The other day I was walking along an L.A. street. I’d flown to Burbank to record the audiobook of Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World, and I’d rented an AirBnB two miles from the studio. It was the closest one I could find, and I figured the hour roundtrip walk would offset sitting inside all day long.
I’d advocated for months to narrate the book myself. The audio publisher almost always prefers to hire professional voice actors, but I’d pushed for an exception. I’d recorded Running Home when it came out in 2019; plus it seemed weird to have someone else read my personal story. Would they know the right inflections? How would they capture the true feeling of it?
I’d gotten my way and now I was nervous. Should I have been resting my voice? Re-reading my book and rehearsing? Checking the pronounciation of hard words? I’d done none of these things. I’d spent two years writing and revising Brief Flashings. Though I’d been away from the story for months, I still remembered the cadence and rhythm of every sentence, not just in my brain, but also in my body.
Walking took my mind off worrying. There was so much to look at. Mostly cars. Whizzing along the 101, cars rolling out of car washes, still wet, vintage models in mint condition everywhere you looked; a maroon Mustang stopped at a read light; a cherry red Austin Marten parked outside an auto body. I guess cars can run for a long time in a place without winter or rust.
I passed a row of small cottages that looked like elf houses, the ceilings barely tall enough to stand up in. An older gentleman lay on a lawn chair in his front yard, sunbathing. Ordinary moments on a Tuesday morning, unfolding. Always, everywhere this is happening. I’d brought my new instant camera with me and stopped now and then to snap a picture. I was thinking of my dad. He’d always been on the lookout for moments like this that on the surface were nothing but special but also were everything.
It made me think of the Zen idea that when you’re completely present, there are no problems. Right in the moment, there is nothing to worry about. The audiobook narration could go off the rails but, pointing my camera through a chainlink overpass, everything was fine. It sounds trite, like a cheesy New Age scam, but if you think about it, really think about it, you can see that it is so. I walked the whole way to the studio in this state of alertness, and when I got there, I was no longer nervous.
The studio was a nondescript, white brick building between a kids dentist and a mason’s union. The producer was young whose name I promptly forgot. He had scruffy facial hair and seemed cool in a laconic L.A. way. I bet he rode a one-speed to work. It was going to be OK.
The studio was a tiny cubbyhole with padded soundproofing panels and the script on an iPad beside a mic. I tried to think of some questions to buy myself more time, but the producer, ____ , was acting so casual I just went with it.
And we’re rolling…..
Recording an audio book, it turns out, is a lot like Zen practice. You have to read the exact line you’re on. If you think about the next word or sentence, or worse, sneak a peak ahead, you’ll definitely mess up. Then the producer will say, let’s take that again, and the tape will roll backwards to your last clean line, and you’ll roll forward again where you left off. You have to leave ego behind and inhabit the story moment by moment, trusting that it will carry you along. Just like writing.
Also you have to sit very still or the mic will pick up rustling. Oops, the producer will say, a little chair noise, there. Let’s take that one over. Or, gently, little rustle there. You have to hold your hands in your lap without fidgeting and remember to breathe so you don’t run out of air on long sentences or alliterations, which you secretly loved when you wrote them but curse a little now.
Is it normal for your head to feel like it’s the heaviest thing on the planet? I asked ____ through my headphones. Like it’s hard to hold it up so still?
Little chuckle.
When we paused for a break, ____ said, sounding vaguely impressed, You’re not making many mistakes. We’re making great progress. I thought to myself, yeah and I can keep going, watch me. Lunch, though, was a peril. Coming back to the mic was like skiing on a full stomach after lunch: for 20 minutes, you suck, and you live in terror of the producer breaking in to say little stomach noise there. Still, eat or bonk. Audio book narration is an endurance sport.
Walking home that afternoon, my eyeballs were so tired they felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets. But I was on a high. I loved my book! I had forgotten how much I loved it! Reading it out loud was helping me remember. It was so good and it didn’t seem braggardly to say so. I was living in the story again, only now I could see it as its own entity—separate from me and so bright with flashings!
I could see them everywhere: a baby-blue T-bird in someone’s driveway, a couple pushing a dog in a stroller. The world was so beautiful and full of wonder. Elated, I texted Steve. Great session today. Can’t talk too much, resting my voice for tomorrow! Love Celine Dion.
When I narrated Running Home at an adobe in Santa Fe, I’d emerge from the recording room during break to find a wood fire crackling in the kiva fireplace and the producer dabbing tears from his eyes. ____ was poker-faced behind his facial hair, like he did this so often, he didn’t even listen to the story, just the words and lines. Nice job, he might say. Once he even said, Fantastic!, and I almost died of happiness.
The love I felt for Flashings began to rub off on me. I was a natural! Maybe I’d be offered a professional narration gig! I was going to win a prize! Did I have a future in Hollywood? I told Steve about _____. He’s not saying much, I said. It’s like he’s respecting my process, like he doesn’t want to make me break character.
Mmmhmm, Steve said. Okay, sure, honey
The next day and the day after that, I walked two miles along the same street. I looked for the sunbathing man and the blue Mercedes. Holiday decorations were going up. At the studio ___ opened the door, in the same hoody and, smiling, said the same thing. Hey, laconically, morning. It’s like groundhog day, I said, and we both laughed.
I read my favorite chapters, the one about Steve and his Incredible Hulk chia pet that fascinated and revolted me, that weirdly seemed to embody the deepest teachings of impermanence, and going to Nepal. How much we laughed together! Thank God, we were still laughing. I narrated Steve’s jokes and tried to get the timing right, like he does so effortlessly, but probably didn’t. I could hear myself smiling in my voice. I read the teachings of a 12th-century Zen master in a deep, serious intonation, and dialogue in a southern accent and had to do three takes, self-conscious. I should have practiced that voice! I put my head down on the table for a moment and closed my eyes to keep my eyeballs from popping out. It was going to be OK, better than OK.
Between the worst case scenario and the best was this moment, right here, now. Just this, where everything was exactly right and there were no problems. Where it was OK to love with your whole being, without ego, the thing you’d made. I’d been lucky enough to live inside Brief Flashings for a little while again, but like everything, like the flashings themselves and LA cars that never die, it wasn’t really over, it would just keep rolling.
Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World is coming to audiobook soon, available early in the New Year! If you haven’t picked up a print copy, please ask your local bookstore to order one. They make a great gift for anyone who’s interested in being more awake, reading about chia pets, Nepal, and the zen of running and love. Thank you in advance for supporting independent human writers like me and local bookstores this holiday season.
Glowing reader reviews keep rolling in, and I read and am touched by all of them. If you’re so inclined, please drop me a note to tell me what it means to you, request your library order a copy, or leave a review on Goodreads and the other book site you know the one.
“It’s an exceptional book. I love how you braided Zen and running and life. Your writing is exquisite, and I savored every detail and description.”
Gratitude to you all!
Do you want to see more flashings in your life? Join me for Desert Flow Camp in Big Bend Texas, Feb 12-16. Are you feeling a little out of sorts, stuck or in limbo rn? Totally get it. I know from my own life that the stuckness and ebbs are normal, temporary & an important part of the flow. The best way out and back to yourself and your wild mind is time spent moving, unplugged, through in nature. We’ll write, run, hike and play our way into creative flow state. These simple daily practices we do together will change your life. As Annie Dillard writes, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” Come be part of the magic.
Rooms are filling fast! Use the QR code below for all the details and to register. This is a coed camp. All-inclusive retreat rates start at $2750 for five nights at the exquisite Willow House.
so hope you’ll join us!
happy Thanksgiving,
katie xo