That Boar’s Head Voice

Periodically, I am asked to “beef up” the description of people, places, and things.

When people write, they don’t always put a voice to their work other than their own inner monologue, or not even that if they’re really, really fast. But when reading back a review, an introduction, and most of all dialogue, having a distinct voice can also affect the words to fit the cadence and history behind “the voice.”

As I write descriptions, I often imagine it read aloud like a narrative movie announcer. I’m not talking about the late Don LaFontaine, that deep, smoking-since-you-were-six-years-old, undoubtably compulsory voice telling you to see a movie. Someone who sounds friendlier but with a cautionary wisdom, like a great uncle from the old world about to read a Grimm faerie tale.

You know, like the guy who does those Boar’s Head commercials.

You believe him, don’t you? That anything sliced onto your sandwich from your local deli just won’t taste quite as good or fresh if it doesn’t have a Boar’s Head label on it. How can you not trust a voice like that? Why wouldn’t you want a Boar’s Head ultimate sub from the Publix grocery store deli with Black Forest ham, smoked turkey breast, and deep red roast beef?

Great. Now I’m hungry.

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