I’ll likely post more about this later, but I’m typing this entry on my phone at an inhuman time of night so that I may get it out of the way while I’ve still a shred of nerve to do so.
I was published recently. In quite a non-traditional way, mind you, but published none the less.
There’s a podcast that I’ve listened to occasionally; it specializes in the audio production of original fiction, falling in the category of strange or macabre or sci-fi.
Some time ago, I submitted a slightly altered version of Unlike Our Waking Lives to the production manager many months ago. A long time passed, and I assumed they’d decided to pass on it, until a month or so ago when I received a call from the producer, asking permission to give my contact info to the reader.
A month later, here is my story – professionally produced and heard by thousands.
So why am I not elated?
The primary sensation I experienced once I started listening to the piece was one of terrifying exposure. That story was a markedly personal piece, and some parts were painful to hear read out loud. I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard a story of mine read out loud like that. Unnerving it is!
The bigger issue is my distaste for the reader’s interpretation of the piece. Nothing against him personally; he seems fine enough as a person, but I find the facet I fight against hardest in my writing is pretentiousness. The reader’s style strikes me as over-the-top much of the time.
So there you have it folks. My thumbs can take no more of this blog-by-phone business tonight, so without further ado, I give you “Unlike Our Waking Lives”, the audio version.
(You can also download the podcast directly from iTunes. Just search “Smoke and Mirrors”)