“ZEPPELIN JACK AND THE DEADLY DUELLER” so far
1
Marm grabbed both of us boys by the collars, but Nip wriggled away. I trudged after her to the Foundlings’ Aid Office for my lecture.
“You are too easily distracted,” she said.
I wondered where my Gizmo had got to.
She said, “You’re demoted to fifth assistant cogmonkey.”
She’d demoted me to sixth last week, so I grinned. I wiped grease off my nose and found the offending cigarette behind my ear. Perfect day.
2
Gizmo whirred quietly on my knee as Nip retold the details of yesterday’s flight. Outside the theatre gondola, engine fumes stained the sky.
“Bored?” I said.
Nip said, “The play hasn’t begun.”
“Let’s sneak backstage and join in.”
Giz rolled under a chair, and we crawled after it.
*
“Parp!” said Gizmo.
We looked up into the pulley ropes, and saw a man with an eyepatch and a crooked neck. A dead, dangling pirate!
3
We snuck back into the empty theatre when the coast was clear. The body was gone, but Nip and Gizmo and I were determined to Find A Clue.
“Bing!” said Gizmo, dancing on one of its six radiating legs. I hurried over and saw an eye. It was some kind of metal, like my arm.
“It’s awful heavy,” I told Nip.
He stared, and said, “Jack! It’s heavy because it’s an auto-eye made of gold.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
4
Nip dodged a gear twice his size and flicked grease at it as it crunched onward. Zeppelin School for Boys minded an engine older than Marm.
“Was the pirate killed for his eye?” I mused.
Nip said, “More importantly, should we sell it?”
I pondered until Giz shrieked, “Parp!”
Metal teeth grasped my leg. I yelped and leapt into the air. The teeth kept turning.
Nip said, “You’re too easily distracted.”
“So I hear.”
5
Nip came running with the day’s paper: “Deadly Dueller Strikes Again!”
“It was him! The infamous Saturday killer killed our pirate.”
“He wanted the eye!” I said.
Nip’s eyes boggled: “I don’t want to duel him!”
“Me neither,” I said, “since I’d hoped he’d duel Marm one day.”
6
“I know where he kills them,” I told Nip.
He looked pale to me, but it’s hard to tell with Chinese kids.
“The roof,” I said, “so let’s go.”
*
Nip was quiet as we climbed the metal access ladders to the zeppelin roof. The wind whipped our hair, and Giz parped insistently.
Nip searched East, and I put Giz into my metal left arm and searched West. But when I returned to our meeting place, Nip was gone.
7
I put an ad in the paper: “I have your eye. You have my friend. Let’s meet at the same place at noon.” Hopefully Nip was still alive.
I stood on the vast canvas roof and heard the click-thump of a man with one metal leg. Nip shouted to close my eyes. I did. Giz didn’t.
The dueller said, “Stop messing about, kids. This is a vital clue.” He took the eye.
I asked Nip if he was hurt. “Nah. He gave me pork pie.”
8
Nip filed down a lump in a new cog. “Who are the alchemists?” he asked.
I said, “Dunno. Why?”
“The dueller kept telling me to stay away.”
We went immediately into unfamiliar territory: the library. All the books on alchemy were gone. The librarian said Marm took them.
9
We snuck off work and into Marm’s gondola. Her drawers were full of icky unguents and powders, and – for some reason – loaded mouse traps.
After binding Nip’s broken finger (luckily Nip didn’t have any metal parts, because those are expensive to fix), we found the books.
“Victory!” said Nip.
Giz said, “Bing!”
I said, “Now we read them.”
Giz said, “Parp!” and Nip fainted dead away.
10
I found diagrams of cool experiments. We stole giant canisters of helium and nitrogen. Something made me laugh maniacally for no reason.
“What happens if we mix them?” said Nip.
Giz said, “Parp!”
We crowded together on our bunk and unscrewed the lid of the nitrogen.
Nip giggled and fell asleep. “PARP!” said Giz.
I said, “My hands are soooo big. Look Nip! Nip?” My eyes closed.
