On Reugen Island

If I could read your mind (and how do you know I can’t???), after the first few seconds listening to this podcast I’ll bet your mind would say something like this: “I know she said she was sick, but a strepped throat doesn’t do that to a voice!”

And your mind, it wouldn’t be wrong in saying that. If I had to guess — and I’m not a very good guesser, BUT, if I did, I’d imagine you’ve probably gotten used to my voice by now. Maybe grown to expect it? And if I did convince you that THIS was my new-and-ill-begotten voice, well, then you’d be a sucker.

And, dear listener, if there’s one thing I know about you after all these months reading to you, it’s that you’re no sucker.

And so I confess: it is not my voice on this podcast, for my throat has been feeling like it does after I give it a Raw Tree Bark Massage and a bath in Freshly Burnt Gasoline Fumes. In such cases, what’s a girl to do, then, but exploit a poor sucker… err… a most generous, willing friend. And so tonight, let us all give thanks to dream smith, whose retelling of Isherwood leaves me, well, speechless, more-or-less. (And while I’m guilty of a simple pun, it’s true: he’s just that good.)

Enjoy dream smith as much as I do; Miette will be back, in the flesh voice, after a couple of convalescent days. Thank you dream.