Things I Want To Work On
- Steampunk Miner's story
Why? Well, there was an invitation. But also, on train this morning...
Belgian: What are you reading?
Me: Steampunk'd. I have to write this story, and I'm trying to get a feel for the genre.
Belgian: What is steampunk?
Me: Still figuring it out, myself.
Belgian: (A pause while he looks it up on his pocket robot) Ah. I dislike the literature of the aristocracy. Where does steam come from?
Me: (shivers inwardly, as an idea sparks) Coal.
Belgian: Where does coal come from? Earth. Who digs it? The people. Children. This is the era when Dickens was writing Oliver Twist. Zola's Germinal...
(We continue in this vein a while, looking up stuff on Wikipedia, admiring the costumes. He makes a remark that steampunk is less Dystopian than cyberpunk, its cousin. At the end of it all, my brain is clicking and spinning and whizzing like clockwork.)
Me: Thanks, Belgian! You just gave me an idea for my story.
(I tell him my idea.)
Belgian: Eh. If you do that, you'll not be writing in the genre anymore, will you?
Me: GENRES EXIST TO BE BENT!
Two characters names so far:
Kanarien Vogel and Gris Cottenier.
They'll be my two mining women, trapped. There will be a clockwork canary. And this phrase: "Kiss the canary." Which might mean "Good luck," or sexual innuendo, but will also be the means of activating the canary and sending it ahead. One of the women keeps a single real canary feather in her hat, as a reminder of who they are and what they're doing down there.
Perhaps the title is "Kiss the Canary." I'll keep it in mind as a working title.
***
I also want to be working on edits to my novel Shadowstalkers.
I also want to be working on the first draft of our Ballad novel with Caitlyn, which, apparently, is gonna be SCIENCE FICTION! (Wha' hae!!!)
I also want to write more of "Crane in Exile," and the drowned cities story, and don't think I've forgotten all those others, pulling on my hem, no, nor the requested edits to "How the Milkmaid Struck a Bargain with the Crooked One."
I can see my three other novels lining up in a single file behind the shadows of all these stories, bouncing a little, as if they have to go to the bathroom.
Sigh.
Back to real work.
***
Meanwhile, I'm taking Germinal home with me. Research, aye?
Why? Well, there was an invitation. But also, on train this morning...
Belgian: What are you reading?
Me: Steampunk'd. I have to write this story, and I'm trying to get a feel for the genre.
Belgian: What is steampunk?
Me: Still figuring it out, myself.
Belgian: (A pause while he looks it up on his pocket robot) Ah. I dislike the literature of the aristocracy. Where does steam come from?
Me: (shivers inwardly, as an idea sparks) Coal.
Belgian: Where does coal come from? Earth. Who digs it? The people. Children. This is the era when Dickens was writing Oliver Twist. Zola's Germinal...
(We continue in this vein a while, looking up stuff on Wikipedia, admiring the costumes. He makes a remark that steampunk is less Dystopian than cyberpunk, its cousin. At the end of it all, my brain is clicking and spinning and whizzing like clockwork.)
Me: Thanks, Belgian! You just gave me an idea for my story.
(I tell him my idea.)
Belgian: Eh. If you do that, you'll not be writing in the genre anymore, will you?
Me: GENRES EXIST TO BE BENT!
Two characters names so far:
Kanarien Vogel and Gris Cottenier.
They'll be my two mining women, trapped. There will be a clockwork canary. And this phrase: "Kiss the canary." Which might mean "Good luck," or sexual innuendo, but will also be the means of activating the canary and sending it ahead. One of the women keeps a single real canary feather in her hat, as a reminder of who they are and what they're doing down there.
Perhaps the title is "Kiss the Canary." I'll keep it in mind as a working title.
***
I also want to be working on edits to my novel Shadowstalkers.
I also want to be working on the first draft of our Ballad novel with Caitlyn, which, apparently, is gonna be SCIENCE FICTION! (Wha' hae!!!)
I also want to write more of "Crane in Exile," and the drowned cities story, and don't think I've forgotten all those others, pulling on my hem, no, nor the requested edits to "How the Milkmaid Struck a Bargain with the Crooked One."
I can see my three other novels lining up in a single file behind the shadows of all these stories, bouncing a little, as if they have to go to the bathroom.
Sigh.
Back to real work.
***
Meanwhile, I'm taking Germinal home with me. Research, aye?