← The Creative Penn Podcast For Writers
The Creative Penn Podcast For Writers
Death Valley Audiobook Chapters And Book Marketing Tips With J.F Penn
00:38:28
What are some ways you can market a book during a launch period using audio, video, and text? What does my JFPenn voice clone sound like narrating the first two chapters of my thriller, Death Valley? J.F. Penn is the Award-winning,
Loading summary
Transcript17 lines
- [00:01]
Joanna Penn
Welcome to the Creative Penn Podcast.
- [00:04]
I'm Joanna Penn, thriller author and creative entrepreneur, bringing you interviews, inspiration and information on writing, craft and creative business. You can find the episode show notes, your free author blueprint and lots more@thecreativepenn.com and that's Pen with a double N. And here's the show hello creatives, I'm.
- [00:28]
J.F. Penn
Johanna Penn and this is episode number 802 of the podcast and it is Wednesday 2nd April 2025. As I record this in this extra in betweenisode, I'm sharing the first two chapters of my new thriller Death Valley, which you can listen to after this introduction. And of course I hope you enjoy the story and want to join the kickstarter@jfpenn.com but I also thought it might.
- [00:56]
Joanna Penn
Be useful for you in several ways.
- [00:59]
J.F. Penn
First of all, it is made with my voice clone on elevenlabs, so if you have had your doubts about digital narration with AI, then perhaps this might help you think about it more. I have found it quite strange proofing the story and listening to my voice, but I do love it. The amount of time it saves me and the effort it saves me is well worth it. Now, my audiobook narrator voice is different to my more casual podcasting voice, so you will notice that, but if you have listened to me narrate my short stories before or audiobooks, I hope you agree that it really does sound like me. I'm planning on licensing it as well, so hopefully that will bring in another stream of income and hopefully that will do the same for many other narrators. If you notice points in the narration.
- [01:47]
Joanna Penn
Where you think that sounds strange or that's wrong, it must be AI.
- [01:51]
J.F. Penn
Well, the same thing happens when you listen to a human narration, so I.
- [01:55]
Joanna Penn
Think that is within the same levels.
- [01:57]
J.F. Penn
I would expect from a human. So what else might be useful for you in terms of sharing this? Well, it is book marketing and we all need reminding of different ways to market a book. I am always trying to combine multimedia marketing when I do these launches. I'm doing audio, video as well as text.
- [02:19]
Joanna Penn
If you go to the story page.
- [02:20]
J.F. Penn
On the Kickstarter you'll see I have a video of human me talking and showing you the book, as well as a book trailer with images which I generated with Midjourney and brought alive with Runway ML and also text about why I've always loved deserts. I also have an interview about Death Valley on my books and travel podcast with Steve Hall, a Death Valley expert, and that is out now on Wherever you're listening to this. It is an audio podcast on the feeds. Just search books and travel on your favourite app. Or you can watch us on YouTube because I'm now sharing actual video interviews on YouTube @jfpenauthor. Plus I made another video with my photos of the research trip also on YouTube.
- [03:06]
Joanna Penn
And of course I'm doing social media.
- [03:08]
J.F. Penn
Posts every day which I scheduled with Buffer app. And there's lots of scheduling, different tools and also doing some paid facebook ads all underpinned by email marketing. So yes, I am putting in the marketing effort. None of us can stick a book up on a platform and expect it to sell. You have to do something and you often have to push your comfort zone about what you do. And I am pushing my comfort zone with this voice clone for sure. But the amount of time I expect it to save me in the future is just great. So I hope this has given you some ideas and if you love fast paced thrillers or if you want some ideas for your Kickstarter campaign campaign, check it out@jfpenn.com Death Valley and that link will redirect in the future once the campaign is closed after the 15th of April. Okay, here are the first two chapters of Death Valley, written by me, J.F. penn, narrated by my J.F. penn Voice clone on 11 Labs and.
