Welcome, Michael. Tell us how much of
yourself you write into your characters.
Being a father of three and the dad of five, it was
inevitable that I would become well-acquainted with cartoons; TV shows, Disney
movies, Pixar. I would love to do a voice someday for a cartoon character. It
wouldn’t matter to me if it were an animated person, an animal, or even a tree.
It would be fun to hear an imaginary character sound like me.
As an author, it’s also easy to find that the “people” in
the stories I write not only speak with my voice, but have my sense of humor,
my quirks and foibles, my body language or hand gestures. To make each
fictional creation different from me, and from each other, can be a challenge.
One of the most fulfilling aspects of writing a book like All
Living was to get into the minds of “people” who “lived” thousands of years
before I was born- the exact opposite of branding my characters with my own
personality- not sharing part of myself with them but allowing parts of who
they might have been to influence me. Half the time I spent writing this novel
wasn’t writing at all, but sitting and daydreaming about what they must have
daydreamed about.
In the twenty-first century we have millions of pieces of
recorded history from which to glean answers or advice- books, magazines,
essays, news reports, songs, poetry, stories...the internet; but to have lived in
a time before there was any human history - before anyone had planted, or
hunted, or flown- how exciting and scary that must have sometimes been.
I have written stories where the main character has been
distinctly me, but not this book. The main character in this book, Kole, was an
opportunity for me to learn; not so much to form him from the dust of my
imagination but to have my imagination deeply stamped with his ancient
footprints.
I will confess though that there is one character in this
book modeled after a real person. The only way that I could possibly write the
love story of Kole and Keziah was to draw from the “fairytale” that is my life
and the example of inner and outer beauty that my wife possesses. Granted, the
intensity of the romance is only hinted at in this story and will come to
fruition in the next book, but I could not imagine a perfect partner without
picturing mine. In Job 42:15 it says that, “In all the land were found no women
so beautiful as the daughters of Job; and their father gave them an inheritance
among their brothers.” A woman with mere physical beauty will quickly turn ugly
if her character is ugly. The beauty of Job’s daughters, I imagine, was full
and comprehensive. Their flawless outward appearance must have paled in
comparison to the radiance of their souls.
Since my wife then is the template I used to attempt to
create the archetypical “perfect woman,” I must insist then that the character
of Kole is representative of me. No way would I let it be anybody else.
What is the quirkiest
thing you have ever done?
I once had a job that I loved: being an on-air deejay
at a local radio station on Sunday mornings.
Landing that job was amazing.
I had been deejaying dance tunes at a night club for
several years. Part of my “homework” was to listen to the radio and “discover”
new music that I could introduce to the club’s patrons. One day I heard an
announcement for an on-air news reporter. I presented myself at the radio
station’s offices the next day only to be told that the position had been
filled. I asked for an application anyway. The secretary was reluctant to give
me one. She informed me that the station rarely ever had openings and that
their usual standard was to hire in-house. I was determined, persistent. I finally
persuaded her and submitted my application.
The next day, a Friday, the station manager called me
in “just to put a face with a name.” After a brief interview, he informed me
that I would be the new 6am to noon, Sunday morning deejay. He showed me a
monsterous mixing board and walked me through my duties and responsibilities, the
station’s programming, and the operation of the equipment. All in about six
seconds. My head was swimming.
I arrived on Sunday morning and quietly entered the
studio. The other deejay looked relieved that I had showed up, told me what was
scheduled for the next six hours and left. Needless to say, that first morning
was extremely nerve-wracking.
But I stuck
it out. For a year’s worth of Sundays I worked there. But the radio station was
my second job. I still worked the night club because it offered more hours and
better pay. I’d work from 4:00 pm Saturday night until 4:00 am Sunday morning.
Then I’d find a restaurant to grab breakfast, and go to work at the station.
My first responsibility at WKHY was to play a one-hour
reel-to-reel preprogrammed farm report, which I have to confess was extremely
dull. The next two hours were a preprogrammed segment entitled All That Jazz.
You can imagine it was an incredibly relaxing couple of hours. My last three
hours of the morning I got to play classic rock. My favorite.
However, one Sunday I didn’t quite make it to the rock and
roll portion of the day in my usual manner. Whether from being up all night, a
bellyful of breakfast, the monotony of the farm report, or the mellifluous
melodies of the jazz…I rested my head on my arms. Only for a minute.
