Beginning a new creative project requires that decisions by all parties involved be made based on incomplete information. So also do our everyday activities, but the creation of something new can bring things into sharper focus.
A few weeks ago I started the process of adding audiobook versions of the six books in the Boone Series. On the advice of one of my relatives who does commercial and PSA voiceovers I signed up with ACX and went through the process of “claiming” my title, writing an audition script, and setting out the parameters of what kind of narrator/voice actor I was looking for.
In a relatively short amount of time I had received a dozen auditions, which varied widely in quality, attention to detail, and rates. I could hire on the basis of a cut of the royalties or on the basis of PFH (per finished hour). The PFH rates varied from $50 to $1,000, with some of the actors listing only “unspecified” as an hourly rate.
In the setup for the auditions I indicated I needed a young male voice with a Southern accent and a matter-of-fact tone. The script I provided was about 11 or 12 minutes long depending on the narrator’s phrasing and speed of delivery. The recordings submitted varied as much as the PFH rates, although there wasn’t a direct correlation between cost per hour and quality. Some of the Southern accents were so strong I almost needed a translator (and I’m from Tennessee). Some submitted a reading of only the first quarter of the script, some had errors they hadn’t bothered to fix, and so on. On the other hand, a few were very good, and one in particular sounded much like my mental conception of Boone. After asking him and one other person for a second reading, I made an offer (which he accepted) and we are now off and running.
The whole thing has been an excursion into new territory, and several things about it struck me. Even with the parameters set up by ACX, there was no way for the auditioners to know in any significant detail what I wanted. They had to work with the information I provided along with the text of the audition script and take their best shot. Also, the advice from my relative regarding the submissions I did not accept was that I should not contact them to let them know they didn’t make the cut. “They’re actors,” she told me. “They know if they don’t get a callback that they didn’t get the part.”
Years ago, when I was in the work force, I once needed to fill an opening in the group I was supervising. For some reason the posting resulted in over forty applications. One applicant used light grey paper and a cursive type font, single spaced and very small. I tried to scan the top half of the first page, looked at the pile of applications remaining, put his in the reject pile, and moved on to the next candidate. On another occasion a regional manager from a grocery chain was talking to a group of my students and pointed to one sitting in the back of the room. “I can tell by the way you’re sitting that you think you’re too cool for school,” he said. “I wouldn’t hire you.” At the end of his talk he said, “If any of you apply to my store and get an interview you have seven minutes to convince me to hire you. If you don’t, I’ve got another guy in the hall waiting for his turn.”
Auditioning is a funny thing; a common part of the creative process, it includes the strong probability of at least some rejection, and can result in multiple rejections for a wide variety of reasons. My entry into audiobooks has meant turning down auditions on the basis of accent, tone of voice, lack of inflection, or too much inflection, in addition to technical shortcomings in the recording itself. My own experiences in the creative arena have made this process more than a little uncomfortable, but I am pleased with the outcome; I’m grateful that Tim decided to audition for the job and look forward to how this book, and hopefully the next five in the series, develop.