Tag Archives: Recording

‘Troll Valley’: recording done

Tonight, BIG NEWS!

Deeply… underwhelming… big news.

(By the way, do kids today realize that “underwhelming” wasn’t always a word? I first saw it used in the Pogo comic strip, back in the 1960s, I think. It was funny because “overwhelming” had never (that I know of) been paired with “underwhelming” before. “Overwhelming” was one of those words that had no commonly used obverse form, just as we still never talk about anyone being “gruntled.”)

What I mean to say is, I finished recording my novel, Troll Valley, this morning. To mark the occasion, I decided to film myself “in studio,” for the benefit of future literary historians.

I apologize for the quality of the video. The old HP laptop I use for recording doesn’t have much of a camera.

But you’ll note that the sound is good. That’s the quality of sound you’ll be getting with my fully artisanal audiobook.

I need to give the whole thing a listen-through again, though, just to be sure it’s right. I should be able to do at least two chapters of that a day, so it ought to take a couple weeks.

Then, it will take as long as it takes for me to jump through the hoops of converting files for Audible, and uploading. (Phil has already modified the book cover for me, for which I’m most grateful.)

But it’s coming. It can’t be too long now.

You may now return to your scheduled weekend.

Of the recording of many books there is no end…

Tonight, for no good reason I can think of, I intend to tell you about the process of book narration recording. Is this of interest to anyone at all? I have no idea. Being dull has never stopped me before.

The first step, of course, is to set up my little makeshift studio in my closet doorway, facing out. The hanging clothes are at my back, so very little sound gets reflected from that side, and my mike is set to record only from the front. So unless a truck downshifts in the street out front, there’s probably not much noise to interfere with the ethereal music of my voice.

I have a little desk, and on it set my laptop (with the Audacity recording app opened), and my Kindle (convenient for reading from; no pages to turn). In front of me hangs my microphone on its boom, and attached to the microphone are my headphones. I also keep an insulated cup of green tea close by for refreshment and throat lubrication.

The Audacity app is free, but surprisingly sophisticated. (I wonder how they support themselves.) It shows you a screen, and as you begin recording, a graphic of the sound pattern appears in a ribbon running from left to right.

Of course, the reading never goes smoothly. You flub a word. You add a word that’s not there. You burp. Such problems must be dealt with in some manner.

There are two different ways of dealing with a reading mistake. Some narrators swear by the continuous method – you just clap your hands or click a clicker, leaving a very noticeable spike in the sound graphic, and then re-read the piece you got wrong and carry on. Later, in the editing stage, you will delete the bad stuff, and all that’s left is the good stuff, and Bob’s your uncle.

I don’t use that method, though. I use what they call “punch and roll.” There’s a built-in trick in Audacity, where you can stop the recording, click on a spot just before your mistake, hit the proper keystroke combination, and the software automatically starts playing back through your earphones about five seconds previous to the spot you clicked. You listen and along and then jump right in at the spot you marked, recording the right words (you hope), then proceed from there. Terrifying to learn (for me), but pretty slick once you get the hang of it.

Proponents of the continuous method claim that punch and roll takes you out of the rhythm and the spirit of the thing. But that’s not my experience. I can maintain my rhythm and spirit just fine.

Anyway, you keep on this way until you finish reading the chapter. Each chapter gets its own separate file.

Then comes the editing phase (for me, that usually ends up happening the following day). You go back to the beginning and listen to your work through the headphones, following along with the text in the book. More often than you expect, you find you’ve read something wrong and weren’t aware of it. In my case, getting caught up in the spirit of the moment is usually the cause.) Or maybe you made a mouth click, or breathed heavily. Such things must be cleaned up, and Audacity has ways of doing that, electronic forms of cutting and pasting.

Finally, there’s mastering. Another cause for fear and trembling, before I got comfortable with it. There’s a downloadable plug-in called ACX Check that tests your recording for three parameters: Peak volume, Volume floor, and RMS. Peak and floor are pretty self-explanatory. RMS will be explained below. Amazon Audible wants consistency in the products it publishes. So ACX Check predictably launches you on a moderately challenging series of corrections, and corrections of corrections.

