Having worked with D.A. Baden on the publication of her novel, Habitat Man, a hugely enjoyable romantic romp which expertly incorporates pragmatic and thought-provoking eco-solutions thanks to Habitat Man’s new business venture, I invited her to tell us a little about her experiences making the audiobook.
The Decision
If you’re reading this then, like me, you’ve probably heard people talking about audio being a growing market. That may be, but personally I’d been put off by the cost and also by the worry that people listen to audiobooks while doing other things. What if, just at a crucial moment in a plot, the listener is distracted by someone tooting their car while driving or walking to work, or by the kettle boiling as they make tea, and then they miss a crucial set-up or payoff, or key moment?
At the book launch for Habitat Man, I changed my mind. A few people had offered to read out their favourite extracts, and I said yes to them all, assuming several would drop out, but all ten turned up prepared to read. I worried it would be too much, but they chose different sections and they all had their own way of reading and I found myself laughing at bits I hadn’t realised were funny, and tensing up on parts I hadn’t realised were exciting. Hearing my words in other people’s mouths, subject to their interpretations, was an eye-opener. That was my first realisation that writing a book wasn’t just about my voice. It was about what the reader brought to it as well – it’s a two-way thing.
Choices
The next day I did some online research and decided on Audible. I’d listened to a great talk by Findaway Voices who were moving into the field, but at the time they were still months away from being able to offer what Audible could offer – a platform where you can find narrators, set up contracts and sell your book all in one place. I decided I wanted an audio book right now (such is my temperament) so I signed on the dotted line and submitted a script for narrators to read. I settled on a payment per finished hour rather than royalty payments. I don’t know if that is the Holy Grail for narrators, but I had more auditions than I knew what to do with. Several were easy to exclude as they had American accents or overly posh English accents, but when narrowed down to all the possibles, I still had too many to choose from. In hindsight, possibly I could have offered a lower price – I offered $100–$200 per finished hour, but bearing in mind my perfectionism, I had an inkling they’d earn it!
My book has several male and female voices, so the final list comprised those who could manage a variety of voices – my friends all contributed their views and we narrowed down to three, and in the meantime five more narrators had submitted auditions. I didn’t want to waste narrators’ time, but it seemed I couldn’t turn it off until I’d made a firm decision. I felt really rushed, then a last audition came in, and that was it – his voice was warm caramel in my ear, and he managed all the characters perfectly, except my comic sidekick – a northern lesbian called Jo. But to be fair, none of the others had quite captured her to my satisfaction either. His name was Matt Coles, I signed him up and we were off.
There was lots I still didn’t know about what we could expect from each other – although I admit I didn’t have time to read through the copious instructions Audible provides – but Matt was an experienced narrator and was happy to talk me through how it worked. I sent him the script, he sent me recordings chapter by chapter, I agreed them or sent them back to amend, then when we’re all happy he does all the production bit, and when it’s done I pay. It’s a good deal for the writer – the narrator gets nothing until the writer is satisfied.
Listening
To hear the words I’d written come to life in the voice of a professional narrator blew me away. However, it made me acutely aware of where my writing wasn’t as polished as it could have been and repetitions of words jumped out at me when listening that I hadn’t noticed when reading it through. Matt was endlessly patient when I took the opportunity to rewrite such sections (I re-issued a slightly more polished version of the book after the process). Matt had made it clear that any mistakes or misinterpretations he made were down to him to rectify, but I had no right to ask him to redo bits just because I now heard how I could make them better. He showed an enormous amount of goodwill in doing this without complaint.
Sometimes it was a chore listening to each chapter several times. It was hard to find time, but I’d set him a deadline as part of the contract, so I needed to get back to him with my approval or amendments in reasonable time. I hadn’t realised that a tight deadline for him meant hard work for me too, but I was keen for it to be ready by Christmas, and that we didn’t quite make it was entirely my fault.
