It’s almost midnight and I’m still repeating “Before Smithfield hams became a household name…”
I’m voicing some work parts for a documentary tomorrow in what the casting sheet called “approachable, friendly, Southern suburban Mom.” I’ve been practicing all night and my accent keeps veering wildly from “genteel Virginian” to…like…”scary Arkansas hog killing’ Mom.” Gah!
Swear to God, I sound like this kid’s Mom from “Deliverance.”
One of the benefits of radio is a busy side business in voice work. Mostly easy stuff, commercials, but industrial voice-overs can pay well if you get enough of them. Which is why I’m struggling to elongate my Aaaaa’s and stop sounding like my Rrrr’s want to chew your face off.
Crap. Maybe I need to watch “Steel Magnolias” again. This is worse than the time I confidently guaranteed my agency that I indeed had a convincing Australian accent and ended up sounding like a lovesick Portuguese wasp.