Historically, the first ACX Check tells me that my Peak volume is too high. So I run the whole thing through a utility called Normalization. This utility sort of averages the highs and lows all through. Once that’s done, I run the ACX Check again, and the Peak volume will be fine. But (almost always) the RMS is now too low. (RMS is a sort of average of all the peaks and troughs. I can never remember what all the initials stand for, but the M is for “mean.”) So then I have to run the Amplify utility (there’s a formula for how to set that), and I get the RMS all tidy again. But now the Peak volume is once again too high, every single time. So (with a little prayer and fasting) I run a utility called Limiter, and in most cases all the numbers are now okay.

At that point, at least technically, the recording is acceptable for Amazon Audible. No doubt there are subjective criteria that could still disqualify the file, but from a robot’s point of view, that’s how it works.

I finished Chapter V of Troll Valley today. 20% done.

[Addendum: One hour later: On thinking it over, I realize the sequence of operations is incorrect. But I’m too tired to fix it.]

Books dropped and words picked up

I had hoped to have a book review for you tonight, but I soured suddenly on the thing I was reading and gave it up. I’m not sure why I acquired it in the first place – the Amazon synopsis must have been misleading. It turned out to be a woman’s book, though the author was a man. It concerned a woman who gets involved with a couple who prove to have dark secrets. Seemed to be constructed on the basic Gothic pattern – a big old Victorian house was involved. But the story gave strong indications of wandering into Fifty Shades of Grey territory, and my interest dropped like one of my pills, or pens, or whatever other items I find myself dropping all the time in my dotage.

But I had a good morning. My audio book recording brought me – faster than I expected – to the end of Chapter 2 of Troll Valley. I found time to edit and master it too. The whole exercise was a lot less stressful than it has been up to now, so I felt no end of a professional narrator.

I think the final product will lack the polish that many audiobooks boast, but I believe I’m delivering a good performance. I was actually moved today, reading Otto Iverson’s testimony of faith – if you remember that scene in the old stone church. My voice caught a bit, but I did not stop the recording to do it over. The catch was in character.

I have learned very little wisdom in my long life, but I’ve gotten fairly comfortable with the difficult truths of incrementalism and perseverance – you do a little every day and it mounts up in the end. Don’t look at how little you’ve done today – watch how the work accumulates over time.

The present is Prologue

Getty Images, licensed under Unsplash + license.

It may be spring at last now. We’ve hovered around the freezing point, up and down, for several weeks. Just warm enough to make me check what coat to put on every time I’ve gone outside. Last Saturday I attended a wedding. Rain had been forecast, but it turned out bright – though the temperatures were cool. I was able to wear my new suit. Survived a few conversations with human beings, which required some restorative napping afterward.

On Monday I finally did it (I think). I sat down in my makeshift recording studio and recorded the Prologue to Troll Valley. I don’t know how long it’s been since certain friends provided me with a decent mike and earphones, plus peripherals, and I began trying to master the dark art of recording audiobooks. I have taken it slowly, and for longer or shorter periods I’ve had to set it aside for other projects. I’m not sure what accounts most for my slow progress – my fear of technology or my innate ineptitude with anything that involves working with my hands. Perhaps a mixture of the two.

So I’ve taken the cautious route. I have not pushed myself far on any particular day. Practiced until I felt uncomfortable, then packed it up for tomorrow. Tiny increments. Dr. Jordan Peterson tells us that if you’re afraid to tackle something, you break it down into small portions. If you can’t clean your room yet, clean out a drawer. Dust a shelf. Just do something every day.

He says that if you do this, your confidence will grow as you accumulate little successes. Each success results in a small shot of dopamine, and you come to look forward to those little shots, and so you can accomplish more and more – enjoying it more and more all the while.

That doesn’t really seem to work for me. My dopamine delivery system appears to have been suppressed, or overwhelmed by one or more of my myriad phobias.

So I’ve been proceeding purely on stubbornness, buttressed by a guilty fear of disappointing the people who’ve helped me out.

And on Monday I recorded that Prologue. And in spite of all my misgivings, I could not but admit that it was adequate. Adequate is enough at this point. Artificial Intelligence does adequate work, and it’s taking over the book narration business. Adequate will do.

And I actually felt that little spurt of dopamine. It must have been a massive infusion at the source, to muscle its way through all my inhibitions. But I felt a genuine sensation of gratification, of having passed a milestone, of scoring a goal.

My progress will continue to be slow. Chapter 1 is long, and I’m taking it in little pieces.

But I’m actually producing a recording.

That’s something. Something.

I’m pretty sure Dr. Peterson would agree.