The next thing I knew, the jazz reel was flap-flap-flapping
with the last of its tape and the studio was quiet. 9:10 am. I had slept
through the two-hour program and woken up to ten minutes of studio silence.
Yikes! I jumped into action, slammed on some Billy Idol and made sure to
squeeze in all my commercials. You could say I derailed but it was not a
complete train-wreck.
I was called in the next day by the station manager though
for a chat, and given the ultimatum of “club deejay” or “radio deejay.”
That ended my on-air experience but as I walked out of the
front door for the final time, the thought occurred to me, “that might make a
decent chapter in a book someday.”
When did you first
discover that you were a writer?
I have dozens of notebooks of poetry from when I was a kid.
I think some of the oldest are from when I was eight-years-old. I believe I was
eleven when I first realized that I wanted to be a writer. (not an author, mind
you, or a published anything…just a writer.)
My sixth grade teacher wanted to have us compete in a
citywide writing competition. We were to each write a poem, any length, and
turn it in the next Monday. It would then be judged by the teachers and two
students would be selected to represent the school at a lunch with the mayor.
I worked all weekend on that poem. It was awesome. I cannot
now remember what it said but it was a masterpiece. Take my word for it.
Sublime!
Monday morning arrived and we all settled into our desks to
begin another week. The teacher asked us to pass our poems forward. I smiled as
I pulled my book bag out from under my desk with a flourish, unzipped the
zipper with gusto, pulled out my folder with a flair for the dramatic and then
stared dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open when I discovered the folder was empty.
Nothing. I closed it and opened it again. Nothing. I searched my backpack; opened
all the zippers, knelt down and looked under my desk. Nothing.
My perfectly crafted work of art was gone.
Not one to give up, I ripped out a lined-piece of notebook
paper, with all its fringe still intact, and scribbled out four lines, handing
it in just as the pile of papers from the back of my row made their way forward
to me. Imagine my surprise the next day when my name and that of another
student were announced over the PA as the winners of the contest.
Two weeks later, as I ate my lunch with Mayor James Reihle, and
listened to my poem read aloud from the stage, I knew then that I was born to
write. Not just to write, but to write well-enough that I could win some more
free lunches. Oh yeah, I had it bad.
When
there’s a home
It’s
built with love and care
And
when there are people
There’s
loving everywhere.
By
Michael Humphrey, age 11
Tell us the range of
the kinds of books you enjoy reading.
More than writing, I love to read. Writing a book is like
baking a bite-sized piece of chocolate cake. You can slave in the kitchen for
hours, selecting all the best ingredients, blending them to perfection, cooking
the confection to the precise consistency, frosting it with an artistic
flourish, and setting it on the counter to cool. Along comes a hungry relative,
pops the cake in his mouth and swallows without hardly chewing. All you can do
is stand there in disbelief as he looks at you, shrugs, mumbles something that
sounds like “good” and walks off.
Yep, I’d much rather eat the book than bake the book. So
much less effort and nearly all the reward.
What books do I like r-eating? Well, I don’t read a lot of
nonfiction. I mostly read for pleasure, escapism, distraction. When I’m writing
I want to grow. I want to expand my mind and reach out for those cosmic
concepts and grab them. When I read I want to shrink. I want to get right down
into that story and live there. (Yes, books can broaden your horizons, open
your heart, enlighten your mind…but they are also safe, little dark places
where anything can happen.)
Am I avoiding the question? I suppose so. Sorry. I read
mysteries, westerns, horror, sci-fi, fantasy, classical, modern, steam punk,
Adult/YA/Juvenile, hardback, paperback…really anything that I stumble across
that appeals to me. A lot of times I choose a book based initially by how
eye-catching the spine of the book is, then by how intriguing the back flap
sounds. I would have to say that my current favorite is dystopian lit. I have
been mesmerized by the genre since Mad Max and The Stand. I won’t bother
listing here the dozens and dozens of excellent post-apocalyptic stories I’ve
discovered, but suffice it to say, I’m looking for more. My recent favorites…just to give you some idea of what
I’m talking about…Maze Runner by
James Dashner and Hunger Games by
Suzanne Collins.
How do you keep your
sanity in our run, run, run world?
