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I strongly recommend recording the whole story in one take. This will make editing much easier. Instead, pause for a few seconds and then start that particular section over. This will allow you to easily find where you made the mistake. There are all kinds of editing features you can do with Audacity.
You can increase sound levels, normalize the volume, add sound effects, etc. Of course, you will want to clean up your mistakes. Luckily, you followed my advice from Step 3 so you can make your editing process a breeze.
Now you just have to go back and find any mistake, select it, and delete it. After you delete your mistakes, perform any other edits you want, and then you are ready to publish. Simply saving it will give you a file that can only be used by your sound editing software. I recommend exporting as a WAV in order to get the best quality. However, if there are size restrictions, you will want to choose something smaller like an mp3. You will probably need to download an extra encoder in order to do this. In terms of publishing, there are a lot of different options.
You can upload your audio to Soundcloud, to Youtube, to your blog, or you can send it directly to your publisher to post on the site alongside the story. You can also create your very own Podcasting series if you plan to do a lot of recordings. Recording your short stories adds a brand new element to your work. No matter how great your voice is, it will always sound a bit weird to your own ears. Would that mean it can no longer be submitted elsewhere? I generally only record stories that have been published somewhere else.
This may not include audio rights. The best thing is to be upfront with a publisher and let them know that an audio version does exist.
Get the Right Equipment If you are going to record your stories, you might as well do it the right way. Record The first thing you want to do during the recording process is test your settings. Edit There are all kinds of editing features you can do with Audacity. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. This website uses cookies to improve your experience. And now—though illogically—it felt safe—for every nation meant the same as if all had nothing.
Another thing—there was no work to be done. And there seemed nothing left to discover, invent or enjoy. Art was at its perfection, poetry was mathematically correct and unutterably beautiful—worked out by the Esthetic machines. Sculptoring had been given the effect complete, artists hands guided by wonderful pieces of machinery. Huge museums were crammed with art put out synthetically.
And thus it was with the many Arts and their creators who grew stagnent in their perfection. And it was that way with the many sciences also…. Paleontologists had found, and articulated, and catalogued every fossil.
The ancestor of the Eohippus, the little four-toed Dawn Horse, was discovered; the direct line between man and ape established in skeletal remains; the seat of life itself definitely proved Holarctica. And great bio-chemists, skilled in the science of vital processes, had created synthetic tissues and muscles and flesh, built upon the frames that had been recovered bodies with skillful modeling… even supplied them with blood and given them the spark of LIFE… so that Paleobotonists recreated the flora of a prehistoric era.
Again the ponderous amphibious brontosaur pushed through marshes. Fish emerged upon the land, and the first bird archaeopteryx tried his imperfect wings for flight. In the regulated climates of long dead ages, fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals lived again for the edification of those interested in the very ancient—or who were amused with queer animals.
But that was only paleontologically speaking. There were the heavens to be considered. Every feature had been mapped—every climactic condition recorded.
Life had been named and numbered… then photographed. And these were but first considerations. Actually, what wasn't known about the Solar System had not occurred as yet. But that would probably be remedied by a machine to view the future. There was physics, biology, anthropology, zoology, geology, bacteriology, botany—and 'ologies' and 'otonies' and 'onomies' such as ran into figures which only machines could calculate. A book could indeed have been written of the accomplishments of super race. But this is of the WAR itself, and how it came about, and how it all ended.
To the hungry man, the first course of dinner is wonderfully delicious, the second good, the third satisfying. Through the ages people have hungered after luxury and leisure—but when he finds his food, a lot of it, MAN finds suddenly that it no longer appeals to him. In fact, too much is bound to make him sick and often disagreeable.
He looks around for something else. So did the people of the 22nd Century.
The Record, a Short Story by Ray Bradbury. Written cooperatively by Forrest Ackerman and Ray Bradbury, this story was first published in Ray Bradbury's. The girl in this story really wants to be a record breaker. Will she There are lots of different world records in this story. Short storiesI couldn't believe my eyes.
They had all of the pleasurable amusements they wanted, but it was all so intellectual. They had surfeited with it. And suddenly they wanted to forget it. All play and no work made MAN a discontented citizen. A reaction set in. Twenty-one years the war raged. And scarcely a million survived. Bit by bit this million was whittled down by the weapons of destruction to ragged handfuls of things that once had been cultured.
Finally only one hundred humans remained alive—and they kept fighting blindly, none of them realizing how close to oblivion they were crowding themselves and the future of humanity—and they went on killing, killing, killing! It is doubtless but what the entire human race would have vanished, leaving the world to the more competent, though half-ignorant, hands of the beasts, who fought and killed one another for self-preservation and for food—not because of madness… and who did not have books and talk and have culture.
The human race would have gone, had it not been for the record.
The fighters of WAR'S END, leaving their machines and countries to congregate for personal combat, were engaging in hand-to-hand attacks in the ruins of what once had been a tall and powerful city in the Twentieth Century, but now lay crumbling, its proud buildings falling to the ground, sticking out iron-rusted skeletons to the sky—and the city was LOS ANGELES! HEDRIK HUNSON was fighting with phosphorized fists—hand inclosed in chemically treated gloves that burned as they struck the antagonist, insulated on the interior for the wearer—when suddenly the two of them were caught by a spreader.
The other man died instantly, but Hedrik got it in the side and was whirled about sickeningly, and survived. He was lying painfully on something when he came to, but felt too dizzy and sick to move. At last, when his head had cleared a bit, he rolled over into a sitting position and reached out his arms to grasp—a phonograph! Big things came in small packages in the days of , and a portable phonograph might well be taken for a weapon of some sort—which was exactly what Hedrik thought! And you can hardly blame him, because no one in that generation had ever seen one of the things.