Story-A-Day #419: The Hunter

THE HUNTER

He didn't do it for the kill, he did it for the thrill.  It was strictly catch and release, and as much as it was about the thrill of snagging those little crustaceans before they shot off to a new place of shelter, the hunt was usually for something even bigger.

He would wade through those waters, turning over rocks as he went.  A gentle lift or role, to not stir up the sandy bottom of the lake.  He had been a crayfish hunter for as long as he could remember, and the process hadn't changed much over the years.  A lift or a role and hopefully there one would be one of the beady eyed critters staring up.

Typically they would freeze for a moment, perhaps wondering how that heavy hiding spot had so suddenly disappeared.  Their little claws would lift up, almost like they were reaching for the rock, or maybe shielding their small black eyes from the sudden bright glare of the sun.

The best thing to do at that point is angle an open hand behind the crayfish and wait for it to scoot backwards into the trap.

He flipped the new rock over and spotted the yellow-brown crayfish hunching inwards on itself.  He lowered his other had into the water and looked down at the big snuffling bulldog next to him.

"See that buddy?"

The crayfish scuttled backwards and he quickly scooped it up.  They were not nearly as mobile out of the water, and while they did wield two lobster-like claws, the clamp was a mere pinch.  He held it in front of the dog's snuffling nose for a minute, then dropped the tiny creature back into the water.

He smiled and ruffled the dog's ears, then stared up into the clear summer sky.

He wasn't really hunting for crayfish.  He was hunting for that most elusive of treasures: the innocence of youth.  Life tends to obscure the simplicity of days gone by, and the greatness of a long summer's day to a twelve-year old boy.

Sometimes it takes no more than a simple act to revert ones self back to those simpler times.  Catching a crayfish, tossing a baseball, climbing a fence or a tree.  These are the experiences that he was truly hunting...

Story-A-Day #418: Oiseau Blanc Ciel Bleu

OISEAU BLANC CIEL BLEU

She stared at me, her face a mask of frustration and confusion.  She shifted from foot to foot, then licked her lips and pointed to the skies.  I glanced upwards, following the direction of her slender, pointing finger.

She glanced back at me, then back to the sky and I heard the strange words repeated once more:  "Il y avait un grand oiseau blanc dans le ciel bleu, juste par là-bas!"

She looked back at me, and I in turn glanced at the others who were with us.  They all shook their heads, just as uncertain as I was.  I could see our friend's frustration deepening.  She had just moved here from Quebec and was trying very hard to assimilate.  She stared straight at me and pointed over her shoulder, her finger thrusting angrily to the distance blue skies behind her.

"Ciel bleu.  C'est le ciel bleu."

"The sky?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied in a broken english accent, her face lighting up.  "C'est le ciel bleu!"

I nodded and repeated her words.  "See-el blue."

She scrunched her face up and made a fifty-fifty waving motion with her hand then paused for a moment.  I could tell she was deep in thought and I couldn't help but smile at the valiant effort.  After a few fidgety moments, her face lit up again, sending her eyebrows into high arcs of surprise over her big chocolate brown eyes.

She took a step back on the wooden boardwalk we were all standing on and motioned to me, her elected translator, to pay attention.  I nodded my head, letting her know I was.  I found a slow smile spreading across my face as she wound up, and the smile erupted into full blown laughter as she started flapping her arms and making cooing bird noises at me.

She scowled and I raised my hands apologetically.  "A bird, right?" I asked.  "You saw a a bird in the see-el blue?"

She nodded her head.  "Votre Francais est horrible, mais..." she paused.  "Yes, a bird in bleu sky."

I smiled, and nodded my head, pointing up to the sky.  She turned to follow my finger, staring up into the bright, blue summer sky.  Once she was facing the opposite way, I commented in the most casual manner I could,  "Vous avez vue un grand oiseau blanc dans les ciels bleus toute là-bas," I pointed out.  "You saw a big white bird in the blue sky over there?"

She spun quickly on her heels and I knew better than to wait around.  I could hear the laughter of our friends echoing in the distance as I sprinted off along the boardwalk.  Ahead to my right, I could see a large white bird circling in the clear, blue skies, and I would have paused to watch its lazy drift, but I could hear small, angry footsteps hot on my heels.

Story-A-Day #417: Seeker

SEEKER
They told me it was a fool's errand, a wasteful pursuit of the unattainable.  I told 'em they were probably right; and then I told 'em I didn't care a lick either way.  That's always been a part of my nature.  Some'd call it a surly disposition, others'd just say I carry a stubborn streak a mile wide.  I just call it what it is: bein' me.

