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5 pages to finish the chapter. No problem. 2:30am to around 5am. Plenty of time. Plenty of quiet. I drank coffee earlier, but I've been drinking water all day, so I'm in the clear. Properly hydrated. I close all the windows and unplug the refrigerator.

Problems arise. The fan in the bedroom, which is cooling my sleeping girlfriend, is creating a slight sucking noise through the crack in the door. That's okay, it's a sound I can probably filter out. Constant sounds are easier to take out and it's not that noticeable.

I'm maybe 5 minutes in when our cat Tune starts meowing in the bedroom. She wants out. I open the door and it's clear she's going to give me hell unless I feed her again. I have to bribe her with some creamy half n half. I'm sure Claire knows how her supply is suspiciously light the next morning, but Tune (our cat) has me in her claws. That'll shut her up for a few minutes and then she'll do one of two things: she'll take a 30 minute nap, or her eyes will go black like a shark's and then it's all over. Crazy time.

I'm lucky tonight. She decides to go to sleep under my chair while I record. Perfect. That usually gives me an hour before she starts snoring, but I can simply reach under the chair and disturb her dream with a quick stroke of the tail.

Clipping the next page in front of me and finally making some progress! I hear a fog horn go off every 60-90 seconds, so I have to wait it out and start the sentence again. Then I can hear a car from a mile away racing down a deserted Broadway and the sound is relentless. I take a sip of Throat Coat tea and pause the recording. I play a bowling game for a couple of minutes.

I get back to recording and once again, curse the headache that is the word, "little." My mouth was not made to say that word without some kind of sticky saliva result. My tongue hates that word and it never sounds quite right. When there's 3-4 L words in the same sentence, I start to lose my mind.

Tune starts snoring. Pet the cat, move on. The fog horn is going. Wait it out, continue. Then, even worse, my tummy is rumbling and bubbling with activity. Yeah, all that stuff picks up on the mic, it's loud and a nightmare once it starts.

I look up the pronunciation of "Nambu" because I've never owned a gun, let alone an 8mm Japanese firearm. Nam-boo, should've known.

Huh. Tune's tail is still swishing like normal while she sleeps.

My mouth is getting tired. I feel my voice straining. Clear throat. Check-one-two, check. Frog in my throat. Damn it. Son of a bitch, I'm so close. Just a page and a half left. Clear throat. Mouth is too dry. Sip.

Fog horn. Car. Cat snores. Tummy bubbling. Outside sprinkler. Drunk teenagers.

I'm sweating- it's so hot in this little space. I can feel myself speed-reading because I just want to end this session. Slow it down Marty. TELL THE STORY.

There are voice actors that are sitting in their lavish recording studio, enjoying an afternoon session with no interference from the outside world. They are well rested and enjoy getting lost in a sea of rich characters.

I don't have any more voices. I ran out on the first book. My voice is getting dangerously close to scratchy. Just a paragraph left- a long one. These run-on sentences are so hard not to rush through when I just want to finish!

Ok, that'll do it.

I nominate Mirron Willis for his Ace Ventura-like reading of Devlin's Luck. Bumble-bee tuna!