The spoken words: how they came to be

Cecilia Woloch and I pulled into the alley behind the unmarked building where a sign directed us to a reserved parking spot. We were escorted into the studio via a back door. Inside, producer/owner Mark Holden, director Jessica Kaye, and the recording engineer assembled like a happy family, greeting us warmly.

We’d arrived at The Invisible Studios in West Hollywood.

There had been so many early-on book decisions. Most recently: to audio or not to audio? And then: which studio, location, recording method (punch and roll, or free roll)? Who would read, how much time would it require? And, oh yes, what about the cost?

Many authors I’d spoken with had chosen to create audiobooks by forwarding their manuscript to a recording company, choosing a narrator online from a vast selection of professional voice actors, and then receiving the finished (or nearly finished) audio product. Often, this is a quicker and more economical approach: professional narrators on the whole can record a book faster, with fewer errors, and with minimal overhead.

But this was not what I wanted; "Fly" was a poetic love story, and I wanted it read, if at all possible, by Cecilia--esteemed poet, mentor, and now dear friend.

It wasn’t until Cecilia and I worked through the manuscript together that I realized just how many foreign words had found their way into the text. From grandfatherly endearments, to musical tempo dynamics, to the damning words from a German personnel official, to even a quoted passage from Dante’s Inferno. They were popping up everywhere! Cecilia handled it all masterfully, though Paul—the one responsible for the lively spouting of Dante near the end of the book—thoughtfully provided a slow recording of the verse. To help out. Just in case.

Listening to Cecilia’s live, impassioned read; witnessing the palpable emotion on the crew’s faces as they followed along; to be referred to, respectfully, as the author—it was honestly exhilarating, an affirmation I imagine every writer hopes for. There was laughter, too, and when we wrapped up on the second day, no one wanted to leave.

Lynda had had her own small recording studio where she’d worn all the hats: producer, artistic collaborator, director, engineer, coach. These people were her people. They said, often, during our time together in the studio: they wished they’d known her.

When one of the engineers later approached and took my hand, it was Lynda standing there, smiling, when he emphatically said, “Such an exceptional book, an extraordinary love story....”