I never had no pursuits on bein' different.  I always been just this one person.  I always been what I reckon is a type o' person best sorted as a seeker.  Thing is though, I ain't never been all that certain 'bout what it is I been seekin'.

I reckon my way with words might paint me as an uneducated man, but truth told, I'm well aversed in the ways of language and sciences.  You gotta be to be doin' what I do.  Mostly within the pursuits of science...  Or at least in the rules of science.  I'm a seeker, and I still be seeking what it is I search.

That makes no sense to many, and I don't even know you; thing is, it's always been the same with me.  We as a people ain't got no clue what it is we looking for.  I ain't never felt bad 'bout been a little "without purpose" because it sends a wee bit of adventure into the boredom of the search.

Ain't always an easy thing to seek out the unknown, but I am a purest, and the purest pursuit is always that of the unknown and undiscovered.

Truth be told, I mostly put on a facade to help get rid of unwanted questions.  I am a highly educated individual, but in  the wilds, with my big, rusty excavator, it's a far simpler process to plead ignorance and put on an official front of stupid simplicity, than it is to try to explain that which has no clear explanation.

I apologize for the subterfuge.  It was not my intent to mislead you today...

The thing is, you seem to have a pretty good head on your shoulders, so let me turn the tables.  What is it that you are seeking?  Not an easy question, because we all have different things we seek, and at the end of the day, you - just like me, might not really know what you are looking for.

Where I have a slight edge though, is in my machine.  It may very well be a rusted hulk to you, but to me, it is a tool to facilitate my search.  Think about what it is you seek, because we all seek something.

Some seek comfort, or true love, or financial security.  Some seek solace, redemption, spiritual peace.  Some seek a quick fix in a dark alley, or a moment of seedy sexual gratification.

It doesn't matter whether you strive for Olympic gold, or acknowledgement for the simple things you do on a daily basis: we are all seekers.

You see now why I put on a front; why I paint myself as a simpleton seeking.  You see now why what I seek is better left a mystery.  I seek many things in life, and in this particular bog, I seek the unknown.  Maybe I will find the ancient remains of some long expired species.  Or oil.  Or gold...

Maybe all I will find is peat moss.  Layer upon layer of peat moss.  That would still be a sufficient treasure for its burning potential alone.  The best part of seeking is not the search, but the eventual find and I am quite content knowing my goal has yet to be discovered.

The quest of this simpleton is a simple one that revolves around the hunt, but my quest gives me an advantage.  You know what it is you seek, and for most of us, that is a daunting prospect because we don't know where to find it.

I'm a seeker.  I been digging up a swamp to find unknown riches or resources.  You been digging up the past all along hopin' that you gonna find that which you ain't yet defined.  With that, I wish ya luck... 

A Thousand Words...

MAKING A COFFEE TABLE BOOK

It seems like just the other year, mostly because it was, that I decided to start a little project I fondly (and quite ambitiously) referred to as my Story-A-Day project.  What some of you may not realize was that I only ever intended for that project to last for a year, at which point I would turn to you, the reader, to vote for the best stories produced.

My goal from there was to take the top stories, and turn them into a coffee table book called A Thousand Words.  It was, and is still, my vision that the top voted for stories would be expanded into exactly 1,000 word versions of their initial blog version and printed next to their accompanying photo.

I am still working out the printing logistics and fees to bring this from the dream realm into reality, but I have tackled my first requested short story and expanded it to exactly 1,000 words (title excluded).

The original story was feature way back at 300 and was called Totem.  It was, in its original draft, 282 words, and yet, even in its expanded version, it maintains the same tones and them - only expanded upon and improved.

I think this is a good example of how this project could succeed, but I don't want to spoil anything by giving you the revised 1,000 word version.  I think that if this is something you might be interested in backing, you should tell me which stories most struck home with you a reader, and we can go from there.

Please, read through the copious amount of stories there and let me know which you prefer on Facebook, or by email at mikebhumble@gmail.com

Thanks for reading, and hope to hear from you soon...

Story-A-Day #416: The Old Crooked House

THE OLD CROOKED HOUSE

When I was growing up in my old neighborhood, there was a house we always avoided.  It is not uncommon to hear this from people, but this house was one that no one went near.  Not even on a dare, or a double dare, or a triple dog dare.  It was just something that none of the kids in the neighbourhood would do.

