Last night was supposed to be the night. I was finally going to sit down in front of a camera and perform my first live reading from The Midas Protocol. Nothing elaborate. Nothing professionally produced. Just me, Chapter One, and whoever happened to wander into the livestream.
Still, I treated the occasion as though a small television crew might be arriving.
I cleaned my office. I dusted off an old Midas Files poster whose resolution was questionable even when I first printed it. I found my tesseract model, which—amazingly enough—I discovered several years ago in the knickknack section at HomeGoods.
Apparently, multidimensional artifacts are available somewhere between the decorative candleholders and ceramic woodland animals.
I positioned the webcam. I practiced reading Chapter One aloud in my kitchen. I talked through the idea with AI and received some useful advice. Then I watched several YouTube videos about livestreaming, which is one of those activities that can either prepare you for something or convince you that you need seventeen additional pieces of equipment.
Eventually, I decided I had prepared enough.
I combed my hair. I put on a decent shirt. I sat down in the office and prepared to begin the first-ever live reading from the Midas Files.
Then YouTube told me I had to wait twenty-four hours.
The Livestream That Wasn’t
It turns out that when a channel has never livestreamed before, YouTube Studio may require a twenty-four-hour activation period.
In a strange way, I understand the logic.
You have reached that dangerous moment when you are sitting alone in a room, properly dressed, emotionally prepared, and ready to shoot somewhere with your book. Perhaps a mandatory cooling-off period is the responsible thing.
Unfortunately, my available window came and went.
There would be no live reading that evening. Chapter One remained unread. My webcam stared back at me with the silent judgment of a machine that knew I should have clicked the activation button a day earlier.
The good news is that the delay may ultimately make the first reading better.
I had almost approached the livestream as something I did not necessarily want anyone to see. I imagined quietly slipping onto YouTube, reading the chapter, surviving whatever technical problems occurred, and then perhaps telling people about the next one.
That makes absolutely no sense.
The entire point of livestreaming is that someone might watch.
This Sunday at Eight
My first Midas Files live reading is now planned for Sunday, August 9, at 8 p.m.
I like the Sunday evening time slot, so I am going to exercise a little patience rather than forcing the reading into another opening during the week. The delay also gives me time to announce it and invite the small but loyal group of readers who have followed these books.
I know the first broadcast will probably be rough around the edges. I may stumble over a sentence. The lighting may not be perfect. Something in the office may fall over. I may discover that a character’s name is much easier to type than pronounce.
That is all right.
These readings are not intended to sound like finished audiobooks. They will be closer to live performances, with a little improvisation and the unpredictability that comes from reading a story in real time.
The more often I do them, the more comfortable I will become. The delivery should improve. The technical setup should improve. Eventually, the whole experience may begin to feel natural.
The only way to reach that point is to do the first one.
Why Read the Book Live?
At the moment, there is no audiobook edition of The Midas Protocol.
I would like that to change.
A weekly chapter reading is one way to begin moving in that direction without pretending I already know exactly how the finished audiobook should be produced. It gives me a chance to hear the novel outside my own head and discover how the narration feels when performed aloud.
Writing and reading are very different experiences. A sentence can look perfectly natural on a page and suddenly become a dangerous obstacle course when spoken. Dialogue develops a different rhythm. Characters begin asking for distinct voices. Scenes that move quickly in print may require a little more restraint when performed.
The livestreams will let me experiment with all of that.
They will also make the experience more personal. A finished audiobook is a polished product delivered to the listener. A live reading is something we experience together. Readers can respond in the chat, ask questions, point out favorite moments, or simply let me know they are there.
That interaction interests me almost as much as the reading itself.
Could I Narrate the Audiobook?
There is also a larger question hovering behind this experiment.
Could I eventually narrate a polished audiobook edition myself?
I honestly do not know.
Writing the book does not automatically make me the best person to narrate it. Professional audiobook narration requires more than having a microphone and knowing where the commas go. It takes vocal consistency, character control, stamina, audio-editing ability, and an enormous amount of patience.
A professional narrator could bring qualities to the story that I cannot.
On the other hand, I know the rhythm of the book. I know how the characters sounded when I wrote them. I know where the jokes should land and which quiet lines carry more weight than they might initially appear to.
Perhaps these live readings will reveal that I have the voice and endurance to do it.
Perhaps they will reveal that I should hire someone immediately.
Either outcome would be useful.
For now, I am not trying to record the definitive audiobook version of The Midas Protocol. I am simply going to open the book, turn on the camera, and begin reading.
Assuming YouTube believes I have cooled off sufficiently.
I hope you will join me this Sunday at 8 p.m. for Chapter One.