Giz said, “PARP-PARP-PARP!”
11
When we came to, Giz was badly scratched from opening the vents.
Marm had her hands on her hips. “I TOLD you not to smoke,” she said.
I said, “We weren’t. We were studying alchemy.”
Marm blanched and left without another word.
Nip said, “She’s not angry – she’s scared.”
12
I found a note on my bunk. It said, “I know who you are and what you’re attempting. No more misguided mercy. We duel at noon this Saturday.”
Giz carefully examined the note. “Bing,” it said. I translated that as ‘Follow’.” We did – all the way to the dueller’s hideout – a home.
The dueller’s wife spotted us and invited us in for honey cookies. They were delicious. Then we left, wondering what to do.
13
We discussed our mystery at work. A gear malfunctioned, jumped its track, and came rolling to crush us both. We jumped out of the way.
Nip inspected the mess.
“Sabotage?” I said.
Nip said, “Yep – but not the dueller, since he’s already going to kill you on Saturday.”
“Parp!” said Giz.
Nip said, “Er. . . he’s going to TRY to kill you. Do you think his wife knows?”
“No-one who cooks that well could kill.”
14
Nip offered to teach me kung fu, since he was Chinese.
I said, “But you don’t remember your parents, so how could you–”
“I. Just. Know.”
Nip made me clean and wax our bunks for no apparent reason. Then he made me do it again. Why?
*
Finally Nip said I was almost ready. Then he punched me in the nose. I kicked him in the leg until he agreed to stop teaching me.
15
Nip paused in his cog-cleaning duties and made a face. “Did you just fart?” I denied the charge, and he threatened to show me more kung fu.
As I clambered onto the cog’s conjoined twin, I saw the cause of the smell. “Hey! There’s sulphur over here. It’s turning toward you, too.”
Nip said, “Mine’s got charcoal, and some kind of black stuff. It stinks like sh–”
I shouted, “Nip! RUN!” The alchemist’s trap met and BANG!
16
Despite Giz’s objections, I went to meet the dueller. “Thanks for trying to kill me yesterday. Did you get too scared to face a kid?”
The dueller paused: “Who tried to kill you? And how?”
“Alchemists, with gunpowder. Wasn’t it you?”
“No. I thought you were with them.”
He lowered his pistol: “I guess I’ll have to duel someone else. Like to meet tomorrow for home-baked pie and grandiose plans?”
17
The dueller made us pork pies and tea as he explained: “I’m trying to stop the alchemists. I saw you stealing chemicals and I thought –”
His wife rolled her eyes.
I said, “Well, now we’re clear – what do the alchemists want, anyway? Gold, I suppose.”
The dueller laughed. “Who wants gold these days? It’s nothing but a bauble – a useless side effect. They’re trying to develop a more powerful form of gunpowder.”
18
The dueller agreed that Marm’s behaviour was suspicious, so we followed her all day, sneaking behind clanking cogs and giant smokestacks.
At last we discovered her noxious secret: Marm had a boyfriend. They did gross, horrifying things – like kissing. Being a hero was tough.
19
We gritted our teeth and tailed Marm again. This time, we saw HER sneaking behind gears. We crept after her. So did our school-friend Grim.
We couldn’t get close enough to hear what they said – but Giz could. Grim showed her something, and she cried. It was as bad as her kissing.
We asked Giz a series of bing or parp questions, and discovered that Grim was an alchemist in training. He’d threatened Marm’s secret son.
20
Nip tried out his kung fu on Grim, and it actually seemed to work. “Leave me alone,” Grim said, “and I’ll pay you as much as you like.”
Nip and I conferred: “We want a pound of real gold.”
“Done,” said Grim, and left.
Nip sighed, “He’s definitely with the alchemists.”
21
We’d gotten good at trailing people, so the dueller agreed to let us follow Grim ourselves. Grim ducked behind a red-hot piston.
We circled the giant piston three times – no Grim!
I gasped: “The alchemists much have a secret passageway through the balloon!”
