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I am sitting here on a Monday morning staring at my messy desk. Sunday was the epitome of lazy. I finished my personal taxes and sent everything off to my CPA, who’s currently working on my LLC taxes. Other than that, I didn’t do diddly squat. Nothing. Nada. I couldn’t even be bothered to make a list of everything I had to do. Stanley and I napped and played, napped and watched TV, then napped again.

I felt like a slug.

But back to this morning. I looked at the To Love a Duchess audio CD set (my copy) and finally opened it. I’d never opened a set before. There they were, all those CDs read by an actor.

I have to confess that audio CDs drive me batty. I don’t like the actors changing voices and pretending to be different characters. I’d rather hear a computer read a book to me. When it’s MY book it’s even weirder. It doesn’t sound at all like I heard it in my head. I’m not only disoriented. I’m disturbed. Go figure.

I sat here imagining the actor reading my book. He had to become as familiar with my work as I am. It’s one thing to line edit. Or to be a proof editor. You’re looking at the words arranged in a sentence. Or the story cohesion. But reading it aloud, putting emphasis on each character makes you, well, intimate with the work.

It was the oddest sensation just holding those CDs and knowing that this actor and I had a weird and tenuous bond.

I won’t listen to his rendition of my book. As I said audio CDs drive me batty. I don’t want to know how he sounds as the hero. Or what kind of voice he uses for the heroine. Nope.

I couldn’t help but wonder, however, as he’s reading, if he has any particular thoughts of his own. Things like: crap, if I’d only studied engineering I wouldn’t have to read romance novels for a living. πŸ™‚