A mixture of fiction one person, two person dialogue and non-fiction samples.

Vocal Characteristics



Voice Age

Young Adult (18-35)


British (General) North American (General)


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Jane Boyer. This is from fem Care by Elliott. Hold halfway through the first day of our annual Fem Care summit in Miami. The facilitator says it's time to take a break from our maxi brainstorm session and have a team experience. A wiry pipe cleaner of a man who definitely doesn't work for the company goes to the podium. He's wearing a gray business suit and a red and yellow jesters at Hello, he says. I am German and I am part of the World Laughter Federation. It's German funny, says Eileen Callahan from R and D. Now busy hands up in the air, says the German in the juster hat. Ho ho, ha ha ha! We all repeat after him. Ho ho, ha ha ha! It doesn't feel like laughter. It feels like something more sinister. What are we supposed to feel here? Says Luiz Gonzalez, assistant brand manager on fem care. After two years of marketing natural fibre, maxi pads toe Latin American women, he's learned toe, look for emotion in everything. I bet you didn't think you could spend the whole day talking about the menstrual cycle, he said to me earlier. Louise, I'm a woman I said, menstruation is actually a pretty familiar topic. Okay, says the German, Just er now this golden luff. He wags a finger at our table as if he needs to make an example of us. Ho ho! Uh huh. All the other tables wag their fingers and repeat after the German. But there's nothing lighthearted about it. I don't blame them is they were just following orders from Chosen to Die by Lisa Jackson The shotgun. She needed the shot gun. She tried to respond toe look for her assailant, but she was feeling numb all over her head. LOL toe. One side, the pistol slipped from her fingers and the world began to spin. An eerie slow motion images becoming dim on foggy. No, she said, her tongue thick. She tried and failed to find her side arm again. And then she saw him, his features distorted by the broken mirror, a total figure and white ski mask obscuring his face. Huge dark goggles shielding his eyes. She was beginning to fade, to slip beneath the surface of consciousness, as he said Detective Chris Cooley in a warm voice that indicated he knew her. He was only a few feet away. If she could just aim her weapon. Looks like you got yourself an accident. She rolled her eyes about him and with one last great effort snarled. Could a health already there, Detective? But at least now I won't be alone. You're going to join May. This is from so big. By Edna Ferber. Selena de Young had little time for the expression of affection. The work was always hot on her heels. You saw a young woman in a blue calico dress faded and earth grind between her eyes was a driven look as of one who walks, always a little ahead of herself. In her haste, her dark, abundant hair was skewered into a utilitarian knob from which soft loops and strands were constantly escaping to be pushed back by a quick duck of her head in the crook over bent arm her hands. For such use, we're usually too encrusted and in ground with the soil into which she was delving. You saw a child of perhaps two years dirt streaked, sunburned and generally otherwise defaced by those bumps, bites, scratches and contusions that are the common lot of the farm child of a mother harried by work. Yet in that moment, as the woman looked at the child there, in the warm, moist spring of the Illinois prairie land or in the cluttered kitchen of the farmhouse, they're quivered and vibrated between them and all about them. An aura, a glow that imparted to them and their surroundings a mystery, the beauty, a radiance.