- [04:10]
Joanna Penn
Produced by Simon Patrick Chapter 1 as dawn crept across Death Valley's Badwater Basin, the first rays of sun caught the crystalline salt flats like the reflection of a knife blade. Casey Thornton sat alone on the worn steps of the observatory on a ridge above the basin, one knee pulled up to her chest, watching light spill over the lowest point in North America. The vast salt pan stretched below her like a twisted mirror, its surface fractured into endless geometric patterns. In the growing light, the salt crystals sparkled and shadows pooled in the fractures. It was quiet and still. No birdsong, no rustling leaves, no burble of gentle water streaming over the rocks. None of the familiar sounds she'd grown up with in England's green and rainy southwest hills. Just the whisper of her breathing and the occasional soft ping of the observatory's metal walls expanding in the rapidly warming air. Casey came here every morning to savor these moments of perfect solitude, when the desert belonged to no one, where she could imagine a past before humans walked here and a future with nothing left but desert. The emptiness gave her perspective in the face of such majesty. She was nothing upon the face of the earth. Her past mistakes, however terrible, were so slight as to be insignificant. She could make it through one more day. She took a deep breath. It was late spring, and while the air was still cool by mid morning the heat would be brutal, especially out there on the salt flats. Her water bottle, slick with condensation, dripped onto the step beside her, and Casey was aware of every precious drop of moisture. Back home the English complained incessantly about the rain, but after living in Death Valley for even a brief few months, she would never take the cool, damp weather for granted again. A shadow passed overhead, and Casey tilted her face up, squinting against the strengthening sunlight. A golden eagle rode the morning thermal, its wingspan casting a dark cross against the sky now streaked with shades of pink and coral. She tracked the bird's lazy circles as it caught another updraft, soaring higher without apparent effort. It was free, untethered, with no regrets over what it had killed. If only she could channel that strength. The eagle banked sharply, angling toward the deep shadows of Coffin Peak. Casey watched until it disappeared, just another speck of life making its way in this harshest of environments. She looked across the salt flats to where the pastel bands of mineral deposits painted the foothills in streaks of rust, red, sulphur yellow, and a pale green that shifted into almost psychedelic shades under a certain light, so different to the Mendip Hills near her home, where everything was a muted variation of emerald and moss or slate grey and earthy brown. To the east, the Amargoza Range caught the full force of sunrise, its peaks glowing amber against a sky that deepened from pearl to turquoise with each passing minute. Closer in, by the edge of the salt pan, a stand of creosote bushes dotted the alluvial fan, their leaves gleaming with oil that filled the warming air with a sharp, clean scent. The bushes were scattered far apart, each one claiming its territory of precious water. Unlike the crowded hedgerows and tangled woodland back home, everything about this landscape was different to England, its scale, its severity, its sublime indifference to human presence. Primeval forces had shaped the ground beneath her feet with the movement of ancient lake beds, tectonic upheaval, and millions of years of wind and sun and salt. In Somerset, centuries of human habitation had shaped every hill and dale softened by sheep grazing and crisscrossed by ancient stone walls. But here, despite generations of humans struggling to tame it, Death Valley remained terrifyingly wild, the perfect escape. Casey inhaled deeply, tasting dust and minerals on her tongue. Out here, she could push away the memories more easily, and the echoing screams in that cave back in Somerset felt distant, almost unreal, the constricting stone walls that pressed in, stealing the air from her lungs had no power in this vast open space. Here the horizon stretched on forever and the sky was an endless canopy of light. Here she could breathe. The wind stirred hot already, though the sun had barely cleared the mountains. It whispered across the salt pan, raising tiny dust devils that danced briefly before dissolving. Casey watched them spin themselves into nothing, remembering her grandmother's warning about spirits of the wild places, about how they wouldn't recognize her as she was, not of this land. She had called Casey mad for taking this job, for leaving behind everything familiar to work in a godforsaken desert with a terrifying promise in its name. But that was exactly why Casey had come to find a place so vast and empty that its immensity would dwarf her ghosts. A place where she could rebuild herself in the stark light of day, far from the underground darkness that still haunted her dreams. And the people of the small Somerset village who still saw her as she had been in those dark days after the accident. The wind gusted stronger, carrying the mineral scents of salt and sun, baked rock and something herbal. Sage maybe, from the scrubland below. Natural smells, clean and sharp, so different from the damp earth and moss she'd grown up with. Casey glanced at her watch. It was almost time to transform into the capable adventure guide, projecting confidence and competence and always wearing a friendly smile. Americans loved a British accent, and she loved the advantage it gave her, especially with