record a couple of takes on a particular line, and decide later which I like. One author I worked with had a detailed outline of his characters, pronunciation of their names, approx ages, etc. But that’s not typical

I only record about an hour at a time. I can do a two-hour stretch, but not every night. So how long I read depends on my schedule and the contract deadlines.

I guess it’s just experience that keeps the voice strong. But a little fennel tea is nice in the winter, too.

What do you find is the most difficult thing about recording books?

A lot of times, the manuscript is just not in good shape. Not proofread, for example, or structured with natural breaks. A lot of ACX is self-published material, and an author doesn’t necessarily have editorial experience, or advanced writing skills. They know in their head how the story sounds to them. Some phrases that are fine in print are difficult to speak. I wouldn’t expect them to know that.

The other hard part is scheduling. This is not my full-time job, and I don’t have a sound proof studio. Both of those factors limit when and where I can record, and getting it all in can be hard.

We’ve posted before about Steven and Nancy, our friends who generously volunteered to adopt Hanni when she retired from her duties as my guide dog. Steven and Nancy and Hanni had a great several years together–Hanni lived to 17!  But when she died earlier this year, Hanni left a big void. Nancy has posted here before, and here she is with some happy news. 

When we lost Hanni in May, I was so sad. I cried more for her than I had for many people, which makes me a bit uncomfortable to admit, but there you have it. Could still cry about her if prompted, 6 months later.

That’s Doug, 90 lbs. of yellow love, showing it for Steven.

We tried to look at the upside. We can travel and not have to worry. No more frigid trips outside late at night. However, those things didn’t really seem to help the fact that life seemed emptier without her.

We started to look at shelters and rescue sites. We need a dog who likes other dogs so when Whitney or any of our other family dogs come to visit, there isn’t a problem. We also have family cats. And then there are kids. I didn’t want a dog that can’t be around kids or an elderly person. So finding an adult dog who is dog, cat and kid friendly….that is more of a challenge.

We looked at a yellow lab mix but somehow it just didn’t click. I got in the car afterwords and bawled “We’ll never have another Hanni.” So, our new rule came to be: no yellow labs or goldens to remind us of our girl. Too much pressure to be compared to her.

I found eight or so dogs that looked like possible fits over a few months. I filled out the adoption forms for Great Danes and German Shepherd mixes and Heinz 57 varieties. We had house visits and interviews and my friends vouched for us…..but they all would get adopted before we could get approved and get to the shelter, which is good news for all of them. I had many matchmakers trying to make me a match. I figured something would work out eventually.

Then we made an appointment at the Pet Project in Marseilles, Illinois, a shelter close to my home town of Peru. There are some great people there who are really devoted to finding the right home for the right dog. We would look at a few pooches, including Wayne, a black lab. We got there and Wayne had just walked out the door with his new family.

But who just walked in the door? Doug.  We had seen him on the website a week ago and knew he wouldn’t last a second. Sure enough, he went out the door like a shot, but was brought back for being too big, or some reason we don’t know.

Doug’s five years old, and he’s a big boy, 90 pounds and a major league face licker with a sweet disposition. Good with dogs, cats, and people of all ages. And, he looks like the love child of Hanni, Whitney and Harper, yellow lab to the core. But, it didn’t matter.

We clicked, birds sang and there was no question that he was going home with us.

A couple weeks ago Beth and I sat at the bar at a little place across the street called Kasey’s. It’s one of a handful of Hackney’s surrogates we patronize—on nights when it’s not too crowded (and loud).

A catchy song was playing—can’t remember if it was the jukebox or the bartender’s playlist—I think the latter. It has a really hooky, funky, bluesy beat and a whiff of Motown. I initially thought the vocalist was female but I learned later it’s actually a guy with a solid falsetto, alternating with a female backup. I also learned the name of the band was Portugal. the Man, out of Portland, Oregon. I also learned the title: “Feel It Still.”

As we listened, Beth and I tried to make out the lyrics, particularly the first words of the chorus. I couldn’t make anything of it. Beth came up with her final guess:

Ooh, ooh, I’m a devil with a kickstand.

I knew most assuredly this was wrong. If you’ve been around Beth long enough, you know she has a way with words. Many ways, actually. She’s a great writer, as you know. But what you might not know is that, in conversation, she has a Norm Crosby way of mixing up familiar sayings and famous people’s names. She’ll say something like, “Patti Capone is a fantastic Broadway performer.” It’ll be just close enough that it’ll take a few seconds and you get this little pain in your head and you say, “Wait a minute, you mean…”. And then you stop, but it’s so close to the real thing that you have to squint and mentally dig and finally, “Patti LuPone, right?”

“Yeah, her,” Beth would say, impatiently, suggesting that I should know what she meant.

Anyway, back to “Feel it Still”—the actual lyric is:

Ooh, ooh I’m a rebel just for kicks, now

You can check out a live performance here.

I kinda like devil with a kickstand better, and it’s fun to imagine the music video that lyric would’ve produced. In that vein, I always go all Weird Al Yankovic when I hear Santana’s “Black Magic Woman”—I reflexively sing, She’s a black Magic Marker, and then build inane lyrics around it. I just can’t help myself.

In fairness to Beth, I think lots of us routinely get song lyrics comically wrong. The first time I saw the title “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans” in print, without ever having heard the song, I assumed it was about a beauty pageant winner.

Back in high school, my best friend Jimmy had a special propensity for getting lyrics wrong and singing them out loud, enthusiastically, as we drove around with the car radio on.

Hence, during Elton John’s hay days of radio hits, you could hear Jimmy belting out, “On the bridge, on the bridge, oh the bridge is back.”

