Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Hello, I'm Paul Carter. Welcome to my world of Voice Over...

Life changes.

Things come and go and then come around again. We ride the waves of our lives like a professional surfer catching a tunnel.

Ha! More likely we are lucky to have a paddle board and a life preserver that works JUST well enough to keep us from drowning. But somehow we keep moving on!

As you all know I am a writer and a musician. As I writer I have been in the trenches for almost 10 years now. As a musician I have been slugging it out for over 30 YEARS!

Yes kids... this is how we used to record audio
Over the course of those 30 years I have played and performed with MANY bands and acts in bars and clubs and yes even in church. I have been blessed with having numerous opportunities to record in some of the BEST recording studios in the Kansas City area. For over 20 years now I have owned and operated my own personal recording studio in various forms and fashions. Technological capabilities have evolved so much over those years it would make your head spin. My personal equipment has undergone transformation from a Tascam 4-track that reorded on cassettes (remember those??) WAY back in the 1980's... to a Roland CDX-1 in the 1990's that recorded on CD-RW (that was weird)... to ADAT 8-tracks that recorded on VHS style tape (WTF???!!!) and now to computer based DAW's such as Sonar and Logic and Garageband. Baby we have come a LONG way!

And I have LOVED every minute of it!

And the times they are a-changing!

The next step in my artistic growth is Voice Over Talent. This is a step that in retrospect seems like a NO BRAINER. I mean, I have ALL the equipment, I have excellent recording skills, and I have performance skills from playing live and acting as frontman for nearly every band I have ever played in! And (now don't think me too old) but I have had more voice over training and experience over those years than even I remembered or imagined. To wit, the year I graduated high school (due to security and to retain as much dignity as possible I will not be specific which year - but it was sometime in the 1980's) I recorded voice over with my drama teacher and local Kansas City actor extraordinaire Ray Ettinger. So you might say I have at least a little bit of a pedigree!

So, over the coming months and years you will be delighted (or bored) with all the details that I choose to regale you with about my journey through the World Of Voice Over!

Hope you enjoy!

Oh and go check out my new page at www.impaulcarter.com

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Another story idea...

Man, one of these days I have GOT to finish up some of these shorts I have been writing.

But, until that day... please enjoy another submission in what I am beginning to think of in terms of a name as:

Paul Philip Carter's Drifting Ideas of Mayhem and Chaos.

Ok, maybe that's not REALLY what I will name it... keep thinking, keep thinking...

Anyway, here is a short prelude for a story I will call... hmm... what to call it... how about THE TAMING OF RAY LAZARUS.

There was a man, beaten down by life, full of despair and confusion.
He had lost his wife, his child, his entire life due to his missteps.
For his crimes, he was sentenced to live a life secluded from what he loved.
But his accusers were not the courts, not the judges and lawyers that we all know.
His jailer was the Dark One.

What if you had the chance to live again after death, but you find that the new life you’ve been given is actually Hell?

Ray Lazarus hated work.
Ray Lazarus despised anything that got in the way of his one true love: him.
Anything Ray wanted, whatever he decided was the thing for him to do or to think or a place to be, that was what Ray would do.
It was then a bit of a dilemma when, one day, Ray decided to fall in love.
The day he met his future wife, Ms. Vera Turner, Ray was only interested in getting in her pants. Unfortunately for Ray, sex with Vera turned into a minor obsession. He couldn’t get enough. Everyday, sex with Vera was the first thing he thought about, and therefore that was the thing Ray would do.
Two years later, Ray found himself married to Vera.
Then, they had a child.
That lone voice inside Ray’s head that told him what to do and what to want and where to be… that voice was still there, but it was suddenly (at least it seemed suddenly to Ray) silenced! One day Ray woke up and realized that HE was no longer the decider of his fate! HE was no longer in control of his decisions! HE was no longer the MASTER of his DESTINY!
Ray felt cheated.
Ray hated that.
The only thing in the world that Ray hated worse than work was to feel like he had been denied anything. Who else was there in the world that could decide what was right and best for him? Nobody at all, buddy boy, I am here to tell ya!
So, one day, even though he loved his family dearly (and really loved still getting into Vera’s pants,) Ray decided to do something altogether of his own volition, do something he wanted to do and only because he wanted to do it.
Ray went GAMBLING.
Now, a few years later, and in a weird way if he really thought about it at all, Ray realized that was the last day he ever did anything just because he wanted to do it.
After that day, everything changed.

Because that was the day Ray Lazarus died.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

A paranormal idea that came to me...

This one was tinged red.

It had wings, too, big, dark, hairy wings. When it flapped them my way in a manner meant to scare me off, I could smell them. Like the rotting husk of a week old leftover Chinese food take-home box with half the General Tso’s chicken still inside.