22
We cornered Grim and told him the dueller was on to him, and demanded he defend his honour at noon tomorrow on the Western roof section.
Grim smiled privately, and Nip and I exchanged a look. What did he know that we didn’t?
23
Nip and I hid, despite our assurances to the dueller that we could fight in his place. All he did was smile, and advise us to get comfy
At last Grim appeared, with a pistol in each hand. “I’m just a kid,” he said, “so I’ll take the first shot.”
“No,” said the dueller.
Nip and I leapt out and pinned Grim’s arms. The dueller said, “I don’t kill children – I question them. You’ll tell me everything you know.”
24
Grim endured the delicious baking of the dueller’s wife all night before the dueller even asked a question. Nip and I were invited.
At last the dueller sat Grim in a chair and asked him who he worked for. Grim burst into tears and touched a switch on his metal arm.
He exploded in a fireball, and nothing but his legs remained, stuck to the chair with blood. His metal pet jiggled in horror at his feet.
Scott Pilgrim Versus the World
There are two possible reactions to this film:
1. Meh.
2. Rabid enthusiasm.
I am a nerd and all my friends are nerds and/or geeks. This film is for geeks, and it is only for geeks. I sat between CJ and my friend Ann (who is on the outer fringes of the geekhood realms of computer stuff, iphone stuff, and is well inside the geekhood of a handful of classic crime novelists).
I am mainly a fantasy geek and a writing-in-general geek. I can pass as a steampunk or medievalist geek. I get on well with music geeks (I can at least admire them) and computer geeks (there always seem to be a few around).
CJ is a video game geek, a graphic novel geek, a computer geek (his mildest area of geekhood – he’s competent rather than truly geeky – and he doesn’t actually love computers), a fantasy geek, an anime geek, and a little bit of a music geek. He plays bass.
Ann thought the film was a mix of brilliant and deadly dull. Her personal geekhood quotient: 40%
I thought the film was brilliant in all but one scene (he sings the girl a song – not very well. It’s not funny enough or musical enough to suit the rest of the film). A few bits were boring to me personally, but most of it was – like I said, brilliant. My personal geekhood quotient: 80%. Also, there are a lot of extremely funny lines coupled with perfect acting. At one stage, the main character is asked a question about “her” which he needs to dodge. In his head, a pointer swings between “who her?” and “I need to pee” and he blurts out, “I need to pee on her.”
CJ was flying high from the first frame, and he didn’t touch the ground until the next morning. His personal geekhood quotient: Freakin’ all of it.
Scott Pilgrim is a music geek, a video games geek, and definitely a graphic novel/surreal fantasy geek. If you get comics (ideally), video games, or fantasy in general (particularly on a metaphorical level – which is where it REALLY got me) you will get this film (I devour “Fables” and “Girl Genius” and any comic associated with Joss Whedon, but no others, and I always struggle a little bit with the genre’s rhythms, which is precisely my experience in this film).
This IS a brilliant film. It’s brilliant like durian* is brilliant – it’s difficult in a lot of ways, but those who love it and those who hate it both know there is nothing else in the world that is even similar to the experience of eating it.**
I recommend it for anyone who can hold their own with either graphic novel geeks, fantasy geeks, surrealist geeks, music geeks, or video game geeks. I fit only 1.5 of those areas, and I loved it.
*Also called “thorny fruit”. It smells so bad that some countries have made it illegal in some public places. It is so thorny that you need either the stalk or a bag of some kind to pick it up.
**Don’t eat Michael Cera. There are laws about that sort of thing.
S#22: Ancient Foibles
In her infinite wisdom, Steff Metal recommends reading Aristophanes, starting with the Lysistrata. She described it as laugh-out-loud funny. And she is so right.
Aristophanes is an ancient Greek comic writer, who like many ancient writers, is hilariously rude. Rude enough that I don’t want to quote a specific example here. Suffice to say that the “very beautiful” naked young woman* who appears in a crucial scene (the warring antagonists discuss land allotments by drawing on her, getting rather distracted as they do so) isn’t the rudest part.
