Landall Proctor On the Vulnerability of Writing Memoir

In the summer of 2006, I set out to ride my bicycle solo and self-supported around the perimeter of the United States. Before leaving, a friend who had been an integral part of helping me plan the trip handed me a pocket-size journal, “For your memoir,” He said with a hug. While I had never considered writing a book, I journaled every night of my ride, recapping interesting and often odd interactions with strangers.

After the trip, I attempted to piece together my journey at least a dozen times. One of the problems I faced in completing the work that became Headwinds was deciding what kind of book it should be. As I was preparing for the trip, I searched desperately for any book about long-distance bike travel, but they simply did not exist. Now, on the other side of my own trip, I thought there was an opportunity to fill that space. I set the project aside and every few years I’d flip through my journal, open a document, and take another half-hearted stab until I let either self-doubt or indecision get in the way.

In the 14 years between completing the trip and writing Headwinds I’d find myself in social settings where someone new would learn about my summer in the saddle. They’d inevitably ask for my favorite story and, tired of always retelling about my accidental night at a nudist colony, I’d start to mix it up. More and more vignettes would make their way into the rotation. Like the time a cop pulled me over riding on the shrinking shoulder of the 101 trying to find the Golden Gate Bridge. Or about how I basically fueled my body on gas station fruit pies and McDonalds for three months. I often wondered if I could just tell the stories from my trip in a voice that made my friends and family feel like I was reading to them?

In the fall of 2019, I found myself at a sort of perfect storm for picking the project back up. I was feeling burned-out building software and was moving to Berkeley, CA from Detroit, MI with enough savings to support myself for a few months. I decided now was the time to finally put pen to paper and stick with the process through to the end. Instead of overthinking what kind of book I should write, I planned to simply take the project on day by day. I hoped that if I got the stories out of my head and onto paper, the type of book it should be would reveal itself.

For the next seven months I sat down daily, journal in hand and wrote. With a surprising frequency, details of the trip that I had long forgotten but had written about in my journal came vividly back into view. As the page length increased, I grew more confident that I was capturing the details of the trip as they happened, not just how I wanted to remember them.

As I’d hoped, eventually it became clear that I was writing a memoir, but that presented a terrifying prospect. Memoirs, as I thought of them, are often memorialized accounts of a life or event in which the reader should draw meaningful lessons. Did my bike trip qualify? I was fairly sure it didn’t, but since I was both making real progress and enjoying the process, I continued writing.

At some point, a few themes started to bubble to the surface. Some were obvious; the kindness of strangers, physical challenges related to riding a bike around the country, and equipment failures. These themes were objectively easy to recount. Two others weren’t quite so straightforward. I stayed with dozens of host families on the road, many of whom didn’t share my world view, particularly around matters of race and religion. I knew I needed to include these sometimes-painful encounters in an honest way, trying to encapsulate what was said, but being cautious to avoid a preachy tone. In these scenarios, I tried to leave space for the reader to evaluate the situation.

Another obvious theme that was difficult to explain but led to the spiral of emotions towards the end of the trip, was my deep loneliness. As somewhat of an introvert, I didn’t know what to make of my longing for social interactions with familiar faces and the feeling of a cartoonish storm cloud hovering overhead for hundreds of miles as I pedaled along. Having never faced such depression, it took a long time to diagnose the problem. Writing about that emotional response was my greatest challenge through the project. I had to learn to be vulnerable as I recalled sitting on a curb on the outskirts of Phoenix, watching a puddle of my own tears evaporate in the desert heat.

Headwinds doesn’t have a tidy ending that you might expect from a book about a bike trip. Spoiler alert. I called it quits before making the full lap around the country. For many years, a sense of shame for not completing the loop prevented me from fully sharing my experience. I was afraid people would view the trip, and me, as a failure. Some people still might, and that’s ok. In the end, I’m proud of the final version. What I came to realize through the writing process is that not all adventures wrap up in the way that you might have intended, but it doesn’t mean there weren’t lessons and stories worth retelling.

In that aspect, Headwinds turned out to be a memoir, but not one that aims to impart wisdom on its readers. Likewise, I never intended the book to be the culmination of a life well-lived. I set out to share my stories from that summer, finding the changing landscape of the country and myself as a then 24-year-old man pedaling a bicycle. If someone takes something away from my experiences that they can apply to their own life or spurs a conversation with friends, that’s great. But if all they do is laugh at my junk food diet and feel a tug on their heart strings at my descriptions of teary-eyed calls home, I’ll have done my job.

Landall Proctor is not a New York Times Bestseller, but if enough of you buy this book, he’ll happily update that sentence. So really, that’s on you. And your friends. And their friends. When he’s not writing about his bike trip he likes to race marathons, bird hunt with his dog George and say things that result in eye rolls from his son, Hudson. He lives in Berkeley, CA and thinks it's nice. You can find Headwinds and read more stories that didn't make the final edit here.