I just keep saying to myself, “I will not go insane. I will
not go insane.” Then sometimes I wonder if I’ve already lost the battle and what
you see when you look at me IS my version of insanity. It’s just that it looks
so much like the norm these days that it doesn’t stand out. Oh well.
In all seriousness though, this IS an insane world, run by
insane leaders, influenced by unseen, insane spirits. The only real way to stay
sane is with a steady diet of God’s written Word. Ephesians 6:12- “For we do
not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against
powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts
of wickedness in the heavenly places.”
Insanity is an enemy of a sound mind, and the only way to
combat that is found in the very next verse. (:13) “Therefore take up the whole
armor of God…” Defending my sanity with God’s Word is the only sure way to not
let the world’s maddening rush overwhelm me.
How do you choose
your characters’ names?
There is a passage
of scripture in Genesis 3:20 that says, "And Adam called his wife's name
Eve, because she was the mother of all living." It was not until the next
chapter, Genesis 4:1, that I read, "Now Adam knew Eve his wife, and she
conceived and bore Cain, and said, 'I have gotten a man from the LORD." Reading
this late one night, ten years ago, it occurred to me: Why would Adam name his
wife "the mother of all living" before she had the son that most
people assume was the first born. There are many such ambiguous passages of
scripture in the Bible and I began to speculate.
What if Adam and Eve
had other children before Cain and Abel? What if there were a first born son
named All Living. I went to the concordance and looked up the English words
"all" and "living" in the original Hebrew. The word for "all"
was translated from the word "Kole" and the word for
"living" in Hebrew was "Chay." Kole Chay. There was my main
character, living in obscurity right in front of me. From there the idea for
this unknown older brother of Cain and Abel began to take form.
The name for Kole's
friend Lester comes from an unpublished, unfinished book that I was working on
in the late 1990's. A group of young 20-something college students all working
in a night club are befriended by a "wise old man" named Lester. I
got the name Lester by randomly opening a phone directory, closing my eyes and
pointing at the page. Lester was the name that my finger landed on.
Lester also had a
face. I stumbled across a mask at a yard sale one day; an old man's face with a
short white beard. Needless to say I bought the mask. After a few laughs it
found a home on a hook at the bottom of the basement stairs. Occasionally my
roommates would have company over and inevitably someone would put on the mask.
I rarely knew who it was, but for a brief moment, they became Lester. Sometimes
Lester would be funny, goofy, witty. Sometimes serious or philosophical. I know
this is a weird story to share, but I picture my novel's supporting character
as this old man, a bit younger perhaps, but being shaped into the character
that may someday resurface, after this series is finished, as a mentor and
guide to those directionless young adults in a different type of story. One
final note...the mask has long since disappeared. I imagine Lester is out there
mingling in the world, creating more stories without me.
What is the
accomplishment that you are most proud of?
Besides finishing my first book? I would have to say being a good dad
and husband. Nothing matters more to me than family. If I can raise my children
to have character, to be well-grounded, polite, respectful, hard-working, kind
to others, and to have a personal relationship with God, then I will feel
successful. If I can treat my wife so that she feels like the most important
and amazing person in my life, then I will be content. Anything less than this
would mean that I am incomplete.
If you were an
animal, which one would you be, and why?
I’ve thought long and hard about this question and have yet
to come up with a good response. I am not sure which particular animal I would
be but I have come up with a category. I believe I would be an amphibian, able
to live both in the water and upon dry land. I believe that human beings are
amphibious creatures, swimming half in a spiritual world and half in a physical
one. Most of us have not recognized this about ourselves yet. Unfortunately,
most amphibious creatures are reptilian, which is not a very enticing analogy
to make about ourselves.
Perhaps I am more like a gorilla…able to live on the ground
or in the trees. I would not want to be at the top of the food chain, killing
other creatures for my food, nor would I care to be at the bottom, constantly
hunted. I want to roam the forests, using tools to create and swinging from
branches for the sheer delight of it. I want to live in a family structure,
caring for the old and young alike. I desire to be patient and peaceful and
gentle as much as possible and bold enough to defend those who cannot defend
themselves, when the situation demands it. And sometimes, just sometimes, I
have an overwhelming urge to fling my feces at the brazen faces taunting me
through the bars of my cage.
