Pressing Record without Perfection
How I’m DIY-ing my first audiobook (with a cat as my critic)
My socks are soggy from the morning field, tea is steeping, and the fat cat is watching like a skeptical sound engineer. I clip the mic onto my collar, smile, and press the red button. That’s how my audiobook sessions begin, not in a soundproof booth with foam, but in a tiny house. It’s DIY.
I’ve stumbled into a ritual.
Every session starts with the same rhythm: the kettle lever down, some fresh socks, tea leaves steeping, five minutes of silly vowel warmups, a mic check, three breaths, and a smile. I pace the kitchen as I record, giggling when I trip over a phrase like “Jen the Journaler,” then starting the sentence over again.
Each file gets labeled “Letter # – Name,” and after every take, I jot a quick recap in my Notes app: “Glad I slowed down,” “smiled more,” or “Wow, I forgot I wrote this.” Then, I refill the teacup, skim the next letter, and press the red button again.
The ritual doesn’t just structure me, it softens me. The tea warms my throat. The warmups remind me of breath and capacity. The notes make me feel like a student of my own process.
Reading aloud changes everything.
What I didn’t expect: reading my book out loud transforms it.
When I recorded my “Letter to Curiosity,” it came out like a love confession. I actually blushed alone reading words I’d written years earlier. Ten minutes later, “Letter to Resistance” erupted like a scolding. I imagined no longer holding my tongue at my first art critic, Miss Shirf, in kindergarten. In my audience, Pablo Picatso stared—with pupils as large as golf balls—until I bent down to pet him, reassuring him I wasn’t mad.
I thought I’d keep an even tone throughout, but that’s impossible. Voice has moods, and apparently, my letters do too. Instead of fighting it, I started letting each one take its own shape.
Who I imagine listening makes all the difference.
Sometimes it’s my aunt, who has read newsletters since day one. Other times, I picture one of my Thai seventh graders, like Jiggpu, who loved stoic philosophy and could make an entire class laugh with his theatrical enunciation. When I recorded my “Letter to my Bookcase of Journals”, I pretended he was listening, smirking at my seriousness, inviting me to smile too.
And when no one else comes to mind, I glance at the photo of my Omi tucked on page 8 of the book. She’s who I dedicated the memoir to, and imagining her listening softens my tone immediately.
Whoever it is, having one person in mind changes everything: I slow down, enunciate, and breathe.
Why audio feels magical to me.
The reason I’m so drawn to audio is because it adds a layer of intimacy that text alone can’t carry. Writing lives on the page, but voice carries energy, presence, and mood.
When I first heard Mark Manson narrate essays like “The Most Important Question of Your Life” back in 2016, I’d pop in my earbuds on walks across the college campus in Ohio to accounting class. Sometimes I took the long way just to keep listening. It felt like he was walking beside me, speaking directly to me.
That’s what excites me now: how audio turns words that might feel flat into something alive. This happened when I listened to Glennon Doyle’s Untamed and Matthew McConaughey’s Green Lights memoirs, too. It was portable, on-the-go, more human.
A smile or sigh is audible. A pause stretches differently than a comma. A burst of laughter carries farther than ink. For someone like me, who’s dyslexic, audio was often my way into books, and now I get to create that experience for others.
It still feels like genius technology, this ability to bottle the human voice and carry it across time. I’m obsessed with the voicemails I’ve saved from Omi. They hold a presence that text messages never could. That’s why I’m grateful this doesn’t need to be complicated. Just me, a mic, and enthusiasm to express.
Halfway in, here are a few lessons I’ve learned:
Energy. You can hear a smile. You can hear a sigh. The mic picks up whatever is felt.
Audience. Whether real or imagined, having someone in mind shapes my words.
Space. Periods and commas are inhales. And I can add more as needed. Life doesn't have to rush by, so allow for taking a breath.
These apply not to recording but to writing and to life too.
Halfway comes with trepidation.
Being halfway through recording means half still to go. That thought makes me gulp. Do I need beta-listeners after all or is trusting myself enough?
Every time I stand up to record, the doubts show up. And then I remind myself: good enough is enough. I don’t need a certificate or perfect pacing. I need to keep showing up with a smile and one tea break at a time.
And that’s the point of me sharing Letters to My Life in the first place. It invites noticing life as it is. Not polished. Not delayed until it’s “perfect.” Just here, as it is.
I don’t think many people record their own memoirs at twenty-nine, let alone with a confused cat for company.
