Chapter Readings (stream/download MP3 and Ogg Vorbis)
How do you subscribe to these spoken word downloads? Copy the URL in the box below into your preferred podcasting software (e.g.
Feedreader, iTunes, Juice, etc.). You will automatically receive Midwife
in the Tire Swing chapter listings. The TOC will also connect you to individual chapters.
Each chapter has an onboard menu of links. Click “Audio Version” to choose from
the available audio formats. And you are invited to follow along—select “Print”
for an HTML page with a sizeable font.
eREADERS FOR eBOOKS FROM ONETINLEG.COM
handle the display and accessibility issues with reasonable success. Some have
glitches, some have different glitches. They’re usually free, so who’s to complain?
Adobe Digital Editions will do ePub quite nicely, and there is a Firefox widget
that turns your browser into a book. The PDFs and .mobi (Mobipocket, likewise
free) boast many free applications and even Amazon offers a free desktop Kindle
reader. Kindle—both on your desktop and on the Amazon device—wants to see your
download as a .prc, the Kindle-friendly, non-DRM alternative. Be prepared to
drag and drop.
Ahhh, where was I now? Oh, yes—the disclaimer. These MP3 downloads are released
under a Creative Commons license. They’re free. Copy the files as much as you
want, pass ’em around. All I ask is that you don’t alter the file or sell it.
If you like what you hear, tell your friends. And thanks for listening.
To download these to your computer right-click and “Save link as...” generally.
Have a look at the User’s Manual. And check
out the MP3s at onetinleg.com.
Fr. Coughlin gasped, struggled for
breath and sank to his knees on the Berber carpeting—twelve-fifty the
square foot, beige in color and Belgian in origin, the shearings of
an untamed Moroccan mountain goat imported at great expense by the Radio
Boom. That was how explosions were supposed to be written down; Young
Lucy was an avid reader and knew this. But this was more of a Thump,
felt through the soles of his feet rather than heard, and impossible
to write down.
The tiger on the wall above the bathtub
was painted with the foreshortening of a heroic tableau. By a trompe
l’oeil trick assumed its intended proportions when viewed from below.
“It’s sexy. You know... wet.” It slavered: lust, rage—indigestion, perhaps.
Alicia lived in daily dread of the
shopping forays of Lucy’s grandson, Ian Emory Hobart. He scavenged the
Salvation Army and resale stores for giant plush animals and aloha shirts.
He sent Sarah Drye a picture with a stuffed cheetah wearing sunglasses
seated beside him in his repossessed convertible.
“Gotta get inside their head,” Prentiss Mayfield said softly to Lucy. His huge fist flashed and the fly was gone. “See.” He opened his fist and the fly, damaged but not dead, fell into his mashed potatoes. “It’s your eyes,” Mayfield said as he tucked into his potatoes, fly and all.
Benjie Stallings, an eighth-grader, showed up for home room roll
call with a back pack full of left-handed lightbulbs and was a big shot for the
rest of the day. Pauley and Jerry have tried this once, stoned—harvesting subway
bulbs—and considered themselves pioneers in two-man pyramid research.”
Lucy has wired the oil tank with an incendiary device to beat out
the state at any tax sale that might be forthcoming at his death: “Kaboom, The Big
Bung, so I know where they’re going to get it—straight up the ass,” he says.
Beholden to no man, Willipaqers had trudged to town on Election Day with only an occasional rebellion since the Aroostook War of 1839. Voting involved the heroic consumption of alcohol supplied free of charge by the candidates, and not a few bullet wounds, gouged eyes, broken limbs and missing teeth. Albeit tales of cannibal sacrifice by roving bands of free-lance desperados persisted, they voted their consciences and split their tickets.
Alone in the empty Extension office, Ed got up and walked over to the wall behind his secretary’s desk where a large, loud clock spun away the seconds, minutes, hours. It came from Walmart and lost five minutes a week. “I want to get laid,” said Ed. He held his head against the clock’s plastic face; it felt cool without being cool, a caress of plastic.
12: Samantha Rear-ends Sarah at the Phaneuf Gas Station
The sun sliced through her
sunglasses with icepick intensity; Sarah signaled for a turn, hoping
there was nobody in the oncoming lane. Dino, the Sinclair dinosaur,
smiled down. Stop! Clean Restrooms! Sarah’s ears volunteered a
make-believe sizzle as the sweat droplet between her eyes
evaporated. She was alone and lost. Yesterday’s reptile trolled on
for vacationers, a smiling lie set to misdirect one last wagon
It had been two days since the incident with the medicine cabinet.
Samantha looked forlornly toward the bathroom where silver duct tape formed a fragile barricade.