the wealthy guests who came out here to experience a taste of the wilderness even as they were protected from its dangers in every way. Casey turned and looked down the other side of the ridge at the award winning Desert Sanctuary complex below, its sweeping curves of glass and reclaimed wood artfully mirroring the undulating lines of the dunes shaped by the relentless wind and the baking heat of the sun. While the desert stretched vast and unforgiving in every direction, the sanctuary offered an oasis of almost impossible luxury, certified as ecologically net zero to assuage any lingering guilt over its extravagance. Private villas and suites dotted the property, some with infinity pools that seemed to merge with the desert beyond. The water sparkled in the morning light, so much precious moisture left to evaporate under the desert sun. But tasteful excess was all part of the expectation of the guests, and the latest batch would soon be arriving. Desert style gardens surrounded the villas, giving the guests a sense of privacy while also making them feel as if they were actually out in the wild. Tall Joshua trees stood like sentries along curved pathways, while beds of desert marigolds and purple verbena added splashes of color that nature would never have allowed to congregate so densely. An intricate drip irrigation system kept the plants alive, all to maintain the illusion of perfectly controlled wilderness. At the heart of it all rose the main sanctuary building, crowned by its architecturally award winning glass dome. The grand dining room and bar on a raised level within, offered panoramic views of the desert, allowing guests to observe the harsh landscape while enjoying climate controlled comfort. All too soon the space would be filled with the murmur of voices and the pop of champagne corks, but for now the dome caught the morning light, a giant lens focusing the sun's growing strength. Casey looked out toward the line of dune buggies parked at the front of the adventure garage, its wide door open to the morning breeze. She'd already checked that all were cleaned and fuelled for the day ahead. Before driving one of them up the ridge to the observatory, she ran through her mental emergency supplies in each vehicle, satellite phones charged, GPS units programmed with safe routes and danger zones clearly marked. The desert didn't forgive mistakes, and she refused to let anything happen to her charges, no matter how reckless they might be with their own safety. She'd learned that the hard way. One moment of distraction, one failure to double check equipment, and the drone of aircraft engines shattered the morning stillness and forced her out of the spiral into darker thoughts. Casey looked to the horizon and spotted the small plane, a white speck against the now vast blue canvas of sky, making its final approach across the salt pans towards the sanctuary. There would be several planes arriving this morning with the guests for the week ahead, each expecting the highest standards of service as well as memorable experiences they couldn't get anywhere else. Casey pushed herself up from the observatory steps, brushing dust from her cargo pants. Time to become the professional they all expected. She ran her fingers through her short dark hair cropped close to her neck, a practical style so different from the long waves she'd worn back in England. The desert encouraged her to strip away anything unnecessary, and she had wanted to transform, to be almost unrecognisable to those who knew her. Back home. She worked out in the hotel's gym as often as she could, and she kept her calorie intake to the minimum. Some might say she punished her body for its betrayal, but Casey only wanted to become someone different. Someone harder. Just in case, she did a quick inventory of her gear as she strode toward the dune buggy, its reinforced roll cage gleaming in the strengthening sun. Radio clipped to her belt, fully charged, first aid kit secured behind the passenger seat, more comprehensive than even the resort required. Supplies for Snake bites, heat exhaustion, and the countless other ways the desert could kill. Emergency water cached in insulated containers, satellite phone, rescue blankets, flare gun. Things she hoped she would never need. Casey swung into the driver's seat, adjusted her sunglasses, and buckled the five point harness. The engine roared to life with a satisfying growl that echoed off the cliff face. She took a moment to check the gauges. Fuel, oil pressure, temperature. All optimal. Casey eased the buggy into gear and began the descent along the narrow track that switchbacked down the cliff face. The path was treacherous, loose scree shifting under the tyres as she navigated the hairpin turns. One mistake, one moment of inattention and gravity would claim them both. But Casey knew every inch of this trail and let the buggy's weight work with her rather than fighting it, enjoying the last minutes of alone time. The small plane drew closer, heading toward the private airstrip at one side of the hotel. Several of the welcome staff had already driven golf carts to the edge of the Runway, ready to take the bags and drive the guests into the shade. As the plane descended, Casey could almost feel the weight of expectation pressing down the demands, the secrets, the complications that always came with guests wealthy enough to afford this luxurious paradise. The morning's peace retreated like a mirage, leaving behind the stark reality of what the Sanctuary truly was. A stage set where the ultra rich could play at adventure. A desert experience with none of the danger of this brutal landscape. A carefully crafted illusion created by Casey and her fellow workers. It was time to maintain that illusion for the next set of guests. Chapter 2 Casey steered the dune buggy into its designated spot as the morning's gentle warmth evolved into the fierce heat that Death Valley was infamous for. She could feel it radiating from the asphalt of the parking area and see it shimmering above the dark surface like invisible flames. The staff entrance was marked only by a discreet keypad, its brushed metal housing already hot to the touch. Casey punched in her code and pulled open the heavy door, bracing herself for the transition. The artificial cold hit her like a physical wall, shocking her desert warm skin and making her catch her breath. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she walked into the carefully manufactured environment of the Sanctuary. Time to put on her game face. She straightened her shoulders, adjusted her name badge, checked her reflection in the brushed steel wall. The woman who looked back was a professional, someone who knew what she was doing, someone who could be trusted with the lives of others. Buenos dias, Casey. Manuel from maintenance nodded as he passed, pushing a cart of tools. AC's running high today. Ms. Jensen's orders. Guests coming in from the heat. You know how it is. Thanks for the warning. She managed a smile, though she never understood the American obsession with Arctic indoor temperatures, yet another artificial extreme in this place of natural ones. She quickened her pace and hurried through the high ceilinged corridors and into the grand atrium. The space opened up before her, a soaring cathedral of glass and steel that brought the desert inside while keeping its deadly touch at bay. Morning light poured through the vast windows, creating shifting patterns on the polished stone floor. The walls on either side featured artwork created by local Timbisha Shoshone artists, installations that told stories of the valley. The largest piece dominated the wall behind the reception desk, a striking mixed media work that depicted the desert's seasons of feast and famine. Coyote featured prominently, as he did in many Timbisha tales, his figure simultaneously playful and menacing. The piece incorporated real desert sand and minerals, their colors shifting as the morning light played across the surface. Beneath the artwork, a small plaque carried the words of the the desert does not care for your wealth or status. It will transform you or it will destroy you. The choice is not yours to make. Casey knew the words by heart, having read them every morning for the few months she'd been here, finding in them a hope for her own transformation. The other pieces were equally powerful beadwork that captured the shimmer of heat waves over salt flats, woven sculptures that traced the path of flash floods through narrow canyons, and painted stories of those who had wandered into the valley unprepared and never returned. Beauty and danger. The desert's ever present dichotomy. The plane taxied to a halt outside and the staff assembled in their usual formation, a carefully choreographed arrangement designed to project both efficiency and welcome. Everyone had been briefed on the guests to serve them better in the days ahead and make their experience an extraordinary one. Casey headed over to the gathering staff and took her position among the other adventure guides. Security chief Jack Abrams stood slightly apart from the group, in a place where he could survey both the entrance and the bank of security monitors, partially hidden behind a decorative screen. Even in the resort's sand toned uniform, Jack radiated military precision. His shirt was pressed knife sharp, his boots gleaming despite the desert dust that coated everything by day's end. A radio earpiece curled around his right ear, and his eyes strayed to the tactical watch on his wrist, checking the time with mechanical regularity. Casey had seen him do the same thing during staff meetings, counting the seconds, probably calculating escape routes and response times in his head. His gaze flicked up to the monitors now tracking movement with predatory focus. A maintenance golf cart crossing the grounds, a housekeeper restocking towels by the central pool, a lizard skittering across one of the external cameras. He catalogued each detail, his expression unchanging except for the slight narrowing of his eyes when he noticed Casey watching him. Eyes front, he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. Try to look professional for once. Casey bit back a retort. No point engaging. She and Jack were like matter and antimatter, their worldviews so opposed that any contact only led to explosion. She'd learned that the hard way in her first staff meeting, when his rant about survival of the fittest had nearly driven her to violence. The click of heels on marble announced Tara Jensen's arrival. Before she appeared, the owner of the sanctuary moved like royalty, her slim figure draped in a sand colored silk dress that somehow remained unwrinkled. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the morning light, and her perfectly styled hair defied both gravity and the humidity, destroying air conditioning. Her usual subtle makeup concealed any hint of fatigue, but Casey knew Tara would have been up since dawn, reviewing staff reports, double checking the most luxurious suites and ensuring her domain ran with clockwork precision. While other resort owners might trust such details to their employees, Tara controlled every inch of the desert sanctuary. Places, everyone. Tara's voice carried without her having to raise it. She moved down the line of staff, adjusting a name badge here, straightening a collar there. She reached Casey, pausing to assess her appearance. Casey fought the urge to smooth her hair again. Next to Tara's perfection, everyone else looked slightly dishevelled. Tara smiled. Play up your British accent with Mr. Carver Scott, won't you? He has a weakness for Downton Abbey. Casey stifled an eye roll at the stereotype and nodded. Of course. The main doors whispered open, bringing a blast of desert heat and the sound of voices as staff accompanied the guests inside. Celebrity chef Rafael Ortiz entered first, his trademark red bandana bright against his tanned skin. He was smaller in person than he appeared in his YouTube videos, but he carried himself with the confident swagger of someone used to being watched. A two person camera crew trailed behind him, capturing shots from different angles. Welcome to the sanctuary. Tara glided forward, hand extended. We're honoured to have you with us. The honor's all mine. Raffaele gestured to his cameraman. Mind if we get some B roll? The lighting in here is incredible. Of course. Tara's smile didn't waver, though Casey saw her stiffen slightly. But please respect our other guests privacy and keep them out of shot. Raffaele was already wandering toward the artwork, his crew tracking his movement. This place is wild, guys. He addressed the camera, his on screen Persona clicking into place like a mask. Check out this indigenous art. These local people are the real heart of the desert, and we'll be eating just like them soon enough. Casey had watched a couple of Raphael's videos, all machismo and bloodlust, as he slaughtered endangered species for views in exotic locations around the world. Jack shifted position, moving to keep Raphael and his cameras in clear view. The chef's reputation for outrageous stunts clearly hadn't escaped the security chief's notice. Casey recalled the incident that had made Raphael headline news. He'd broken into a protected wildlife sanctuary to hunt and eat a critically endangered bird. The video had gone viral, earning him millions of views and a hefty fine that he'd laughed off as a business expense. The private kitchen is ready for Raffaele's special requirements, tara murmured to her staff. He'll be preparing the centerpiece for the banquet, so please make no comment on his activities. We're here to facilitate, not judge. Casey glanced over at the resort's ecological sustainability pledge, emblazoned on a plaque behind reception. How much of it would survive contact with Raffaele's brand of shock entertainment? She kept her face neutral. Professional. After all, wasn't she also playing a part? The capable guide, dependable and trustworthy, with no hint of her past mistakes showing through the facade. The next guest through the door was more subdued. Barclay Turner slipped through like someone used to going unnoticed, his leather messenger bag clutched against his chest like a shield. The bag was expensive but well worn, with scratches and scuffs, and he had the slightly unkempt look of someone who forgot to check his appearance in mirrors. He scanned the atrium, taking in every detail with a hungry gaze that Casey recognized from other writers who'd stayed at the sanctuary. They were always searching for material to turn reality into fiction and transform people into characters. Magpies of a kind, looking for the next shiny object to use in their work. Barclay paused in front of the Timbisher artwork, his head tilted to one side. Mr. Turner. Tara approached him with a practiced smile. We're delighted to have you with us. I understand you're researching the area for a new book. Yes. Yes. He barely looked at her, still lost in the painting. Fascinating region. So many lost stories. So many buried secrets. A ripple of movement drew Casey's attention to the doors as Grace Lynn entered. The social media influencer was known for her designer fashion and luxury travel videos, but her accounts had been quiet recently. Today she wore loose hemp clothing in natural beige, her face bare of makeup. She carried a canvas tote bag emblazoned with environmental slogans, and her phone remained out of sight. Perhaps she was trying something new, but clearly the influencer side of her could not be contained. As Grace accepted a welcome glass of champagne, she assessed the angles of the space, the way the light fell, and her fingers kept darting to her shoulder bag, actively resisting the urge to pull out a phone. Casey suspected it wouldn't stay hidden for long. This place was designed to be shareable and provoke social media envy. Welcome, Ms. Lynn. Tara's tone was smooth as ever. I understand your father is interested in learning more about our sustainability initiatives. Is he? Grace's voice was cool. Funny, since his companies are responsible for half the luxury developments currently destroying the Mojave Desert ecosystem. Tara's smile didn't waver, but Casey noticed a slight tightening around her eyes. Before she could respond, the doors opened again. Maxwell Carver Scott entered like he owned the place, which, given the size of his reservation deposit, he practically did. The tech billionaire moved with the contained energy of someone used to bending the world to his will. His silver hair was expertly styled to look casually tousled, and his linen suit probably cost more than Casey made in a month. Welcome to the desert sanctuary. Tara stepped forward, but Maxwell was already scanning the staff lineup with the air of a man reviewing troops. Behind him came his wife, Simone, one hand resting protectively on their daughter Isla's shoulder. Simone was stunning in that seemingly effortless way that only the very wealthy could maintain, every hair perfectly in place, her make up flawless and her coral silk dress cut with the kind of precision that announced its cost without needing a label. Ayla bounced beside her, all long limbs and barely contained energy, her eyes wide with excitement at a new place. Casey saw the exact moment Simone noticed Jack. Her step faltered and something flickered across her perfect features. Recognition. Surprise. And something else. Fear. Desire. It was gone too quickly to read. Jack's reaction was more controlled, but there was a sudden tension in his shoulders and he clenched one fist. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before both looked away, their faces settling into careful masks of indifference. But Casey could see the taut control remain in Jack's posture and the razor sharp anger he kept barely hidden under security protocol. She had felt the keen edge of it in last week's staff meeting. Casey had been arguing for additional safety precautions on the hiking trails, especially for younger guests like Isla. They're paying for an authentic desert experience. Jack's tone dripped with contempt. They're not to be coddled by your European bleeding heart safety standards they're paying to survive their authentic desert experience, Casey shot back. Or did you skip the chapter on duty of care in your security manual? Survival isn't a team sport, Thornton. The desert doesn't care about your socialist ideals of protecting the weak. Out here, it's adapt or die. Right. Because letting children get heatstroke is great for business. Do you actually believe this macho prepper bullshit, or is it just your personality substitute? The argument had ended with both of them called into Tara's office for a lecture on professional behavior. But watching Jack now, the way he tracked Simone's movement across the atrium, Casey wondered what secrets their head of security kept hidden behind his survival of the fittest facade. Staff circulated with trays of fresh juice and champagne, oblivious to the tensions. Maxwell chose a green smoothie, while Simone's hand trembled slightly as she lifted a champagne flute to her perfectly lipsticked mouth. Grace had left her champagne untouched on a low table, her attention fixed on the desert visible through the high windows. Raffaele grabbed glasses of juice and champagne from a staff member, swigging both as he played to his cameras. With exaggerated appreciation, Tara assembled the guests in the center of the atrium, where the morning sun created a natural spotlight on the reclaimed wooden steps. Her welcome speech was a masterpiece of subtle flattery and exclusive promise, each word carefully chosen to stroke egos while establishing the resort's prestige. You are among the select few to experience the desert sanctuary, and I know you will uniquely appreciate all we offer here. Not just luxury, but communion with one of the world's most extraordinary landscapes. Raphael's camera crew adjusted their angles to catch both him and Tara in the same frame, while Grace's studied indifference couldn't quite hide her influencer's instinct to document everything. Barclay retreated to the periphery, scribbling in a notebook. As Tara concluded her speech, the staff members responsible for various aspects of the resort stepped forward to introduce themselves and offer options for both relaxation and entertainment. When her turn came, Casey smiled in welcome. I'm Casey Thornton, head of the Adventure Team. I'll be taking a tour of the property by June Buggy. It's the best way to appreciate the scale and beauty of our little corner of Death Valley. If any of you are keen, please meet me by the adventure garage in the parking lot in 30 minutes. Isla's face lit up. Can we, Mum? Please? I've never been in a June buggy. Casey saw a flash of concern cross Simone's features as Maxwell frowned slightly. Perhaps after you've rested, darling. The flight was I'll go, grace interrupted. I've always wanted to see how these luxury resorts handle their carbon footprint up close. It'll be perfect for my channel. Raffaele turned to his team. You stay here, get some B roll of the place, and I'll take the drone with me. As Isla continued to plead with her mother, Casey walked over to Simone. The buggies are very safe and we'll stay close to the resort for this first tour. Oh, let her go, maxwell said, his attention already shifting to his phone. Just don't get dirty, angel. And don't touch anything out there. Arrangements made, the guests dispersed briefly to prepare as Casey slipped out a side door and headed out to ready the buggies for adventure.
- [37:15]
J.F. Penn
So I hope you enjoyed those chapters, and if you want the full audiobook or any of the book formats, you can find Death Valley at jfpenn.com Death Death Valley and that link will redirect if you use it after the Kickstarter has ended in mid April. I'd love to know what you think of the AI narration, especially if you've listened to any of my human narrated audiobooks so you can compare my narrator voice. Let me know what you think. Joannathecreativepenn.com okay, back to the normal show on Monday. Until then, happy writing and I'll see you next time.
- [37:52]
Joanna Penn
Thanks for listening today.
- [37:53]
I hope you found it helpful. You can find the backlist episodes and show notes@thecreativepen.com podcast and you can get your free author blueprint@thecreativepen.com blueprint if you'd like to connect, you can find me on Facebook and x hecreative pen or on Instagram and Facebook. Happy writing and I'll see you next time.