The Lysistrata is about a war between Athens and Sparta, and opens with a woman called Lysistrata calling together all the women from both sides of the conflict to say she knows how to stop the war. They’re interested until she outlines her plan: they have to stop sleeping with their husbands until it’s resolved. With some fast talking, Lysistrata convinces them it’s worth it, and they take over the temple (wearing their most diaphanous garments and best make-up – and fully armed) until the men sort out their mess (the temple is where the money is stored). After several days, some of the women attempt to leave, faking everything from urgent work to do, to being in labor (with a helmet shoved under her dress). Lysistrata is not impressed.
It’s an absolute delight to read a story from so long ago where the women have all the best parts, the funniest lines, the most developed characters, and all the plot. Also, it’s hilarious.
The plot is neatly summarised by one of the desperate menfolk as “they put a Keep Out notice over their whatnots.” (That was the politest way they put it in the whole play, believe me. Personally I *don’t* want to see this play live – too much!)
Early on, the women swear an oath not to give in to their men. They’re originally going to sacrifice an animal, but since it’s a vow of peace they decide not to use blood. Instead, they opt for wine:
Myrrine: “. . . and then we can swear over the cup that we won’t – put any water in.”
Lampito: Whew! That’s the kind of oath I like!
Lysistrata: A cup and a wine-jar, somebody!
[They are brought. Both are of enormous size.]
Calonice: My dears, isn’t it a whopper? It cheers you up even to touch it! . . . What lovely red blood! And how well it flows!
Lampito: And how sweet it smells, by Castor!
Myrrhine: [pushing to the front] Let me take the oath first!
Calonice: Not unless you draw the first lot, you don’t!
And so, sloshed and pretty much naked, the women take over the city.
The men attempt to reason with them, which turns rapidly into a fight with hair-pulling and profanities (both by the women). The men rally and say, “It’s shameful to surrender to a girl without a fight” (reminds me of another saying about fighting girls – I like this one better) but the policemen are “quickly brought to the ground, and punched and kicked as they lie there“.
The signing of the treaty features plenty more wine. Two Athenian men walk out saying:
“”Never known a party like it. The Spartans were the life and soul of it, weren’t they? And we were pretty clever, considering how sozzled we were.”
“Not surprising really. We couldn’t be as stupid as we are when we’re sober.”
One of the surprising things about this play is that it was performed while Athens was still at war with Sparta. That’s awesome. Aristophanes, you lack the sexism and racism of your time, and I love you.
Something else I love is Girl Genius. The creators, Phil and Kaya Foglio, photographed their Hugo Award on a shelf in their house (the little guy with the eye on the right was a big part of the inspiration behind “Gizmo”, although that character walks, and Gizmo rolls):
http://www.girlgeniusonline.com/comic.php?date=20101014
*who would be played, like everyone else, by a man. The mind boggles as to how.
Tomorrow: The low-down on that startling piece of news I recently received. As I mentioned in the comments yesterday, it’s the kind of news that I think will have an effect on the rest of my life.
Monday: Photos and tales of the Steampunk 21st I’m attending tonight!
S#20: Inexpensive Pampering (and, setting)
First, for those attempting to learn writing, a really interesting article on setting.
http://blog.nathanbransford.com/2010/05/what-makes-great-setting.html
Personally, my advice is to make sure you have an opening chapter that doesn’t require pages of explanation (but does have some fantasy element/s, so people have some idea what they’re getting into). As your plot develops, your setting can do so too. But the first conflict must be simple.
Also, when you name places and people, make them (a) pronouncable (b) different – especially the first letter, and (c) generally, not too long. Otherwise readers will feel confused.
Ditto if you introduce more than about three names in the first chapter (which is where titles like “Ratu Island” or “Captain Sol” come in handy, because the name tells you who or what they are).
And, of course, go nuts on the sensory detail (something that I generally do in the second draft, after the story is fairly solid).
