The Clockwork Mechanic

Did another test at Steampunk comedy:

The Clockwork Mechanic Stau Liima on Pandara street got ripped to pieces with a heavy noise and a big whoosh. His blood and guts spread all over the still steamy baked bread of Wilhelm Kaitan’s bread shop across the street, including over the owner himself. There was a saying about being an early riser and the benefits of this. Wilhelm Kaitan could not remember it at the moment. He was preoccupied with screaming and waving his hands. Not common on an ordinary morning, of course. Certainly not for bread makers, but when you find yourself covered in the innards of your neighboring salesman, you tend to act differently than you do on an ordinary morning. Wilhelm acted accordingly to the situation. As any respectable man would, with great vigor. Wilhelm only stopped screaming momentarily to spit blood on the packed ground in front of his shop. Even in his upset state, he managed to make a quick calculation as to the price of repairing his store window, even making room for the amount of money the window repairman would try to stiff him on. The screaming, perhaps then, was not entirely due to the surprise of the mechanics untimely death.

By the time the officers of the Dowa district police force showed up, Wilhelm had stopped screaming and waving his hand. There is, after all, a limit to the amount of public emotion a respectable man is willing to display, even if covered in blood and guts.

 

Steampunk comedy. A short story test

Trying out a little comedy. I’m thinking I might make a short story series featuring two private investigators in the Steampunk city Amergath.

The sound of feet running up the stairs to his office made Henry Kelward temporarily raise his eyes from the documents he were reading. He soon returned to the papers on his desk. The feet thing was nothing new. In fact, it was an often occurring theme song on the first workday of the week. The door to his office soon slammed open and Alistair Bow threw himself in on the floor. As Alistair kicked the door close with his feet, Henry made a sigh, almost managing to cover a smile.
“What’s her name and who’s her father?” Henrys eyes never left the documents.
“It’s no laughing matter, Henry” Alistair called from the floor. “The woman is insane!”
“What did you do? ” Henrys voice indicated that any potential insanity from the unnamed woman would, beyond a shadow of a doubt, be Alistairs doing.
“I’m innocent! I’ve done nothing wrong. She’s lost her marbles.” Alistairs right hand vividly explained his innocence by hand gestures, flaying around in the air, performing a puppet show on the edge of Henrys desk.
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing! For what ever reason the woman believes we are to be married come spring.” Alistairs voice certainly sounded convinced that this was indeed an insane thing to believe.
“And did you ask for her hand in marriage?”
“Well yes, but the woman was naked at the time, so I hardly think that counts”
“Her father?”
“Shopkeeper on Walden street. Good man. Might have been led to believe I intended to make an honest woman out of his daughter.” Alistair paused. “This is partly my faulth” he said, waving his hand around.
“I’d say. Did you also tell them you are a Lord?”
“I might have hinted to that fact, yes.”
“Well, you are a Lord.” Henry scratched his chin and let his eyes drift to the ceiling, as if contemplating if this somehow would ease Alistairs guilt in the matter.
“I am!” Alistairs index finger shot up in the air. “Disowned and penniless, but a Lord just the same.”
“You of course told her father this?”
“In a manner of speaking. I made a rough estimate as to my financial standings.”
“Which you claimed to be?”
“Around 25000 sterling.”
“By Jove!”
“And a sizable estate in the Midlands. She is very beautiful, Henry.”

I feel like bleeding

I haven’t made a blog post every day, but damn if I haven’t written my 500 words every day. I think it’s getting easier. I still write mostly in English, so I guess I’m making some grammatical mistakes but the stories are flowing. I’m trying different styles. I really like writing comedy but when I free flow, it mostly comes out as dark drama. Death and destruction. Who knew a happy guy like me carries so much darkness.

I still feel like bleeding for my craft though. It’s tugging on my sleeves, whispering “More, more”. I’ve done 500 words for 15 days and I already playing with the thought of upping the stakes to 750. I know it’s too early and that a misstep might send me into the Hole of White Papers where nothing gets done.

I’m going to continue to write only 500 words per day. I’ve had some close calls. 750 is too much at the moment. Let’s see if I can make it a month without a day off. Maybe then. Maybe.

One thing that I have realized is that my current story is at a standstill. I can’t get 500 words in as it’s mostly written already. It’s mostly about changing some story-lines. I need to add this into my daily work. It will, however, be unattached to the 500 words. Those will keep flowing. I simply need to add 30 minutes a day for my novel as well. Should I do that now, or should I do it later? That is the question.

The dishonourable hero

I have always been fascinated by the non-perfect hero. I never liked Superman for example, because he was always the beacon of morals. At least when I was kid. I had a lot more fun with Spider-man, because he used “cheaty” tactics once in while. Later in life I liked Indiana Jones, because of that sword wielding guy, he simply shot. So non-heroic, but that made him human. The best book series I’ve read so far is Joe Abercrombies First Law. It’s just full of non-heroes doing heroic things in dishonorable ways. They are not polished gems, but dirty coal. They get the job done in any way they can. I love it.

My 500 words today was about a fight just like the one Indiana Jones did. I switched it up. The sword wielder was the dishonourable man and the man with the gun was the man with honour, which led to his demise on a flying fortress under attack.

The short story startup

For my 500 words per day, today, I started up a short story with a more Nordic touch. Still Steampunk, but it takes place in Sweden. It will be about 30.000 words, about a group of people trying to leave Sweden during the starvation years in the 1860’s. It’s for a “call for stories” thing a friend sent a link to. No money, just exposure. Thought it be a good practice run for a Swedish Steampunk novel I’m planning. Might even bring some of the characters in this one into that one.I might even translate it to post it separately on Amazon.

The continuation of my unlimited success

Wrote 507 more words this morning. My habit then, is two for two. Oh yeah! Unbeatable. I started adding some action scenes to my steampunk novel. I have also begun the painstakingly job of rewriting a character. Unfortunately, the main character…She’s just present on some of the pages, like 250 of them. Swell. Stiff upper lip. Pip, pip!

Happy Darwin Day!

The Steampunk road not traveled: What if Darwin had become a priest as his father wanted? Natural selection within a rebellious church. There is a book in there somewhere.

All nighters

Thinking about doing an all nighter or two with writing and translating. An all nighter for me is between 00:00 and 06:00. Six hours will give me roughly 60 translated pages and cut the remaining pages in half. It’s only really feasible on the weekend and this particular weekend I’m busy. Might  set something up next week. Hoping to translate the entire thing by march, before my trip to Thailand.

Reading the Iron Jackal at the moment. Chris Wooding does not disappoint. Review coming up in a week or two.

IBMs prediction about Steampunk going mainstream

What people think when they here that Steampunk fashion will be big in 2013:

Steampunk fashion?

What the fashion industry think Steampunk is:

Steampunk fashion?

What Steampunk fashion in 2o13 will actually be:

Steampunk fashion