However, a gorilla rarely makes a good follower and that is
a definite part who I am striving to be. I am a bit undecided about my answer
to this. When I put the question to my wife she said perhaps a ram would be a
better comparison, a gentle creature with a protective nature, willing to adopt
a stray into the fold or charge a wolf head-on; a leader of his flock yet
willingly submissive to a good shepherd.
What is your favorite
food?
An amazing salad would probably be my second choice. Several
types of greens, iceberg, romaine, spinach, dozens of different toppings,
including but not limited to: peeled carrots, onions, peppers, broccoli heads,
mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, cranberries, glazed almonds, diced egg, raisins,
croutons, sunflower seeds, shredded cheese, cottage cheese, some kind of
dressing, a bit of salt, some olives…oh, the list just goes on and on.
And what would be my first favorite? Is there any
combination of foods as tasty and convenient as pizza? Not in my book. Oh
wait…yes, there is in my book. But not in my opinion.
What is the problem
with writing that was your greatest roadblock, and how did you overcome it?
I could tell you that self-motivation was a problem for me,
but I’m just not feeling up to it.
Tell us about the
featured book.
Originally I had in mind to write a character into scripture, someone
who could give a secondary account of all the pivotal moments in biblical
history. He was to be placed into position by God, to witness the important
events in human spiritual evolution. (…you don’t see those words together very
often.) He was to be the ship captain that found Jonah, the slave master of the
caravan that purchased Joseph from his brothers and drove him down to Eygpt, a
passing shepherd that encounters a young king David, a wise man from Parthia who
presents a gift to the infant King of Kings. My initial teaser went something
like this:
Journey through the pages of history with Kole, the unknown older
brother of Cain and Abel. Witness firsthand the rest of the story as he shares
his memories of meeting Noah, Jonah, David, Joseph and a young Jesus. Be
astounded by the lost wisdom of the ancients that only one man can share
because only one man was there who is still alive. Living in a town not too far
away is the world’s oldest man. He has a story to tell and now he has God’s
permission to tell it.
However, in this first book, I did not even make it
to the flood. There was just so much story that needed telling. So these
stories will be for subsequent books. The back matter for this book is as
follows:
“They want what they suspect I have.”
“What?”
“Life.”
The first born son of Adam and Eve...is still alive!
He has one week to reveal his secrets to his best friend, Lester,
before he moves to the
Middle East for one
final divine task. But with a ruthless secret society of shadowy evil, known as
the Lightmen, closing in, time is in desperately short supply.
In order to succeed he is going to need Lester's help. But first,
Lester needs a history lesson. With God's permission, Al finally tells of his
life as it is and once was.
As Al recounts his story to his only confidant, Lester not only learns
the secrets of his mysterious best friend, but the story behind the world's
beginning - and in the process, he may even find faith for himself.
Please give us the
first page of the book.
Al was old but not quite six thousand years old. He sat in the
corner booth of a little bar only three blocks from his large Victorian- Midwest
house. Next week, when he moved to the Middle East,
he’d have to live in a much more utilitarian manner but, all things considered,
he was looking forward to it. He had not been to Jerusalem in over 150 years and he missed the
old neighborhood, although news reports showed the area had changed
considerably.
He sat and stirred his drink, watching the red and white straw
push the crushed ice cubes around in a clockwise direction. So much has
happened, he thought, so many memories to carry
around. It was time
to tell his story.
He looked at his watch, 7:32. Lester was running late.
Lester was a fifty-something-year-old “kid” he had befriended over
thirty years ago, his oldest living friend. During the last few centuries, Al
had become a bit reclusive, content with being more of an observer than a
participant. When his personal life periodically flourished he tended to
neglect witnessing the rest of the world’s activities. He loved so intensely
that he could get carried away and forget his real job. What he was actually
preparing himself to do.
With the entire human race as his family, Al had had many friendships
during his life, many loves, so many lost to him now. Dead. Al had buried every
one he had ever cared for. He thought about his wife, Keziah. Time for
reminiscing later, he knew, even though he remained acutely aware that time
was running short for this current existence. Not just for him though, for
everyone.
Interesting. How can
readers find you on the Internet?
I am on facebook as
Michael Humphrey
I am on twitter:
@novelmethod
and I have two
emails that I can be contacted through:
seedvisionsagas@yahoo.com
and
novelmethod@gmail.com.
The book will be
searchable on Amazon.com and through the Tate Publishing main page
http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781618622259
Thank you, Michael, for sharing your life and book with us.
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