MOOSE HIDE BOOKS
Now semi-retired, Edmond seems to be becoming more of a recluse, as if being a recluse early in life was living a fast pace of life. Observing nature, wildlife and the human being, most of Edmond’s writing is reflective of observance. Venturing into amateur acting, a need to avoid becoming a hermit, Edmond joined a theatre group and progressed through various theatre productions playing minor parts, second leads through drama and comedy presentations. When in theatre one becomes a stage hand, props persons, lighting technician, stage manager and upgrading to director. Edmond’s ability to observe people and present in his written work has enhanced his ability to direct and create characters for actors. A highlight is directing self penned plays.
Writing now takes up most of Edmond’s time though there is an urge to participate in amateur theatre at some point. Like all potential playwrights, having a play escalate from amateur theatre presentations to professional houses would be noteworthy. There is no time to sit idle, waiting, the next novel and play needs to be written.
A PRINT OF A MAN
260 pg. (5 1/2 X 8 1/2) (general/adult)
I had walked out of the bush an old man. How Old, I did not know? The years had passed without the need to celebrate the remembrance of a birth date. There was something familiar about the place I stood, where the bush bordered the tilled land of a farmer's field. Slowly, faint memories recalled past moments of my life. As a young man I had walked across this field many times.
Standing in this familiar spot, I noticed a man rocking lazily on an open porch across the field. The house, familiar in its change, a simple home I remember in a past memory. The old man resembled the face I have when I gaze at my own reflection. I know the man approaching, there is a twinkle in his eye. He looks old with warm grand-fatherly chubby cheeks, his belly reminiscent of Father-Christmas. His balding head and clean-shaven face is so much like a Grandfather of my youth. We pause and stop, our eyes studying each and every feature of the other. He is familiar, I search my memory for names to place with the face before me.
He seems satisfied that after consideration, he has placed a name to my face. I have not placed a name to suit his likeness.
I hesitate, shocked by the sound of someone speaking my name. "Yes, I am Thomas Chapais."
"Thomas," he repeated in a voice reminiscent of a voice from my past, my youth. "Thomas, I am . . ."
"My brother, Nicolas." I had remembered a name, a face.
Two old men stood there dumb-founded with nothing to say but to repeat each other's name with favour, contempt, anger, sadness and an undying love that only kinship knows. Without an embrace, nor a handshake we bonded as brothers need to. Our eyes were reluctant to gaze away for fear of the image disappearing.
An intriguing study of the thoughts of a man as he studies his life, and a great adventure.
Every man wonders what-if, if lost in the bush, the mentality of a man will govern if he survives.
Other places on earth have their stories of being lost, shipwrecked and the struggle to survive. This is Canada's great story of a man being lost and of his struggle to survive.
EXECUTOR OF MERCY
Edmond J. Alcid
Novel, fiction, 296 pg. (16 years to adult)
In the rugged bush of Northern Ontario a small bush plane crashes. On board is a ten-year-old boy and the pilot. In the early 1960's the only one capable of finding the crash site is Hag and his blood hound Wojo. Hag enjoyed the good life of living in the wilderness until events leading up to the crash and the search was hampered by his companion. Wojo has shown signs of rabies. It is too late when Hag discovers that the infected scratch on his arm was from his dog. There in the middle of nowhere a sick man and the boy he finds develop a bond that is stronger then life it self. Survival is the utmost of importance when there is a lifetime of growing up ahead. An adventure bigger than the wilderness of Northern Ontario.
A powerful story. I was shocked by the ending. As heartfelt as the movie Old Yeller.
I cried for the boy, I cried for the dog and I cried for Hag.
A great story Idea, it could have really happened especially here in Northern Ontario. This is truly a Canadian story.
Theatre Plays by Edmond Alcid
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