Inside were Xanax, Prozac, her toothbrush and the last three rolls of toilet paper.
Catherine Armstrong Hobart dozes
in her chair; Hollywood Squares blares unattended from the
television. Lucy shuffles over to mute the set and bends to kiss his
wife on the forehead. “True I talk of dreams, which are the children
of an idle mind,” Lucy whispers in her ear. Cat stirs but does not
Cat’s efforts to get the window down were thwarted by the perplexing ingenuities of the visiting nurse association’s leased
automobile. The keys were in the ignition. She turned the key; four cylinders softly pooted to life, and three of four windows rolled down.
The driver’s side stayed shut. She abandoned the nurse’s car on a traffic circle, neatly parallel parked, and hitchhiked home.
Sarah chewed nicotine gum by the wad, by the box, yard, fathom
and furlong. Sarah developed large, strong jaws. Billie Sundae, proprietrix of Quilter’s
Paradise, read a singleness of purpose into Sarah’s clenched teeth and felt she
was ready for more responsibility. Sarah was moved up to paper-piecing and appliqué.
“Hoplitomeryx must have had a smile like a wolf,” said Sarah Drye
as Jerry Levy nibbled at her gluteus maximus. “Wolves smile after dinner. Not many
get to see a wolf smile,” said Sarah. Jerry looked up and smiled.
“Moribund.” Billie Sundae thrust her rosy cheeks and perky nose
around the corner of the door. Sara’s appliqué and paper-piecing
class was just breaking up. “Moribund is to have passed a point of
any possible usefulness, to be redundant, dead without the presence
of mind or the stick-to-itiveness to lie down and stop breathing.”
father, Sarah thought.
Chapter 20: These Violent Delights have Violent Ends
Elder Jesse Youngblood of the Church of the Divine Satisfaction was hunting. His cuffless corduroy trousers were tucked inside heavy toeless woolen knee-highs.
Elder Jesse favored two pairs of socks in his boot preceded by a wad of tissue in the toe.
“Groundhog. Mighty fine eatin’,” said Elder Jesse. He fingered in a pocket, counting his .22 caliber cartridges.
Ian Emory Hobart learned about lenses, processing and depth of focus, and attended high school with no serious malfeasances. He raked blueberries on the down-county barrens in the summer for pocket money. Considering his boyhood steeped in the Puritan work ethic—honest sweat, honest toil, value given for value received plus ten percent—this was not unusual, despite Lucy’s best efforts.
Cat had wedded Lucy in the same house, before the same familiar
faces, amid the same furniture with identical rows of the orchards marching parallel
ranks to the Atlantic shores three miles away. When I came to this house as
a bride, things were different, thought Cat. But not much different.
Ian Emory learned from Lucy who taught him the life skills that
had served him when he was In The War: how to shoot craps kneeling on cement and
fade a low roller; how to shave with a straight razor on a moving train; how to
shoot a .50 caliber machine gun.
Who wouldn’t prefer a compression technology inspired by Terry Pratchett’s
Discworld? Ogg is the enclosure, Vorbis the codec—more bounce to the ounce and
at a potentially lower bit weight than MP3s. There is a panoply of Ogg Vorbis
players out there—I use the VLC player; you can download it
But then, I am an Windows 7 holdout. The Windows 7 operating system comes with
the Ogg-friendly Windows Media Player 12. Windows 10? Before you backup everything
and yank the big red lever there is reading to do. I am putting this one off
for as long as possible; there is no Media Player packed with Win10. There are
add-ons for older and newer devices, too. Mac? Yep. For OS X follow the bread
crumbs at http://www.vorbis.com/.
While navigating these tales of
onetinleg.com you may notice
some (depending on your feedreader and RSS source) tagged as explicit. No outside
agency is responsible for this. I did it myself. The free-living citizens of
these yarns exercise a talent for robust self-expression and have likewise been
known to procreate at the drop of a, well... at the drop-of-a... Tsk, tsk.
For those Midwife
followers with sufficient time for an Internet download totaling over a
gigabyte split between two files, less romantically called an infodump, or
(Google this one). These are long-form MP3s—VBR 0 at 220-260 kbps.
Midwife in the Tire Swing Part #1
here (Prolog through Intermezzo 8—runtime 8¼ hours) Midwife in the Tire Swing Part #2 here (early in 2018)
The iBOOKS app for iPAD (a free download for
Because the iBooks app uses ePub, you can also
use it to read ePub books you get from other sources with your computer. Just
drag the ePub files into your iTunes Library (or select Add to Library from
the iTunes File menu), then sync your iPad with your computer (iTunes 9.1 required).
The books will appear on your shelf in iBooks right alongside the ones you get