The house existed in the shadows of the escarpment, a darkly shaded monstrosity that was all crooked angles and ominous groans.  Walking past it, you could often hear strange noises drifting from the creaking, hulking mass of the old crooked house.  We would hear groans sometimes, almost like it was sagging into itself.  Other times, there would be a soft, low, whistling that drifted out toward the street almost daring us to venture forth.

We never would though.

There were stories about that house, dark and evil stories filled with blood, torture, torment, and despair.  Even with the wanton recklessness of youth on our side, we knew better than to tempt the fates.

In our adolescent years, we grew a little bolder, but our brazenness was limited to sipping home brew beers stolen from our parent's cellars and staring in at the old crooked house from the pool of light cast down by the streetlight above.

We would talk about sneaking through the shadowy yard and knocking on the door.  We would talk about standing there and waiting for someone to answer the door.  Inevitably at that point, the conversation would turn to who would answer the door.

Sometimes we would hypothesize a dark, demonic force; other times a radiant half-naked succubus who would drag us into her lair and have her way with our nubile teen aged bodies.

But it was all a farce.  The closest we came to that house was the stones we kicked in its direction.

The fact that I had never summoned the courage to approach the house always loomed over me, even after I moved to the big city for my big job.  Even after I fell in love with my big love and we started our big family.  All those big accomplishments only served to reinforce the fact that I had never been big enough to knock on that door.

One summer, I drove back home with my family packed in our big minivan.  I had made up my mind to go and knock on that door.  With age and maturity on my side this time, I now imagined an elderly gentleman answering the door and greeting me with a smile that told me how happy he was to finally have someone stop by for a visit.

I excused myself after dinner, claiming a need for fresh air, and slowly wandered down those familiar old streets towards the old crooked home.  When I finally arrived there, I was greeted by a vacant lot filled with scraggly grass and charred tree stumps.

The house had burned down two summers before under mysterious circumstances.  I would not have my moment.

As I slowly turned to head back home, a soft groan drifted out from the lot.

It was enough to put a little extra pep into my step.

Welcome Back to... Somerset

It has been a long time since I have posted anything here, and I apologize for the absence.

Of course, the usual excuses apply:  I've been busy with the job; I've been busy moving; I've been busy with the other job(s); I've been busy trying to find time to cram everything into a 24-hour-day, and trying to cram 7 of those into each week, and 52 of those into the year.

In the end, so many of the things I view as important have fallen by the wayside.  I feel like it has been ages since I have seen many of my friends; since I have spent a day engulfed in a good book; and especially since I have made a new film...

North Bay Nipissing Life Profile First Page

I have been interviewed about my films though, and it was a pretty big honor to be included in a 5-page spread about the work that I do "for fun".  I was interviewed by Margaret Parker and photographed by Shawn Moreton for this article and their incredible talents have brought a great deal of exposure to my work, and the close partnership I still enjoy with Patrick Gilbert and Kevin Hoffman.  If you haven't yet, you can read the article, "Humble's Gift", right here, where you might discover a little known fact:  I am a self-professed "Idea Guy".


It was a flattering (and in all honesty, somewhat embarrassing) profile, but mostly, it was a reminder that I need to make sure I live up to the promise of the guy in the article: the guy who is very much me, albeit a slightly heightened version of me who is not encumbered by the many distractions and obligations that are part of this life.

I have been reinvigorated though to make a stronger effort to focus on what has always been one of the most important things in my life:  Stories.

Working for The Nugget has helped with that, but it extends into all corners of my life.  I am actively plotting multiple projects, everything from a cookbook and the coffee table book spin off of the "Story-A-Day" component of this blog that first put my words out on a global scale,to additional short and feature length films and the publication of my first novel "I Land".

I am quite fortunate to have many co-conspirators in my artistic endeavors and the list of potential partners in crime continues to grow with each new idea, concept, and flight of fancy that flutters through my mind.

It has been a long time since I have posted anything on this blog, but I will do my best to keep everyone up to date as far as the progress of the various projects and concoctions that I am constantly shuffling, adjusting and constantly putting back into context.  That being said, there is definitely more to come.

Thanks for tuning back in!

    - Michael Humble
      (self-professed idea guy)

Writers' Block Turns Into Film

The opening scene of About The Girl, shot in late September

at the mouth of Duchesnay Creek.