So every dog walk or potter around the house was accompanied by my listening on headphones. I suspect I was a bit of a nightmare, because wherever Matt had changed a section, because of a revision I’d requested, when I heard it again I could always hear the join – it would jump out at me as being incredibly obvious and jarring. I recruited my partner to listen – and he couldn’t hear it. ‘How can you not hear it?’ I’d shriek. ‘When he says, “bat box” it’s in a completely different sound!’ He’d shake his head and I’d put it down to his poor hearing. I’d ask my son’s girlfriend – she noticed nothing. I felt like the boy in the Emperor’s New Clothes – how can I be the only one that hears it? I asked my son – hard to pin down, but worth it as he’s into music production – he couldn’t hear it either. They explained they were listening to the story, not the sound. I felt terrible, poor Matt having to do bits over and over when no one else can hear the issue. Bad news – I’m a bit mad. Good news – all the highlighted bits I was convinced needed redoing I could just accept. Job done.
So yes, sometimes it was time-consuming and I questioned my sanity but there were sublime moments when it was a joy to hear my story come to life. Have you ever been at a live gig when there’s a band playing and people chatting all around and, if it’s a good band, there’s a moment - a magic moment - when the crowd realise that there’s something worth listening to? A hush falls as they stop their chatter and are swept away by the music. I’ll never forget the first time I felt like that, when there were no errors or clumsy words to jar me out of the story. I stopped what I was doing, my headphones came to life and I was immersed, drawn in by Matt’s narration, the rhythm of the story, human emotion in the quiver of his voice, a tremble that evokes an emotional response in me as a listener in a way the written word can’t quite do. The high pitch of excitement, low drone of misery, wail of grief, soft murmurings of romance, the breathless fury of the fight. I was putty in Matt’s hands. I laughed, then cried, then tensed, then smiled, swept along on a current of seamless storytelling. Utterly absorbed, I realised that I’d sat down and my tea was cold, that 30 minutes had gone by, and for the second time, I felt the magic of audio. I stopped feeling bad for every revision I’d asked of him, and the time I’d taken polishing over and over. ‘This is perfect,’ I texted him. ‘My Magnum opus,’ he responded.
There is a strange intimacy when your words come to life in someone else’s voice. It can be disconcerting or exhilarating at different times. Matt told me he’s very mindful that he’s narrating someone else’s baby, and that they will have their own ideas of how it should sound, which, coming to it fresh, he can only guess at it. He tries not to take it personally when the writer comes back wanting something done differently because he knows they will have heard it one way in their head. It’s true. I knew exactly how each sentence should sound, whether the intonation should go up or down at the end etc. and Matt often said it differently. But sometimes his interpretation would stick and I’d think – yes, that way is better. And you realise this is a partnership in telling a story. A trust builds up and without that trust, it would definitely be more testing. Matt was always prepared to give it his all and honour the process of creating something as good as we possibly could, and for me it was important to let him know I’d pay extra when I was asking him to redo a section when on hearing, I realised it could have been written better.
But readers it is not a perfect world, and although I grew to love the voice of Jo, my hero’s best mate, I wasn’t too surprised when a few of my first listeners fed back to me they didn’t like her voice when I’d recruited them to help choose the audio clip. I wouldn’t change Matt for the world, he’s brought so many of my characters to life, and no other narrator captured Jo either. I’m wondering if there’s merit in the idea of two narrators – one to cover male parts and one to do female parts. But that’s a huge investment in time and money, and I’m uncertain if it would work. In the meantime, a fellow narrator thought the voice was fine. The audio book is only recently released, so I shall wait and see what people think. I grew to love his interpretation of Jo, but often listeners will make their decision in the first chapter. I’d hate for them to stop listening on account of one accent. So we shall see, and if you have a listen to Habitat Man, please do feed back to me what you think.
You can contact me on hello@dabaden.com and to listen to those audio clips
Authors may be interested in the Green Stories writing competitions, led by D.A. Baden. Their mission is to create a cultural body of work that entertains and informs about green solutions, inspires green behaviour and raises awareness of the necessary transformations towards a sustainable economy.
Learn more about the Green Stories writing competition here