Wednesday, 1 December 2010

Steampunk

I came across this post by Matthew Delman over on his steampunk blog, and having dipped a toe into the waters of the genre myself, I felt I should perhaps clarify my own position on the subject. After all, a writer should preferably know what it is that they're writing, yes?

Steampunk is one of those strange genres where people often know the name, but aren't entirely sure what it entails. In its simplest form, steampunk is usually set in Victorian London, but as it's a form of alternate history, the protagonists have access to all kinds of technology not seen in the history books - the only proviso being that is powered by steam.

According to Matthew's blog, "Steampunk, in its most simple definition, is a type of fiction that places contemporary technology in the Victorian Era with Coal (and thus Steam) as the primary power source instead of Gas or Electricity." If you check that goldmine of information (sic), Wikipedia, they define steampunk as "works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used — usually the 19th century, and often Victorian era Britain — but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy."

I agree with Matthew that historical accuracy isn't a major aspect of steampunk due to its inherent nature in the same way that much science fiction isn't strictly scientific in nature. Even the setting of steampunk can be fluid - it doesn't have to be London, although the period is pretty firm. Personally, I'd be fascinated to read steampunk set in 19th century Paris or Moscow. I believe the single 'fixed' point of steampunk is that it IS set in the past, and that the only technology available should be that which could conceivably be driven by steam. So you couldn't have electronics as it would be pretty difficult to power them with steam, but cars, airships, and other forms of machinery are all possible. The first internal combustion engine was designed in 1807 and Karl Benz began selling vehicles in 1888 so automobiles aren't entirely out of place.

However, I would argue that a book or film can have steampunk sensibilities, without necessarily being hardcore steampunk - China Mieville's Bas-Lag trilogy would be a good example. This is how I explain my own work, The First Tale. I chose a rough steampunk setting for my Tales from Vertigo City project, and Vertigo City is based on Victorian London, down to its brick-lined sewers and bizarre emporia. Transport comes via omnibuses and trams, although cars make a rare appearance. The clockwork automatons and antiquated weaponry are a nod to steampunk, while protagonist Philip Wiseman favours the frock coat fashions of a 'dandy'. It only really deviates from true steampunk in that a) it is not set in London, b) the fashions are not strict Victoriana, c) I got zombies and even steampunk mecha in there and d) Liss has the ability to throw energy bolts at people.

To me, the most important element of steampunk, besides the technological constraints and time period, is that is is fun. Alternate history has the potential to be fascinating and thought-provoking, but the nature of steampunk lends itself well to adventure stories, and personally, I think there just isn't enough adventure in mainstream fiction these days.

I'd be fascinated to hear what people think of steampunk!

* * *

The image for this post is by the stupidly talented Tom Brown, the artist behind steampunk web serial comic 'Hopeless, Maine'. More of his art can be found here, while Personal Demons, the current book in the serial, is here.

Don't forget, The First Tale is still only 99c on Smashwords. At the time of writing, that's just 63p!

Tuesday, 30 November 2010

NaNoWriMo 2010

It's November 30th, the last day of NaNoWriMo, and I'm pleased to say that I broke the 50,000 word mark on Sunday evening. Boy, am I glad! After being really excited by my story back in those halcyon days at the start of the month, I rapidly grew bored with it. Doing my daily words became a chore, and I was finding that I was writing as much as I could, not to meet the target or because I couldn't stop myself, but because I wanted it over and done with.

We Should Be Heroes is set in Vertigo City, my fictional metropolis that has already spawned a steampunk serial, The First Tale, and a mini-serial, Quantum Steam Theory. I decided to move 130 years into "the future", putting Vertigo into a twilight world akin to 1940s noir. Superheroes stalked the streets of the city. Sadly they didn't do much with their powers and it turned into a detective story.

Now, I'm proud of myself for having written another novel, and in the process I've found out a lot more about my characters. Two of them are actually from the steampunk era (there is a reason why they're still around over a century later) and they've given me a lot more back story through We Should Be Heroes. The problem is, I don't really want to use the novel as part of the Vertigo City universe.

There are three major problems with it. I could probably fix them, if I wanted to, but right now I don't. I want to focus on other things (an announcement about one of them is coming soon). The first problem was that I'd written myself into a hole by choosing to write it in first person present tense, which was annoying as secondary characters had far more interesting things to say. The second problem is linked with this, in that I couldn't maintain the "voice" of my main character beyond the opening scenes.

