She jumped right in, and said, “Do
you like fairy tales?”
I stared
blankly for a moment, then shrugged, “I enjoyed them as a kid, I suppose, and I
don’t have a problem with them now, but I suppose I don’t give them much
thought these days.” She nodded.
“Well,
you might want to start thinking about them. Because, they’re real.” She paused,
watching for my reaction I suppose, but I couldn’t think of a reaction to give.
She took a breath and continued, “well, the creatures are real, and the stories
aren’t fictional, but they don’t always represent the full and accurate
truth. That’s exactly why I’m here, to be honest. I am a historian of sorts,
and I would like to produce a collection of accurate fairy tales, with your
help.”
I opened
my mouth, then closed it again. She settled back, clearly giving me a moment to
process. I skipped over the hardest part and said, “Well, you realize I’m not
really a writer, right? I do transcription. I just type up recordings of
people, I’m not really a storyteller.” She smiled, and seemed tickled that this
was my sticking point. “Yes of course. That is actually exactly what I
need. You see, I intend to interview the
very characters featured in the fairy tales, and I will need their stories transcribed
to produce the text.” I felt my head bobbing in a nod of agreement.
“I
suppose, if you want to look over my rates, that we could set up a contract and
you could send me the recordings. You’ll have to let me know what file formats
you will be working with and what transcription style you prefer.” She gently raised
a hand. “Ah, well yes. That’s why I came in person, you see. We, in the fairy
creature world, don’t exactly have access to what you would call technology,
and don’t have a way to record and preserve sound in the way that you are referencing.
We have an oral tradition, where stories are passed on verbally from creature
to creature. We do have writings and scribes, but I felt that this was
something that would be better done with, for lack of a better phrase, a human
touch.”
I was
still nodding, and I realized I was giving an impression of agreement and
understanding that I didn’t really feel, so I raised my hands to my face and
pressed them against my cheeks, forcing my head still. “Um. Right. I suppose
the next logical question is, if you don’t have the ability to record, how
exactly do you propose that I produce transcripts?” She shifted a little and
grinned shyly. “I was hoping that you would be willing to hear the stories and
interviews live, from the horses’ mouths as it were, and do both the recording
and transcription. I would conduct the interviews here in your office, so that
you can use your equipment.”
She clearly
saw my eyes widening. “And of course we can agree on compensation that is far
greater than your standard rates, with added bonuses for the task of recording and
the use of your personal space. And also,” she paused, “I believe something
along the lines of what you would call ‘overtime’ or ‘after hours’ rates would
be appropriate, since the majority of our interviewees would only be able to
come after dark or in the wee hours of the night.”
Despite
my hands, my head started nodding on its own again. She seemed to pick up on my
dumbfoundment, and took a slow breath, smiled, and stood abruptly. “I’ll let
you think on it, and we can revisit tomorrow evening.” I blankly said, “oh, it’s
Friday, I don’t work tomorrow.”
“I have a
feeling you’ll be here, at least I certainly hope so. Same time as today.” Her
eyes twinkled a bit as she smiled, tilting her head at me. Not the normal,
figurative type of twinkling eyes, but an actual, literal sparkle. “Ok,” I
said. “Oh, but, before you go, who are you?”
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