Today’s awesomeness mission was: “Go to one of those hippy shops and buy yourself something weird – a homeopath treatment, or some incense or a dreamcatcher or a reiki massage or whatever.”*
I ventured into “The Body Shop” for one simple reason: The smell. I like just walking past that shop, with its cloud of soap and candles and pretend-fruit perfume.
Instinct drew me unerringly to the free samples of body butter (scented moisturiser). Oh heck yeah. There were about twenty different OPEN pots for me to sample. I sniffed the shea butter, having always wondered what it smells like. (The answer: nothing.) I carefully avoided the chocolate scented one (why taunt myself?) and gleefully settled on “dark cherry”.
Don’t you love adjectives? We don’t paint our houses orange, but we might just paint them “burnt peach”. We don’t wear puce, but we’re tempted by “wild maroon”. We don’t even eat just icing-sugar filled chocolate, we eat “vanilla surprise”.
But I digress.
I discovered after generously lathering my hands with dark cherry that it smelled like cheap red lollies. Oh well. Imagine my disappointment when I then discovered the hemp-smelling body butter and my hands were already so packed with flavour I’d missed my chance to smell like pot.
I wasn’t that disappointed, actually. The hemp didn’t smell nearly as nice as pot does.
And on that note, we end today’s entry.
But wait – there’s more!
Yesterday I received some extremely exciting, highly unexpected news. I will tell you what it is on Sunday, but right now you may as well know that (a) I’m not pregnant (nor trying to be), and (b) it wasn’t anything to do with any of my books.
But it was huge. Giggle-hysterically-for-several-days kind of huge. It has even momentarily taken my mind of chocolate.
And, from http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l2i1u42hR31qby2jko1_400.jpg, something wonderful:
*I confused this post with #12: Healing Stones, which is where this quote is from. Today’s actual mission – the one I did – was “Go to a shop like Lush and spend some time smelling everything. Then buy yourself a little treat.”
#12 is still to come.
#217: Le Smackdown
Girls are taught to be nice.
Screw that.
I have a mixture of private clients (who pay better) and agency clients. Other than getting less per hour, taking on agency clients means that I don’t get paid for the first lesson (the agency does – it gets an $85 registration fee for each term). There’s an up side to agency clients, which is spelled out in a form that clients sign: they must give me 24 hours’ notice of cancellation – or I still get paid.
Generally, if a student is sick or whatever, I am able to reschedule them onto a later time or another day, and I let that happen. I have one student who has done this over and over again, and when she did it twice in one day (yesterday, to be precise) I drew a line by only giving her a half hour lesson – ending at the time I’d agreed to end at when she first rescheduled. I also discovered (while chatting with her mum, since the actual student still wasn’t there when I arrived) that the reason she’s been rescheduling me is. . . her boyfriend.
Someone needs a smack.
Her mum seemed confused when paying me, having noticed how short the lesson was. I said it was because she’d rescheduled twice, and fled without elaborating (having already sat through one mother-daughter shouting match that hour). They’re good parents, so I hope they get their daughter on track and don’t try and blame me for being paid. We’ll see. I dread next week.
Last week I started lessons with a new student, Bobette. Since it was the first lesson, I wasn’t paid (although, naturally, the agency was). Today should have been our second lesson – for me, the first paid lesson. Instead, the family just called and cancelled (because the daughter is sick). I attempted to arrange another lesson “so you don’t end up paying”. No joy. They apologised. I said, “Don’t be sorry. One of the good things about working for an agency is I still get paid – when there’s less than 24 hours’ notice. But don’t worry – you can just pay me double next week.” Since it’s now fourth term (which often cuts off all tutoring in about week five, leaving me with about $50/week income until February), I made it clear that they had my sympathies – since they’d be paying for the lesson, as per the form they’d signed. After the conversation, I SMSed to say that if Bobette was feeling better at lesson time, I’d still come and tutor her.
We’ll see.
But the time for being nice has passed, and that’s a fact.
Have you been nice for far too long? Maybe it’s time to stand up for yourself, and see what happens. It’s quite likely I’ll lose one or both of the students, but frankly I know I’m a good tutor and I’ll easily find replacements with better manners.
