Voice Recording

 by Charlotte Hinger

This is going to be a really short not so sweet blog. I was asked to record my short story, Lizzie Noel, and I thought that would be a very simple process. 

Ha!

It would have been simple if I knew what I was doing. However, as usual I naively assumed it was a piece of cake. 

To begin with, I decided that the best approach would be to use the Voice Memo app on my iPhone. This entailed figuring out how to stop, resume, edit and improve the recording. 

My biggest problem was my voice. I sounded terrible. I have chronic allergies and sounded like a feeble frog. On top of that, since I don't regularly read aloud, my voice and breathing was irregular and breathy. I stumbled over simple words and repeated them. I used to be a good oral reader. What happened?

I think it was a case of use it or lose it. My neighbor who is a broadcast journalism advised me to drink lots of water, and a tea labeled Throat Coat. Those suggestions helped. I also dashed off to Best Buy and brought a mic that plugged into my iPhone that improved the sound quality. 

After I mailed off the recorded story to Ellery Queen I discovered there was a better system on my computer. Wow!

I wish I had done a better job. I'm going to start regularly reading aloud so I won't be caught off guard if I have another opportunity. 

It's embarrassing how many times I deleted the recording and started over before I learn that sections could be replaced.

Lizzie Noel

 by Charlotte Hinger

My short story, "Lizzie Noel," was published in the Nov/Dec issue of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. I'm absolutely thrilled to have a story in this publication, which includes such notable writers as Joyce Carol Oates. I've submitted several stories over the years. Only "The Family Rose" was accepted. Ironically, that story was later published in two anthologies, Murder on the Verandah, and Murder to Music. 

The editor, Janet Hutchings, kindly provided an excerpt of my story on the Ellery Queen website. Here it is:

Lizzie Noel
by Charlotte Hinger

The glittery little floozy burst through the door of the Overhours Cafe like she was fleeing the gates of hell. Or her pimp, more likely.

Teresa Wainright had every reason to recognize her kind immediately. But she didn’t want trouble. No telling who might come looking for this one.

She gave a final polish to a stainless-steel napkin holder and scornfully studied the little whore as she swiveled onto the nearest stool. A small woman. Eyes ringed with straying mascara. She wore hot pants and scuffy mid-thigh leather boots and a stained lacy see-through blouse that needed a few extra buttons. Brittle white-blond hair piled on top of her head. Chipped dried-blood-black nails. READ MORE

Obviously, to "READ MORE" you'll have to buy a copy of the magazine.