The third problem is perhaps the biggest, since no amount of rewrites would solve it. Basically...I don't like writing noir. There. I said it. The steampunk tales are like adventures stories, and they've a lot more fun to write. Liss gets to shoot things (or beat people up) and the automatons get more to do. Vertigo City is a more interesting place to write when it's a spiritual descendant of Victorian London, as opposed to 1940s New York.

So while I'm proud of myself for having written it, I'm not going to use it. I'll be keeping Vertigo City for my steampunk work, so there will be more adventures from Liss and the gang over the coming months. Just not any superheroes.

Monday, 29 November 2010

Photo Prompt 09

Ninth prompt, ready and waiting.

If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.

The ninth prompt is Rings.

 
If you want more prompts, check out Walt White, Eric J Krause and Jen Brubacher!

Friday, 26 November 2010

Friday Flash - Deathmatch

The crowd gathered in the arena. Excited chattering and trash talk between opposing fans filled the air. A tall old man clad in white leaned on a gnarled staff in the middle of the ring. A blonde fairy flitted across the arena to sit on his shoulder. She cupped her hands beside his ear.

“They’re ready, Gandalf,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Tinkerbell,” he murmured.

Gandalf struck the staff against the ring. The reverberation silenced the assembled crowd.

“Ladies, gentlemen and talking animals of literature! Welcome to the inaugural Literary Deathmatch!” boomed the wizard. The crowd gave a united cheer. Gandalf waved his hand and the jubilation died away. The air buzzed with anticipation.

“I promise you we have some delights in store tonight, none more so than the very first bout, which will decide exactly who is the best vampire in fiction!”

The crowd erupted again. Banners fluttered in the breeze and someone blew a horn.

“Ah, what are ye fightin' for? We all know that’s me!” shouted a bawdy Irishman in the front row. He glared at the crowd from behind his sunglasses.

“Cassidy, you know you don’t qualify. You were in a graphic novel - we’re talking about real literature here,” said Gandalf. A handful of superheroes and a hulking red man with a giant right hand booed. Nearby, a tall man in a leather jacket swished his long black hair over his shoulder. He glared at the wizard. Gandalf wagged a finger at him.

"Xan, don't even start. When your writer releases your book, then you can compete - but not before. Anyway! As I was saying! Would the first contender make his way to the ring please?” boomed Gandalf.

The spotlight raced across the arena to the eastern entrance. A tall figure stood silhouetted against the bright light. Flames roared into life behind him, and he stalked to the ring. Dry ice pumped into the arena at ground level, and his black cape swirled through the mist. A chorus of howling wolves accompanied his approach. The thin figure climbed through the ropes into the ring.

“Now welcome our second contender!” roared Gandalf.

Various encouraging slogans burst into life on the electronic screen above the western entrance. A young man walked out into the arena, a sullen slouch slumping his shoulders. Fireworks exploded above the assembled crowd and hundreds of the female characters took it in turns to swoon or scream. Hermione Grainger and Desdemona shoved each other as they fought to catch his attention. The young man ignored everyone as he climbed up into the ring.

“Assembled characters of fiction, I give you...Count Dracula versus Edward Cullen!”

Gandalf climbed out of the ring. Dracula dipped in a deep bow to the crowd. Edward struck a poster boy pose, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Dracula straightened, and took several steps towards Edward. Dracula drew back his lips to reveal his fangs; Edward settled for a moody pout.

“Listen! Listen to the children of the night!” cried Dracula. He flung his arm wide, gesturing to the howling wolves at the back of the crowd.

“Yeah, so what? Listen to my children of the night!” shouted Edward. A gaggle of girls screamed in response to the wolves. Hermione jumped up and down waving an ‘Edward Rules’ placard.

“Oh, so not cool,” whispered Tyler Durden. He leaned across to Holden Caulfield and they both shook their heads.

Dracula unhooked his cape and handed it over the ropes to Dorian Gray. He put up his fists in a boxing pose, even dancing from one foot to the other. Edward fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“What is your intention? Do you wish to sparkle me to death?” snarled Dracula. “Fight me!”

“Don’t listen to him, Edward!” screamed Bella. She hauled on the ring ropes to emphasise her point.

“You don’t want to antagonise me, I might...hurt you,” said Edward. He ran a hand through his quiff.

“That is the point! This is a death match!” screamed Dracula.

A flurry of movement distracted the prowling vampires. Light bounced off steel and something heavy bounced onto the floor. Another thud followed a wet slap. The crowd screamed as a pale man in a blue frockcoat came to a halt between a headless young man and a rapidly disintegrating corpse. He wiped the blood from the blade of his sword, and threw the bloodied stake into the crowd.