But this is what feels alive right now. And it’s messy and imperfect and human.
✉️ An invitation
And since I’m figuring this out as I go, if you’ve recorded an audiobook or know resources around editing/production, I’d love your suggestions. I might be a little beyond my depth.
~~~
Hallo fellow learn-it-all 👋 Greetings from Almere, Netherlands. I’m already approaching three months of living in this country. Woowee, time flies. I am glad I am finally making progress on this audiobook project ten months after publishing my book. It’s a part of the capstone project for the Second Act program led by
and .If you enjoyed reading the above, I welcome you to share it. Most people hear about my writing by word of mouth, so it means the 🌍. Thank you :)
Now, let’s dive into the rest of letter 280 from a learn-it-all. Enjoy!
❓Question to think about
Who have you thought about recording something to?
It could be a journal entry, a letter, or even a note to a friend. I invite you to take action on the idea and make your communication a teensy bit more human.
📖Reading
Lisey’s Story: Their love was just the first chapter… by Stephen King from 2006.
I’ve been alternating between reading King’s memoir On Writing and this one. In other words, I am failing at the goal I set for my future self back in 2023 about being a monogamous book reader.
I can’t really tell you what this book is or provide spoilers. So far, I’m reading about how a seventy-something widow is struggling to clean out her late husband’s reading nook. It feels like it’d go in the genre of mystery romance. The Dutch sailing gal whose house I’m living in atm is obsessed with King. She suggested I read it and promised me it wasn’t a scary story. Her word is good so far.
I really like this paragraph on page 17:
“She lay there a long time, remembering a hot August day in Nashville and thinking—not for the first time—that being single after being double so long was strange shite, indeed. She would have thought that two years was enough time for the strangeness to rub off, but it wasn’t; time apparently did nothing but blunt grief’s sharpest edge so that it was hacked rather than sliced. Because everything was not the same. Not outside, not inside, not for her. Lying in the bed that had once held two, Lisey thought alone never felt more lonely than when you woke up and discovered you still had the house to yourself. That you and the mice in the walls were the only ones still breathing.”
🎧Listening
Titanic by Etella, Redinho
This song makes me want to whistle but I still don’t even know how to whistle. ¯\(ツ)/¯
🔍 Dutch phrase to define
Dutch: Geen hand vol, maar een land vol
English: Not a handful, but a country full
A little note to self after some recent dates I've gone on.
🌟Quote to inspire
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” — Vincent Van Gogh
📸Photos of the Week
my running route
back in the pool I swam in eight years ago! It felt so good.
trying to not get blown away on my run
making appel flappen for the first time!
Pablo Picatso who mostly loves me because of belly rubs and my opposable thumbs that dispense his wet food
a fun street that’d be cool to live on
artist date this week was making tomato sauce from scratch from my harvest!
my recording studio that I have six more days of living in
some notes exchanged to answer questions from writers
🙏Shoutouts
to
for joining my writing circle and sharing about keeping the cat bit in the story :)To some coaching with
that helped me crystallize the lessons up topTo
and for co-creating the Substack writer’s meetup this past Sunday. I had a lovely time meeting so many inspiring female writers including , Audrey Gran Weinberg, Erika Sol, Kate Imbach, Rebecca Spelman, Armina Stepan, and Clarissa. Keep on writing!
Some upcoming events
Seeking accountability, inspiration, and connection with fellow writers?
Come join my online Wednesday writing circle at 10AM CEST. Sign up here.
A Pathless Path meetup next Friday 6pm in Amsterdam. Location TBD. Email me if you’re interested to join.
I am grateful you chose to fill part of your day here.
If something in this letter resonated, press the ❤️ , leave a comment, reply to this email, or reach me at vermetJL@gmail.com. I love hearing from you.
Keep on learning 😁
Tot snel 🌺 🌺
Toodles :)
Jen
P.S. #1 - I coach writers. I guide them to find their voice, build a writing rhythm, and have fun hitting “publish.” Let’s chat.
P.S. #2 - You’re invited. If a friend forwarded you this, welcome to the learn-it-all crew. Sign up here to get the next letter.
P.S. #3 - I wrote a book. Letters to My Life is my favorite way to share my writing with you (and it keeps your screen-time stats down). Grab your copy here.
P.S. #4 - Here’s what you missed. Last week I wrote a guide to reconnect with the people you miss (before it becomes a regret)
Honest. Thoughtful. Insightful. Personal. Compelling. This is fabulous. ✨