This week I asked writers in my memoir classes to put together 500-word essays about the best thing they ever bought, borrowed or stole. Essays came back about a yoyo, a wedding dress, college educations, a maternity dress, a black walnut dining table, condos with lake views, a black leather jacket, artwork, a stylish mmauve jacket from Paris and more — I’ll leave it to you to guess which of those were stolen, borrowed or bought!

By far the one thing most of them wrote about was…their first car. This one, called “The People’s Car,” was especially fun, and the writer has generously agreed to let us publish it here.

by Sharon Kramer

The VW Beetle was unmistakable..

One of the best things I ever purchased was a 1962 cherry red Volkswagen Beetle. You may remember, it had a motor in the back, was air-cooled instead of air conditioned (whatever that means) and was said to be water tight. The myth was that it could survive being completely submerged in a lake.

The important part was what it didn’t have. Except for minimal fenders, it hardly had any chrome, and not even a whisper of a tail or fins. It didn’t have a powerful v8 engine and could get 32 to 40 miles per gallon of gas — which was only 30 cents, by the way. In place of angles there were curves. It didn’t look like an American car.

I had just graduated college, was still living at home and had a job with the Chicago Public Schools for what I thought was a significant amount of money: $5,250 a year. With my great job, and no rent to pay, I decided I could afford a car. I didn’t know anyone who owned a Beetle, but I thought it was cute. It looked like it was fun to drive. And, it was.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized I’d made several major decisions in life because of the cute factor.

I never thought owning a Beetle was part of a movement or the beginning of the 60’s rebellion but soon realized it was more than a way to get from one place to another. When I passed another Beetle on the road, there was waving, shouting and horn blowing. I was part of something, I just wasn’t sure what.

My parents were opposed to the car. “How could you buy a car that was made in Germany? Don’t you know that the Volkswagen was Hitler’s idea?” At age 22, I regarded their opposition to anything as a signal for me to fall totally in love with someone or something. I named my car Schroder. All Volkswagen Beatles had names and for some reason mine was a “he.”

Driving a Beetle wasn’t exactly like moving to San Francisco or joining a commune, but it did make a statement. Driving Schroder said that I was against the war in Viet Nam. It said I was a non-conformist and against capitalist values. It said that I really wanted to own a new age bookstore instead of working for the Chicago Public School System.

I don’t know what became of that car. I think I had it for three or four years and then I got married and traded it in for a car that would do better in a below-zero Minnesota winter and had a heater that worked.

I always regretted selling Schroder as I seemed to be exchanging my youth and optimism for a conventional life of husband, children and working as a teacher. Saying goodbye to Schroder was the first of many struggles I would have between passion and convenience. It marked the end of thinking things were so simple that instead of standing up for what you believed, you could let a car say it all.

When I assigned “Spirits” as a writing prompt over the Halloween weekend, I expected the writers in my memoir classes to come back with stories of living in houses that were haunted, going to psychics, reading Tarot Cards, seeing ghosts or visits from the “other side.” Instead, I heard essays about team spirit, kindred spirits, vodka, Christmas spirit, you name it. This one, called “My Spirits Restored,” was particularly moving, and the writer has generously agreed to let us publish it here.

by Maggy Fouché

In 1994, three years after we got married, my husband and I became homeowners. Claude and I had acquired a collection of artworks while we were both single, and our new home transformed into an art gallery. Paintings and carvings of all sizes and colors filled every room in the house. Fortunately, our taste in art was similar, with only a few exceptions. Pieces I didn’t like ended up in the unfinished basement. Throughout our life together we acquired more art from travels abroad and visits to local art fairs and galleries.

Djenane and her husband Jacob with their Aunty Maggy

When Claude died, I had to sell my house. The paintings became a casualty of the real estate agent’s dictates. “Put all that away,” she said. “Prospective homebuyers don’t want to see any of your personal effects.”

Everything got wrapped in brown paper and put in the basement, and I prepared to transition from a three-bedroom house to something smaller. Trips to Goodwill and the city’s recycling center on Goose Island became a routine part of my life, and the art collection became just another thing to get rid of.

Unfortunately, my attempts to sell art on line went nowhere. My home’s antiseptic makeover worked, though, and the house was sold.

On moving day all the paintings got put in various boxes simply labeled “Art.” Without knowing which box contained the pieces I really liked, I put them all into the storage unit in my new apartment complex. I’d dispose of them later.

My opportunity came just a few months ago when my niece Djenane was getting married. “Aunty Maggy,” she said one day, “Jacob and I need some art to decorate our new home. I love the place, but the walls are so bare!” I gave her one of the paintings I had tried to sell on Craigslist. She was thrilled.

So was I.

I told her I had more pieces and she could come and take whatever she wanted. To prepare for her visit, I spent a weekend unpacking all those boxes marked”Art.” Removing the brown paper wrapping and seeing my favorite pictures emerge was like being reunited with old friends. Something inside me was being restored.

Now Maggy looks at her favorite paintings every day.

I’d discarded much more than I thought in those four years of purging, and now I found something I didn’t even know I’d lost. I separated the pictures I wanted to keep and showed Djenane the rest. She took two paintings and four carvings – Hurray! A major dent in the inventory.

Now my focus was on reuniting with my old friends and making up for the years of neglect. I took advantage of a 60% off frame sale from Michael’s to get two of them properly mounted and framed. Then I called my handyman to come help me hang them in the living room.

Now, as I read, write, or just sit in my new art gallery, I feel their warm embrace. “Hi, Maggy!” the paintings seem to say. “It’s good to be back.”