“That was no death match, that was boring,” announced the newcomer.

Gandalf climbed back into the ring. He glared at the blond man and held up his hands for quiet. A hush fell across the crowd, except for Bella, sobbing in the arms of Romeo Montagu.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen! It seems we have a wildcard entry in this category!" cried Gandalf. "I'm afraid I have no option but to crown Lestat the Best Vampire in Fiction!”

* * *

Just me being silly. But if you're wondering who the mysterious Xan is, wonder no more! Toddle over to Crooked Fang and find out for yourself!

Monday, 22 November 2010

Photo Prompt 08

Eighth prompt, ready and waiting.

If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.

The eighth prompt is Lights on the Lake.


If you want more prompts, check out Eric J Krause and Jen Brubacher!

Friday, 19 November 2010

Friday Flash - Hollow

“Marlena? Marlena, are you awake?”

Trudie stuck her head around the bedroom door. The great Marlena Blake lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Trudie groaned; Marlena held an empty whiskey bottle to her chest. She cradled it as you might cradle an infant.

“Ssssssh! ‘M thinkin'.”

“What are you thinking about, Marlena?”

“Argh! Never call me Marlena! ‘Snot my name.”

“Alright then...what are you thinking about, Jane?”

“Am not Jane! Not been Jane fer years...” Marlena trailed off, entranced by the play of afternoon light through the chandelier.

“Um...whoever you are...you need to start getting ready, you’ve got a TV appearance this evening,” said Trudie.

“When?”

“You have to be at the studio by 6 at the latest.”

“Bah, ‘sonly 4pm, loadsa time.”

“You only just got up.”

Marlena snorted. She tossed the bottle across the floor and rolled over onto her stomach. Trudie’s maternal streak screamed as she watched Marlena pull herself onto the bed. The actress gazed across the room, last night’s makeup still plastered to her face. The smouldering screen siren looked more like a burnt-out wreck.

“Ya know what my favouritest thing is in th' whole world?” asked Marlena.

“No, what?”

“This.”

Marlena leaned across to her nightstand. Her hand fumbled about, grasping for a 6” tall  figurine. Trudie crossed the room to sit beside Marlena. The actress turned the figurine over in her fingers. The slender shepherdess beamed a winsome smile, one hand wrapped around her crook. Porcelain sheep gathered behind her flowing skirts. Yellow hair fanned out beneath her cornflower blue headscarf.

“I used to be blonde,” said Marlena. She twirled a lock of black hair around her finger.

“Really? I can’t picture you blonde,” said Trudie.

“Yeah...had hair this colour,” said Marlena. She pointed at the figurine’s hair, and remembered when she tossed back her blonde hair in the midwestern sunshine.

“What made you dye it? Just fancied a change?”

“No...the networks said I was too all-American. Wouldn’t even let me audition. Only ever did one role. Got to be a cheerleader in a stupid comedy. Dyed my hair black and started wearing green lenses and started getting jobs. ‘Swhen I changed my name.”

Tears welled in Marlena’s reddened eyes. Trudie patted her arm, unsure what to say. Marlena stared at the figurine.

“It’s lovely,” said Trudie.

“My first boyfriend got it for me. So I wouldn’t forget the farm. “

“What farm?”

“The farm we were gonna have. He wanted a farm but I wanted to act, so here I am.”

Marlena fumbled to push the figurine back onto the nightstand. The shepherdess slipped from her grasp, and hit Marlena’s empty glass on the floor. She yelped when the figurine shattered.

Marlena pulled herself upright and picked up the porcelain shards. The pieces wouldn’t fit together. Her fingers trembled as she traced the unadorned inner surface of the figurine. Boring and plain - so different from the outside. Marlena never realised the figurine was hollow, that nothing but air filled her favourite ornament.

“Oh no! Marlena, give it to me, maybe I can fix it...” said Trudie.

“Naw...’sbroken,” replied Marlena. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Marlena stumbled across the room to the waste paper basket. Trash flowed out onto the floor. She tried to make a mental note to fire someone. The voice of Jack Daniels cooed in her ear, and she forgot the cleaner.

Marlena dropped the remains of the figurine into the basket, a shard of yellow hair sliding beneath old cigarette butts and whiskey bottles.

Monday, 15 November 2010

Photo Prompt 07

Seventh prompt, ready and waiting.

If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.

The seventh prompt is Bottle.


If you want more prompts, check out Eric J Krause and Jen Brubacher!