To put things in perspective, here’s my brother in his “home office”:
Here’s something more cheerful: a clockwork jet pack designed by a Russian scientist in the 1920s.
#216: DIY therapy
On Saturday the 17th of July, after well-documented struggles, I scraped into the healthy weight range at 76.5 kilos (having peaked at a new record of 83.5 kilos on the 6th of April).
Shortly afterward, life happened. Quick summary:
Sydney Sydney Sydney Melbourne Brisbane Sydney Perth
And I weighed in yesterday at a whopping new record of 86.5 kilos.
I’ve learnt a valuable lesson about how travelling does not combine with any other type of work. It’s not surprising information – the only surprise is how powerful the effect is.
So now, with no more travelling this year and with repeated failure at my back, I abandon moderation (which I suck at) and dive into six weeks of pain. No chocolate, no lollies. Lots of exercise.
It’s been very clear for a long time that chocolate fills in the gap between my ability to be semi-functional and the point at which I have to consciously concentrate on not harming myself or others.
But it’s also clear that, given half a chance, I’d be morbidly obese. The kind with bacteria growing in the inaccessible folds of the fat. So with metaphorical blood pouring from various wounds, I re-enter the fray.
There’s no strategy that works other than going through the pain, cutting down as much as possible on anything resembling functionality (eg going to church, seeing friends). I’ve also been watching Bear Gryll’s French foreign legion show (8:30pm on SBS2) and the sheer pointless pain of it is wonderfully inspiring to watch – and, in my own way, to emulate.
So I’ve plastered my desk with inspiration messages. They’re not, for the most part, happy messages – but happiness makes me angry.
Here’s what they say:
don’t think
life and wealth begins November 30
pain is lard leaving the body
this is better than chronic health problems
this is better than diabetes
obese people smell bad
I weighed 65 only recently – and while mentally ill and hugely stressed
fat me = fat kids
it is harder for me, but I am stronger than statistics
60% of adult Australians are overweight
I have TV, books, cats, free massages, writing, flowers, food
food tastes better
By 2050, half of UK kids aged 6-10 will be obese
By 30 November, I will be better than average
this is worth fighting for
this saves around $50 every week – that’s $300
November: green jeans [ie I’ll be able to wear pants again]
I still have a great waist
do or die
good news: spring. beetroot. diet coke. corn thins and avocado.
hunger is normal
In other news, I googled “steampunk motivation” and found this, on geneticabnormality.com:
#214: Spontaneous Soccer & Steampunk Tips
I was at a lunch with CJ’s family when this happened:
A bunch of us adults – all the girls in heels – stood in a rough circle and kicked around a number of balls while a two-year-old screamed delightedly and ran around in the middle. His grandfather and a great-aunt played too.
It was marvellous fun, and I felt my heart beating in an old, familiar way.
Grass. A ball. My feet.
Yes. It was soccer, jumping and cavorting in the back of my mind.
Regular readers will be shocked to hear that I used to play soccer obsessively (in school, not in any official team – but within that semi-competitive zone I was well respected). On a couple of occasions since, I’ve played spontaneous soccer in a road or on a field. Due to uncoordination plus an enthusiasm bordering on the kamikaze, I generally play barefoot against boys in shoes – and generally end up bleeding (they end up bruised, so it seems fair).
Our little circle turned into a soccer game, and I took off my jacket and boots and felt the old love of the game come flooding back. I had to restrain myself rather a lot, but I still got to head the ball, and almost score a goal despite three defenders in my way.
Right now I’m scheming to get together with a few semi-coordinated friends and play for more than those few tantalising minutes. Could this be a new and effective chocolate substitute?
I’ll let you know.
In the meantime, here’s a link to Richard Harland’s steampunk writing tips. http://ripping-ozzie-reads.com/2010/04/30/tips-for-writing-steampunk/ and the clockwork angel picture that goes with it.
