The Unexpected Gift of an Acceptance

When I had an essay accepted by Writing Class Radio, I was thrilled. This was my first audio/podcast publication.

“How will it feel to listen to someone else read your story?” my daughter asked.

I thought about it. “Weird,” I replied. My memoir essays are deeply personal. I can’t imagine hearing my words in someone else’s voice. Turns out, I needn’t have worried. I would record my own essay.

“Just record it on your phone, and email the file,” their instructions said, once we’d finished the back and forth of editing. But my phone is old. It doesn’t have email. Cell service on my island is spotty, but it's enough for me. A new phone was never a priority. This would not be easy.

I reached out to a friend with a recording studio in her home, and she offered to help. In fact, she did everything. I stood in front of the pop filter on her microphone, within the cave-like isolation screen, and I told the story of my mom’s stay in the hospital. I told about how it almost ended horribly, but how it didn’t.

And that afternoon in the studio became the greatest gift of this essay.

Caitlin offered me a small window into a world I know nothing about. Standing in their studio, amidst complicated mixing boards, a massive multi-computer setup, with cables snaking around the room, and musical instruments everywhere. I didn’t understand what anything does, but Caitlin’s comfort in her space was obvious. There is something magical in being in someone else’s space, with someone who knows their craft intimately, and cares deeply, and wants to share what they love.

And for that I am grateful.

You can hear my essay here.

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Finding my Lane….

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Rewriting the Story and the Stickiness of Narrative