How to Record a Podcast Remotely And Get It Right The First Time

This article is originally published on descript.com.

Remote interviews are a fact of life for every podcaster, and in today’s era of social distancing, more so than ever. Since you rarely get the chance at an interview do-over, nailing down your remote recording workflow is essential. We’ll show you how to prepare for and record a remote interview, so you get it right the first time — with some additional tips along the way to make sure all your bases are covered. 

Choose the right remote recording setup for your podcast

The first step is to determine the remote recording setup that best suits the format and content of your podcast and your production and editing workflow.

In most cases, your best solution will involve recording remote interviews on Zoom, Skype, Google Hangouts, or a similar online conferencing service. This low-friction setup makes it easy for guests or co-hosts to contribute, but you’ll need to make sure you have the right software to record these interviews.

It’s also wise to make sure you can record phone calls. Phone interviews don’t offer great audio fidelity, but they make a great backup option in case of technical problems or schedule changes. Phone interviews probably won’t be your first choice, but it’s a good idea to be able to record a phone call just in case you need to. 

If you’re recording with the same remote co-host on each episode of your podcast, consider a double-ender setup, in which you and your co-host record your own audio tracks locally and combine them in post-production. For most podcasters, this isn’t the most convenient solution, but it does translate into the highest audio fidelity for you and your co-host.

The best way to record an interview is to prepare for it

When it comes to interviewing — especially remote interviewing — a little preparation goes a long way.

Do some research into your guest’s background, expertise, and projects. Who are they? Why is their work notable? What do you (and in turn, your audience) hope to learn from them?

Putting together a rough outline of the questions you’d like to ask will come in very handy. Write down a handful of specific questions and key points, but keep your outline broad and high-level. That’ll allow you to more easily adapt to the flow of conversation.

Maintaining that conversational flow remotely can be substantially trickier than doing so person-to-person. Prime yourself to listen more than you speak — in particular, try not to interrupt your guest. Editing out awkward silences between speakers is much easier than dealing with too much crosstalk!

When it’s time to record the interview, take a couple final preparatory steps to ensure a clean recording. Close all unnecessary software and set your computer to “Do Not Disturb” mode to make sure unwanted distractions don’t pop up (or worse: end up in the recording).

How to record a Skype call, Zoom interview, or Google Hangout

For most remote recording situations, Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts are your platforms of choice. All three are easy to set up, simple for guests to use, and feature audio fidelity good enough for most podcasts. 

Both Zoom and Skype offer built-in call recording functionality, but Google Hangouts currently limits this offering to enterprise users. There’s an additional caveat: the file format (.MP4 or .M4A) that each platform outputs may not be what you want, depending on your podcast production and editing workflow.

For maximum control over your final product, you’re better off using third-party apps to record computer system audio directly into the recording software of your choice rather than relying on their recording functionality.

If you’re on a Mac, BlackHole is a great open-source tool that allows you to route audio between apps, which means you can record the audio output from Zoom (or Skype, or Google Hangouts) directly into your preferred recording software. On Windows, Virtual Audio Cable offers similar functionality. 

If you’re already using Descript to record, you won’t need to use additional audio routing software. When recording audio into Descript, open the Record panel, choose Add a Track, select your input, and choose “Computer audio.” Click the Record button whenever you’re ready, and audio from Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts will be piped into Descript. 

No matter which remote recording setup you use, make sure you test it — and test it again — with a friend or colleague before you’re actually recording your podcast. Troubleshooting when you should be interviewing ranks near the top of everyone’s Least Favorite Things To Deal With, so make sure everything is in order before your guest is on the line.

How to record a phone interview with Google Voice

Social distancing means nearly everyone has gotten used to handling calls and meetings on Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts. But maybe your podcast guest is really old-school, or their computer is on the fritz, or maybe they’re simply only able to access a phone during your scheduled call time. It’s likely phone interviews will never be your first choice, but being able to record an old-fashioned phone call will come in handy.

Recording phone calls can be tricky, but using Google Voice to make an outgoing phone call from your computer means you can use the same remote recording setup detailed above to record the call.

Follow Google’s instructions to set up Google Voice and then learn how to make an outgoing call. Once everything’s set up, you’ll be able to record phone calls with Google Voice just like you’d record an interview on Zoom or Skype. 

Again, make sure to test with a friend and then test again before your interview. 

If lossless audio quality is a must, record a “double-ender”

For most remote recording situations, Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts are your platforms of choice. All three are easy to set up, simple for guests to use, and feature audio fidelity good enough for most podcasts. 

But if you have a remote co-host that regularly appears on your podcast, and you want to maximize the quality of your audio, a “double-ender” is the way to go: Each host or guest records themselves locally, and audio tracks are combined in post-production. For an additional cost, you can use third-party recording platforms that simulate double-enders without each speaker managing their own recording software. 