#215: Ritual
In the Western World, we lack rituals. We have a few for marriage, death, birthdays, and graduation – but not much to celebrate new life, or adulthood. The Catholic Church does ritual so much better than Protestants.
Today CJ’s cousin and his wife celebrated their baby son’s life by having him baptised.
This ritual had it all: Candles. Fire. Water. God. A priest in robes. An altar. And the grace-note of children and babies squawking or giggling at peculiar moments.
I liked the priest. He smiled when the babies interrupted him, he was uncomfortable but polite at having so many people ask him for posed photos with their children afterwards, and it was clear by the way some of the children ran up and hugged him (robes and all) that he was a familiar and safe place for them to feel special. I also know that he warmed the baptismal water so the babies weren’t uncomfortable.
Also, it was good to know that if the vampires attacked, we had a solid supply of holy water, and the necessaries to make lots more.
What a weight off my mind.
Here’s something a little steampunk for your Monday morning:
Coming soon: Bubbles! Diet Coke and mentos! Steampunk 21st party! Steampunk Earth Day! Spontaneous soccer! Other stuff!
Writing tips for when the book is written
Today’s awesomeness is getting given a GIANT CANISTER OF LOLLIES AND CHOCOLATE at the end of my final lesson with a student who just finished Year Twelve.
It was high quality, too – jelly belly jelly beans, liquer chocolates and other wonderfulness. All the wrapped chocolates had their labels on them, which shows extraordinary thoughtfulness of the part of my student and her mum. (In case you’re wondering, features included “Tuscan dream”, “peanut brittle”, “raspberry cream”, “Hazelnut and honey”, and many more.) Truly, epic awesomeness was had. (In unrelated news, my stomach hurts.)
Here’s three extremely relevent articles for when your book is all done and all edited. The second is funny, and every writer should read it. (That, and the equally funny entirety of http://slushpilehell.tumblr.com/.)
http://cba-ramblings.blogspot.com/2010/09/11-questions-for-crafting-pitch.html
http://cba-ramblings.blogspot.com/2010/09/10-ways-to-annoy-literary-agent.html
http://cba-ramblings.blogspot.com/2010/09/why-oh-why-did-i-get-rejected.html
And, in a seamlink join between today’s writing links and October’s steampunk theme, here’s a great list of common steampunk motifs.
http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1249132-SteamPunk-A-List-of-Themes
#213: Shopping Spree!
CJ and I have lofty savings goals for this year. We have just (barely) made it to halfway (and it’s October. Late October). We can still make it – but that means anything other than rent, bills, petrol, and food (in that order) is a no-no.
However, we recently discovered a $50 Kmart gift voucher in one of CJ’s drawers-o-stuff. We were also recently given a voucher to the Asian Bookshop in Macquarie.
So today, we grabbed our pretend money and hit the town.
Gift vouchers: Money that you’re not allowed to spend on rent, bills, petrol, or food. What’s not to love?
Several hours later. . .
We bought jeans (CJ) a blue top (me), two books, and M&Ms.
The books were both on our list of “subtly hint to relatives that these might be nice for Christmas” (and by “subtly hint” I mean we’re going to assign them to specific people). CJ especially especially wanted “Time of Trial”, the latest in Michael’s Pryor’s YA funny adventure series (which features at least one zeppelin, as I recall), and I especially especially wanted Sandy Fussell’s exciting, funny, and uplifting “Samurai Kids” series (I bought Book One: White Crane, so I can lend it to my students at once – all the rest are also on that list, because they’re all excellent).
Some of you are probably reading along here thinking, “Who cares about money? Where can I see more baby pictures?”
Here’s a new (and final, I swear) video for you guys.
The rest of you are wondering, “Who cares about babies and/or money? Where’s all the steampunk goods you promised us this month?”
These are for you.
Charles Babbage is a real guy who really invented the first steam-powered computer (and his lady love, Ada Lovelace, was the first to write a computer program). It’s now possible, for the first time in history, to build it. So that’s what the human race is gonna do. Yay us.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-11530905
And, Tor.com is having a steampunk month this month.
Felicity Banks 
