I have a scene planned for my sequel to Falling Up, where Peter made glass figurines of galloping horses. He captured them mid-stride so well that Lucy feels like, in the next instant, they will suddenly gallop away. Some of them are displayed in their home, but many are for sale in the family trading store. Then there is a scene where Lucy and Peter go to see the horses, and they are flying along in the herd as it gallops over a grassy plain. Peter has done this with them before, and the horses are used to him, so they are running quite closely around them.

Imagine flying along with them as the herd travels in sweeping curves over the hills, up and down with the terrain, and around the occasional tree. Waves made of horses pouring across the land. The wind is lashing the manes and blowing through Peter and Lucy’s hair. The smell of many horses’ sweat mixed with the dust they are kicking up is strong, earthy; the stuff of life. Lucy’s laughter, squeals and shouts of delight add counterpoint to the thunder of many hooves and the heavy breathing of horses.

I listened to a few samples of another narrator’s work today, after I saw a post of theirs on FaceBook. Their British accent is the type that I’ve always admired. Precise diction, smooth delivery, every word clear and calm, yet overlaid with little twists of pronunciation that I recognize as being specific to some region of the UK. It’s all very delightful, and I can understand why they have narrated many books.

Then I listened to the latest chapter from my novel, that my narrator Dylan Orsolini has shared with me. It took me in my imagination to my wild horses scene I described above. I realized the British narrator is like riding a horse at a walking pace, ever so smoothly and precisely navigating obstacles, allowing a rider to relax into it. To experience the rhythm of the horse’s gait and even their muscles moving beneath their skin, while enjoying the elevated view. Pleasant. Peaceful. Relaxing.

Then I knew that Dylan’s narration is that whole wild herd, galloping across the miles, with the head of this horse, then that horse coming into view among them. I realized that they could be covering the same terrain as that British horse, but the herd is doing it with a level of excitement and joy that makes it an entirely different, and far, far better, experience. I so much prefer the gallop, with turns so sharp and surprising I have to concentrate to hold on, even though I know this terrain well. Listening to his narration is an experience in itself.

You are like wild horses, Dylan. I am so blessed to have you narrating my novel. Thanks for carrying my story so well. Keep on galloping!