This won't take long at all
- Kristan Higgins
- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
Recently, I was asked to make a video of my book recommendations for Audible. Since I love audiobooks, I said, “Heck yeah! No problem!” But of course, nothing in life is easy, is it?
I had to do a brief intro, then recommend five audiobooks I’ve loved. I wrote the copy as requested—just a few sentences per book. Easy enough! Audible will post the recommendations with my picture, but also a video of me talking about those books to post elsewhere.
I figured the whole project would take an hour or so and told McIrish I’d need the house to be quiet. No problemo, he said. Again, mucho problemo, but okay.
I am not a stranger to making videos or appearing on Zoom. I put on makeup, more than usual so I don’t look quite as pasty as I am (thanks, sunscreen!). Then there’s the hair wrangling, a bit more challenging. Wardrobe required ironing a cool shirt and putting on interesting earrings. Could I get away with wearing pajama bottoms? Probably not.
I usually Zoom or film from my lovely office, a large, open, sunny area between the kids’ bedrooms upstairs. There’s a window seat that overlooks our beautiful valley, my famed squishy and luxurious green sofa, and massive bookcases made by my beloved. The American flag from my grandfather’s casket takes pride of place, followed by a copy of each of my books, several writing awards, and McIrish’s far more important Firefighter of the Year award. Lots of family photos, lots of beloved books, little mementos. In other words, the set is gorgeous.
I set up the area, getting rid of the dog toys and child detritus from earlier in the week. Did a test shot, ran downstairs, applied more blush, and went back up to the office. I got the round light thing everyone bought during Covid, tightened the screws and coaxed it into standing up. Then I decided to drag my extremely heavy desk a few feet closer to the bookshelves, which required getting an extension cord for the light. Leaned my phone against a couple of books, taped my script next to the phone. I checked myself on the camera, decided my hair looked weird, floofed it a little. Smiled at myself. Showtime!
I began by talking about how I loved to listen to my father when he told me a story. Figured that was a nice lead-in for a talk about audiobooks. “When I was a kid, I always asked my dad—”
A high-pitched whine split the air. McIrish had forgotten what I was doing and had decided today was the day to make a new table. I sighed, hit stop and texted him. No power tools, please! Doing the Audible thing! The noise ceased.
I started over, standing in front of my glorious bookshelves. “When I was a kid, I always asked my dad—” Did my shirt look weird? It did. Should I try tucking it in? No? Yes. Actually, no. Maybe I wouldn’t look so awkward if I sat. I did, knocking the light off my desk. I put it back. Sat more gently this time. My shirt looked better, but the angle was now too low. I elevated my phone by putting it on The Riverside Shakespeare (I bought that book in college for $400 and knew I’d need it again someday). Still too low. What I needed was a stool. Down to the kitchen, back up with one of the counter stools. Still too low. How about a pillow on top of the stool? Now I looked crooked. How about ditching the plant stand and using the extremely heavy desk again but with the stool now? I dragged the desk across the room once more. Perfect. “When I was a kid, I always asked my dad—”
“Mao! Mao! Maooooo!”
This is the rusty and very loud cry of our ancient and bossy cat, Huckleberry. Since he is 129 years old, we’ve recently begun feeding him tuna, so his self feeder of kibble is no longer acceptable. I sighed, went down cellar and gave him the tuna. I was now sweating. Back up the two flights of stairs, back into the chair. Hit the red button once more.
“When I was a kid—Buttercup, how did you get in?” Buttercup, with her headless Squeaky Chicken had appeared, her tail whacking the wall, the desk, the coffee table, knocking over my coffee cup. Tufts of her white-blond fur wafted in the air. Back downstairs I went with the dog, grabbed the now-sated cat and put them both outside. Lint brushed my shirt. Went back upstairs.
“When I was a kid, I always…” And this time, I got through it. However…however, I’d been reading the copy, which was taped to the left of my phone, so I wasn’t looking directly in the camera. Don’t they say people who are lying always look to the left? Maybe, but whatever. It looked like I didn’t know where the camera was. “Like a Boomer,” my wretched children have said, knowing full well I am Gen X, the coolest generation.
To Google I went. “How can I make it look like I’m not reading when I film…” Ah ha! A free teleprompting program was available. I opened it. Downloaded the software. Registered, made up a password. Figured it out how to use the program, copied and pasted my recommendations in and hit play. The words were scrolling by too fast. I adjusted the speed and tried again. Better. I read the 2:42 minute recommendations. Bingo! But no. I hadn’t hit record. Live and learn. I was so close. “When I was a kid—”
“Can I use the saw just one more time?” came my husband’s voice from downstairs.
“Sure,” I called. By now, my left cheek was twitching, and my adorable shirt was sweat-pasted to my back. I got some water, stood over an air conditioning vent, took some cleansing breaths, listened until the saw shut off, and read the copy again.
“When I was a kid,” I began, and I got through the whole thing, gang, until the very last sentence, where I stumbled. One more take.
Feeling a bit like Odysseus staggering up the hills of Ithaca after twenty years of being away, I read through the copy. “When I was a kid, I always asked my dad to tell me a story.” I smiled. I didn’t flub up a line. My hair looked great.
It only took four hours.
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