I sighed, and looked back to make sure Seamus was still with me. He was. Of that, I had no need to worry.

I fumbled with the slow moving door exiting the grocery, not really in a hurry, but not liking the delay, and glanced around for a good spot. There wasn’t one, so I took the nearest blank spot in the parking lot that was mostly clean of oil drippings and spit out chewing gum and loogies, then I knelt. Curled down over my knees, face to the asphalt, arms in front with hands palm up as if waiting in supplication for the occult priestess to place the dagger through my back between my ribs and into my heart, I closed my eyes and waited.

Seamus guarded me, I had to trust in that.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The attack came from the left, like a feint at first, or more like a novice grasshopper in training wishing to best his sensei.

But I didn’t take the bait. I waited. This was how most of the ravers liked to attack. They played with their food before they ate it.

The raver lunged at me, twin barbed lance thrusting forward, a move meant to take me off balance and open to a back thrust that would have ripped out my spleen. It missed.
A few more moves, each faster, each intended to bring me out of my defense and attempt an attack on the raver that would of course fail.

I waited.

Then, when the raver got bored, when he was done whirling his peas around in his potatoes hoping to make a tasteless mash that could be swallowed whole to avoid the individual tastes, he pounced.

His jaws opened wide, lance pulled back and forgotten, the look of triumph etched in the stretch of his lips and the gleam in his red rimmed eyes, he came at me with the sureness my head would soon be in his belly.

That’s when I attacked.

Not to boast, but my skills are prodigious. I moved like the whirling of the wind in a tornado in Missouri, striking the ravers knee, achilles, the arteries at his hips and the bulge in his crotch, all within the span of a breath.

He fell with his mouth open right at the spot I had been just a heartbeat ago, missing the meal he had hoped for.

I took a deep breath, and then opened my eyes.

Still kneeling in the empty parking spot just outside the grocery store with Seamus at my back, watching.

A car honked.

“Hey! Can you get the hell outta my way? The sign says ‘for expectant mothers’.”

The fat, greasy woman in the four-door station wagon was not pregnant.

Seamus and I moved to the side to let her pull the car in, and though her stomach protruded well below her waist line, there was not a baby inside.

Trust me. I can tell these things.

“Stupid freaking goth kids always looking for a handout. Well I don’t have anything for you!”

The woman mumbled her way into the store stealing glances over her shoulder to make sure we didn’t follow and clicking the remote door lock in way that said she definitely didn’t trust that we were so close to her car. She grabbed a young kid, a worker who was only trying to go get the abandoned carts in the parking lot, and unloaded on him while pointing our way with angry jabs.

Seamus and I glanced at each other. There was a slight curl of his lips, the only hint that he had even paid any attention to the exchange. With a nod, we agreed without speaking that it was time for us to go.

Our work here was done.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Robot writers

Consider this:

Robot writes LA Times earthquake breaking news article

I don't know, something about this just creeps me out. As a writer I definitely do not like to see ANY content auto-generated by a computer. Competition is bad enough as it is.

Sigh... oh well...

Tuesday, January 14, 2014


Knowing the future can kill you now.

I should know. See, I have a talent. I can predict the outcome of certain events… not all, but some. Usually the event has to be a large gathering, at least a thousand people or more.

I can sense it, sometimes way in advance but always at least an hour before it happens.

We ran the numbers, too. I can predict the outcome with 97.6% accuracy.

Pretty good odds, huh?

I just wish this talent wasn't killing me...

Friday, October 18, 2013

A critical message...

Things feel extremely odd right now.

Close up, I have had to start wearing glasses just to read. That probably sounds trivial to many of you who’ve worn glasses all your life, but for me at the age of 47 it’s a major change.

I’m also a musician, and when I started losing my hearing a few years back I had to stop doing one of my great passions – recording other bands – because I couldn’t trust my ears to hear what needed to be there. I still play, but it seems hollow now.

Reading now seems a lot like recording music. It feels hollow. I really hope that this is only a transitory feeling, hope that when I get used to the habit of wearing glasses that I will once again find the enjoyment that reading once gave me. I hope.

I dislike change. Shoot me... so I’m a creature of habit. A comet on a comfortably familiar trajectory, believing I am set to traverse this orbit for a long long time.

And like a comet who gets a tiny bump and begins to feel its path changing and pointing to a new destination, I feel predictably out of sorts.

Today I heard that a man whom I had worked with for a time committed suicide. For some reason that has struck me today in a way I did not expect. His death, or more so his choosing the time and method of his death, seems unbelievably selfish to me.

I want to scream at him: Who are you to decide the time? Why do you get to check out and leave the rest of us still lurching through life? Why are you so special?

And don’t throw all this pity and empathy crap at me, tell me I should try to understand his pain and feel for him.