A traditional double-ender sees each speaker recording their own audio track using their recording software of choice (Descript, Audacity, Quicktime, etc.), and then the host or editor combines each speaker’s recording into a finished product. Each speaker should have a decent microphone — if they’re using a laptop microphone to record, you probably won’t hear a substantial advantage with a double-ender over a Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts recording.

Alternatively, you can simulate a double-ender by using a platform like SquadCast, Zencastr, or Cleanfeed. These services record lossless audio from each speaker, upload each track to the cloud, and combine them automatically. These platforms cost money, but they’re a great alternative to a double-ender when guests or co-hosts don’t have the time or wherewithal to fiddle with recording themselves locally. Again, make sure each speaker has a decent microphone — otherwise you won’t reap the full benefits of lossless audio.

Make remote recording hassles a thing of the past

Recording your podcast remotely isn’t painless, but once you get the hang of it — and nail down your workflow — it’ll become second nature.

Why We Need Dark Humor in Our Stories

by Richard Roper

Tony and Chris are horsing around with their friend and colleague Ralph. Chris grabs Ralph’s hair and leaps back in surprise as what turns out to be a wig comes away in his hand. ‘What, you didn’t know?’ Tony says, a sly grin on his face. So far, so quirkily charming. But context is all, and in this case, what’s actually just happened is that Tony (Soprano) has just brutally murdered his old pal and capo and lied about it to his heroin-addicted nephew who he’s called over to help dismember Ralph’s corpse. This is typical of The Sopranos, a show laced with dark humor throughout. But why go there? Well, the moment serves two purposes. Firstly, for the characters – it is a chance for them to find a moment they can bond over. Chris knows full well that Tony has killed Ralph, Tony knows full well that Chris is high – so for them to find something to laugh about in the middle of all this horror allows them a brief second of respite, a second or two of common ground. The second function of the moment is to show us, the viewer, that what we are witnessing is real life. Not that we’re watching a documentary – what a twist that would have been! – but that these gangsters are not slick, unfeeling, glamorous machines; they are fallible, they are human – and so much of being human is about making each other laugh, even in the most dire situations.

This for me is why – when used well – dark humor is so important in the stories we tell, because it is one of the most powerful tools we have in our arsenal as human beings. Even someone living the most charmed life will be visited by tragedy and misfortune or downright bad luck at some point in their time on this planet. The moment where you can make a joke to your friends about it is always that tipping point where you can stick a middle finger up at what’s just happened and show that you aren’t going to be bullied into submission any longer. Perhaps the greatest example of this in art is comedian Tig Notaro’s legendary stand-up show ‘Live’, performed just a few days after receiving a diagnosis of stage-two breast cancer. Introducing herself with words, ‘Hello, I have cancer’, Notaro goes on to talk about her illness, her recent break-up, and everything else in between, all with jet-black deadpan humor. What’s particularly fascinating is how the audience responds. Usually when you are listening to a comedy album the laughter from the crowd is predictable, like a wave breaking on the shore each time a punchline is delivered. But as Notaro speaks, the laugher comes in scattergun bursts – some of it hearty, some stifled. It is the spontaneous sound of recognition and shock as they watch a high-wire act of someone coming to terms with their mortality in almost real-time. It is a profoundly life-changing thirty minutes, and a fantastic example of the power of dark humor to help us be fearless.

My personal love of the dark side comes stems from my life-long obsession with comedy – both stand-up and sitcoms. Broken down to its simplest, comedy is all about surprise. The set-up of a joke makes you think one thing and then the punchline pulls the rug from under your feet. ‘Formulaic’ is one of the most commonly used adjectives used to criticize comedy – we know what’s coming, so aren’t surprised, so we don’t laugh. If you’ve become as much of a nerd as I have, it makes it harder and harder to find new ways to be surprised – which is why, like an addict looking for my next high, I ended up turning to darker comedies to find something unpredictable, and from both sides of the pond. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Peep Show. The League of Gentlemen – these are all shows that feature a cavalcade of dark themes and plotlines, characters without a moral compass – but crucially all the jokes are justified, it is not being dark for the sake of being dark. These shows constantly surprise with how far they are willing to push the boundaries, and is for that reason why they have such cult followings. It feels like they are saying ‘yeah, the world can be the worst, but if we throw our heads back and laugh our asses off, then we’ve won already’.

With dark humor being at the core of the art I love, it’s probably no surprise that my debut novel Something to Live For was always intended to have that at its core. The book was inspired by a real article I read about local authority workers in England who are tasked with dealing with the situation when someone dies alone. These are people who spend their nine to fives in the most horrific, depressing circumstances – but without exception they all exhibit stoicism and respect while finding as much humor in the situation as they can in order to simply get through. When you see it employed in moments as hopeless as that, you see just what a superpower dark humor can be, and why we need it in stories more than ever.