Writers' Block Turns Into Film

DAWN CLARKE
Community Voices
North Bay Nugget


Mike Humble turned writers' block into an award-winning screenplay ... About The Girl.

He admits he was writing a novel when he came to a gap in the story.

He put the novel on hold and turned his attention to a writing the screenplay, a first film for Somerset Productions.

"I've since finished the novel, but I thought making a film would be different," he said. "It was different; it was a whole different challenge. I thought having others involved would give me accountability to finish it."

So he turned to his friend Patrick Gilbert.

Mike and Patrick started Somerset Productions about eight years ago when they were working on a comic book.

"It didn't go anyhwere, but we have a single copy of a cool comic book, which is kind of fun to have."

Mike admits About The Girl was initially an exercise to see if they could make a film.

The duo brought in their friend Kevin Hoffman and recruited a lot of other friends to do sound, acting, and background. But still, there were problems and the crew quickly experienced its first excercise in creative problem solving.

They had been filming under a bridge on Main Street West.  the weather was bad and the wind continued to blow all day.

It wasn't until they started looking at the footage that they realized that the microphone cord had banged against a post for the duration of the shoot.

Patrick Gilbert, Ed Regan, and Kevin Hoffman prepare to film

a scene at the parking garage in downtown North Bay.

"We re-recorded all the audio inside and synced the actual script to what we were doing on screen and then built in actual layers of ambient noise like cars passing by, busses in the distance, and a little bit of rain," Mike said. "It was the first big challenge we had to overcome."

Because most of the cast and crew had day jobs and families, scheduling became an issue.

Filming started in September when the trees were green, but by the time it was finished the trees were bare and three inches of snow fell the night before the final day of shooting.

the entire length of King's Wharf had to be shovelled so the scene could be shot.

"It was a testament to our commitment to get our scene," said Mike.

There was one more step before About The Girl would be ready.  Mike sent it to a friend in New Liskeard.

"He wrote the music for it and it made the world of difference," he said. "You tend to think of film as a visual media, but you realize very quickly sound is just as important as what is on the screen."

Everyone was excited about the final product and they realized it was much different than they had anticipated. They decided to tak a chance and submit it to film festivals.

"We won best cinematography at the Northern Ontario Film and Music Awards," he said. "we were up against an Imax film about the Great Lakes and the rest were all heavily granted with government and BRAVO money.  It inspired us to keep working at it."

That was just the beginning for Somerset Productions. The follow up film was The Lake, which proved to be a bit more ambitious than its predecessor.

"We had a whole scene set in the 50s which presented a series of unique challenges," said Mike. "We went to Canadian tire on a Tuesday and recruited some of the vintage cars and we rented a few vintage bathing suits from a costume house in Toronto."

Bob Clout agreed to be aprt of the movie, and Mike admits he had the local veteran actor in mind when he wrote the script.

The crew set up a shot on the last day of shooting About The

Girl. From left, Kevin Hoffman, Ed Regan, Jeremy Cormier,

Mike Howard, and Michael Humble

"Kevin approached him with the script and he liked it," said Mike. "This put pressure on us. We had actual talent. With the first productio, we would rehearse the day before, or when we were setting up."

This was not the case with Bob who insisted on several weeks of rehearsal.

"The Lake is a simple story that I wrote in high school," said Mike. "It is based on a pretty naieve adolescent view on lov. I had to change quite a bit of it. Hence the difference between a story that works in print and one that works on screen."

Again, everyone was proud of the finished product and again it won the best cinematography award in Sudbury and the best international short at the Film North International Film Festival in Huntsville.

Next came the movie Missing and Mike, who wrote, produced, directed, and acted in it, said they surprised themselves.

"Pat did most of the shooting and used different angles and editing techniques," he said.  "Kevin edited and made some interesting choices as far as the music was concerned. It was a collaboration between the three of us."

Right now, Mike is developing a mockumentary, which he explained is a documentary with some not-so-real elements.

It's about a sasquatch creature that lives in the wilderness around Cobalt that he heard about when he worked as a journalist for the Temiskaming Speaker.

"I thought it would make a great film about friends going in search of Old Yellow Top," he said. "I have a passion for storytelling and when I first heard the story I was pretty sure it was just some of the locals pulling my leg as the new guy in town. But I was surprised when I actually found news stories about it."

While Mike hopes that Somerset Productions will be able to continue making movies, he admits they first have to figure out how to make it economically possible.

"It would be awesome to achieve some sort of sustainability."