Who are you to say how I should work through my grief?

Every person in this world has troubles and issues to work through.

I have known quite a few people in my life who have committed suicide. Far too many.

I am tired of hearing about it. It’s not right. It’s not fair.

I know, because I am a writer and ponder these things, that a person who does this has finally decided that they cannot handle “IT” anymore... whatever “IT” may be. They think that it is easier to just leave now, just check out, because, they think, “What more good would it be for me to be here another day anyway?”

Here’s what I say... like a comet in a set trajectory that gets bumped and put into another trajectory... who’s to say that the new path you will take won’t eventually provide some kind of GREAT THING to the world? Maybe when you get bumped you just might bump some other comet and that one another comet... and all those new paths might be just the THING to allow for GREAT THINGS to happen! Maybe one of those comets will someday solve the government money problems, or save a million babies, or solve world hunger.


Don’t commit suicide folks. Just don’t do it. Find a way. Make it work. There is a reason for you to be here.

If nothing else, at least PLEASE go here:


Wednesday, September 18, 2013

A preponderance of bass

Last week you may recall I wrote a post titled “Seeking Alpha” in which I described a mantra for authors that helps in finding the best balance between risk and reward (link here).

Today I destroy all that happy-happy-joy-joy crap with a repetitious moan-of-a grunt-and-spew-pisser-of-a-phrase that helps us to just GET BY.

I am talking about SEEKING BETA.

You finance types will see that as yet another method of raping people of helping people with their money, and authors might see it as a plea for someone to proofread a new tome.

Get that outta yer heads right now!

I aint talking about any of that!

I deal in human fulfillment...

In the movie “Risky Business”, in a moment of foreshadowing that aludes to his son’s mental condition, Joel Goodson’s father points out that Joel has left the equalizer on his expensive stereo system in a bad configuration. There’s “something odd” about the sound. A “preponderance of bass”.

Like many teenagers, Tom Cruise’s character Joel Goodson ignores his father. And this act of defiance turns out to be a good thing for Joel.

THIS is what I am talking about... finding a place where we can ignore the father inside our own heads, a way to test with and play with and FIX our own internal imbalance...

A place where we can all just say “What the f*ck”!

A place where we can just give up! Throw up our hands (or just throw up) and give the world a big fat middle finger then turn our backs and walk away from it all until we feel like coming back!

Sometimes “Seeking alpha”, trying hard, persevering, stick-to-itive-ness, and all that jazz just plain SUCKS. Sometimes we WANT to throw in the towel, pass the buck, wallow in the mire, or just WALLOW.

And sometimes that is JUST WHAT WE NEED.

Sometimes it’s good to walk away.

Give it a rest. Wait a few days and then come back with a fresh mind and clean slate of expectations.

And yes there are times that we should consider the possibility of walking away permanently.

I mean it.

Right now I am writing a couple of different projects, and I have about three more in my head that I have made a few notes on that I would like to work on.

The two I am technically “writing” now are another ROMY MALLOY novel and a CULVER BISHOP novel.

I am about half way done with Culver Bishop, and I have been enjoying it.

But with the release of the first Romy Malloy novel, I have been thinking more and more again about Romy and her friends and the next chapter of their lives.

I actually put down Culver and started again on writing Romy’s second. I am also about half way done.

And that’s when the doubts started.

WHAT DO I DO NOW? (whine, cry, whimper...)
I have been considering if it is time to put down the Culver Bishop story.

Look, I don’t think I really WILL kill the story... but listen... and THIS is where it gets important...

It is actually GOOD for me to THINK about KILLING IT!

That’s right... you heard me.

I think it is a very good thing to think about the relative possibilities of success of your works.

Things like: “Is the story working? Is it strong enough? Did I think it through properly?”

Author and self-titled “SOCIAL MEDIA JEDI” Kristen Lamb says it all best right here: http://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/2013/09/17/how-sick-is-your-novel-can-it-be-saved/

Sometimes the answer is “YES”. Kill it. Put it down and out of its ever loving misery.

Believe me, this will be doing yourself a favor (and the rest of us too!!!)

Joel Goodson (get it... the good son) wanted to get into Princeton so badly that he sacrificed nearly his whole life and friends and social growth just for a CHANCE to go to Princeton. He never took a break to stop and think about if what he was doing was right for him.

But he met a girl and did some stuff and presto change-o he realized that maybe it’s not such a good idea to focus so much on one thing that you neglect all other areas of your life.

It’s the same when it comes to writing (or creating or arting or singing or musician-ing).

Walk away. Do something else for a while. For a day, a week, a month, a year... maybe forever.

Sometime you just gotta say “What the f*ck!”

That project will still be there. And if you look back and realize it’s a major frog with too many warts to even think about saving?

Kill it.