Radio, Radio

Well, today was the day I traveled to the radio station to read my essays. In a way, it was nothing like I expected, and in another, it was pretty much just what I expected. It was odd.

I've been looking back through my old entries here, and I don't see where I've told this story before, so I'll give you a very Reader's Digest version of the background.

Mr M saw on the website of the local public radio station that they take essays from local people for consideration of their being read on the station's "Morning Edition" program. Read by the writers themselves. Upon seeing this, which, believe me, was almost a year ago, Mr M had been asking, encouraging, cajoling, and bullying me to send some of my stuff in. And of course, I wouldn't, because I was sure it would be of no interest to them.

So finally, and oddly enough, during a time when I was absolutely at my lowest personally - I figured, hell, what could one more rejection mean - I sent something in to the station. 4 essays. In a week or so I received an email from the show's producer saying there were 2 essays in particular she liked, and invited me to come to the station and read them for broadcast. I was flabbergasted.

After a few backs and forths and trying to find days and times we could meet - note, I call this the "local public radio station," but it's still 2 hours away from me - we agreed upon today. Bright and early, at 10:30am. And that's where we pick the story up.

First of all, the producer, whose name is Dutchie, by the way, couldn't have been nicer. She made it all very easy and comfortable, and was very complimentary.

We got to go into the big studio, where she showed me the microphones - they were the big cool kinds that are rotate around on metal sticks - and the headphones, which we both wore when we talked to each other. Wow!

Then she went on to tell me about these microphones. "They're extremely sensitive," she said, "And they'll pick up just about any sound - breathing, lip-smacking, shifting." And all I could think of was the scene in the Andy Griffith Show where they have to convince Barney Fife (who can't sing - not a lick) that the microphone he's about to sing into at the chorale is ultra-sensitive, and the least little sound will burst the eardrums of the audience. (Of course, they get him to the level where he's basically not singing at all, and pipe someone's bass vocal solo over him.) As it turns out, that wasn't the case with me, because I was actually told to speak a little louder into my ultra-sensitive mic.

I think what kept me fairly free of nerves, besides Dutchie's kindly manor, was the fact that she said the editing program was very easy, so if I flubbed a word, or didn't like something I'd read and wanted to read it over, all I had to do was say, "wait, I'll do that again," and she'd mark it for editing and I wouldn't have to start the whole thing over. And that's what I did.

First I read the thing I'd written about Frankie's, a local restaurant institution in my town, and its demise. Stennie actually suggested I send that one, thanks, Stenns. It turned out to be a little long - over four minutes, which shocked me, as it felt like it only took a minute to read - and she said she'd need to edit a little of it out, but she knew where. I didn't ask, but I wonder if it's the same paragraph I'd edit out.

The second thing didn't need to be edited. It was my piece about surfing the 'net at work. (Which by the way, for those trivia buffs out there, it was also the very first time I ever used the phrase TheCompanyIWorkFor.) She just kept complimenting me on that piece, which was very kind, and I felt like I was blushing after a while. Not that it wasn't nice to hear, believe me.

And then, that quickly, it was over. She said I wouldn't air till after Christmas, there were a lot of holiday essays they'd have to get on. But if I send her an email in the next couple of weeks, she can probably tell me the days my things will air. So stay tuned, I'll let you know.

All in all, it was a very pleasant and enjoyable and not-at-all nervewracking experience. Dutchie also said I had a good delivery and a face made for radio. Well, actually, she didn't say that last one, I've just been chomping at the bit all damn day to use that line. But a good delivery - whee!

Oh. And yes, for those of you who wonder about such things, every time I flubbed and started a sentence or paragraph over, I did say, "Oooh, I'm sorry." "Oops, sorry," "Sorry." Except the very last time. I said, "I didn't like that, I'll do it again." hahahaahhaah! What a pro!

And then it was back home, after a few stops along the way. Back home to the Poderosa and laundry and pumpkin pie-making and napping in the Comfy Chair. But if I may say so, my few moments in the spotlight were awfully fun.