Cloud Wars: What is steampunk?
Steampunk is a storytelling genre that features a mix of craftmanship and technology based on Victorian times – but more fun.
Steampunk Earth Day is on 30 October 2010 – it’s a lot like Earth Hour, but with more options (and better outfits). It’s G-rated, and fully international, since you play along (literally) at home. http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=150654784970718
It often features technology that doesn’t exist or isn’t used today, especially steam powered tech. That technology is often on a huge scale (eg Philip Reeve’s “Mortal Engines” series – definitely not G or PG rated, fyi). It also often features Victorianesque class structure (Richard Harland’s “Worldshaker” is an excellent – and funny – example) because it’s inspired by the industrialisation era of Britain (though steampunk is, clearly, a lot more fun that its historical equivalent). Oh, and there are lots of Mad Scientists (as in the “Girl Genius” online comic series) and GREAT outfits (as in Philip Reeve’s “Larklight” series, my favourite kids’ series ever). Side note: Philip Reeve and the Foglios (makers of “Girl Genius”) both say they’re not steampunk – they’re “Victorian inspired” or “gaslamp fantasy”.
Steampunk movies use a palette of black, grey and coppery tones (as in “Sherlock Holmes”).
The current twittertale, “Cloud Wars”, is steampunk only in the sense that an old technology (one-person planes) are used, and that the science (cloud seeding) is vital to the plot. I promise to get better at steampunk with time (although twitter doesn’t lend itself to rich world-building).
Here’s some pretty pictures (and their websites, which I haven’t read so are not rated here):
www.wordsoup.com/blog/2007/04/
hydralisk.wordpress.com/…/steampunk/
http://www.myfreewallpapers.net/fantasy/pages/steampunk-landscape.shtml
Cloud Wars: Storm Troopers
Today’s post is a little early, because I’m using a friend’s internet. On the theme of mad science, here is a quirky site:
http://wildammo.com/2009/08/09/what-stormtroopers-do-on-their-day-off/
Cloud Wars: Story so far
I normally do this on Fridays (and at the end of each tale), but here it is anyways:
Wed 10 Feb
“Mum! I gotta go make rain now.”
“Why can’t you get a real job?”
“MUM!” I switched off the comm and shot my payload into a full-looking cloud.
*
Since I’d cunningly forgotten to shut my lid, the rain I made fell right in. When the sparks started I cursed myself and pressed ‘eject’.
*
I floated down as neatly as you please, but the Eastern plane had already landed. They wrapped my own chute around my neck and I was gone.
Th 11 Feb
I woke in an Eastern jail – all concrete chic with a side order of migraine. Eastern cloud seeders made bets on me outside the barred door.
*
The good thing about being a nineteen-year old girl is that people think I’m weak. On their odds, I wouldn’t wake up. So I didn’t move. Yet.
Fri 12 Feb
When a doctor came to take my pulse I grabbed both his arms and twisted. He yelped but he quickly learned not to move – a perfect shield.
*
“We’re BFFs now,” I told him, “because today we live or die together.”
“Do I get to choose?”
“You sure do. . . is that a sandwich?”
*
I escaped into a land as dry as my mouth, and searched the dying fields for water without success. If only I hadn’t done my job so well.
Sat 13 Feb
A woman woke me, and I followed her into her home. She gave me water to drink. Then I saw the picture of her dead son – a cloud seeder.
*
She saw me looking, and nodded. “I helped you for his sake. You’re a seeder too.”
“And possibly his killer. Have you poisoned me?”
*
She laughed sadly. “I no longer care for East or West. Only sons or daughters. When you’ve eaten, take his plane. It’s no use to me.”
Books
At the close of last year I had three good chances for publication:
1. “Stormhunter”, which was resent to a publisher (who already liked it) after a crucial piece of editing.
2. “Farting My ABCs” sent to the publisher it was designed for.
3. Realist novel sent to a small publisher (since I usually just hit the super big publishers, who get hundreds of unsolicited manuscripts each week).
NB These are three different publishers.
#3 has since received a personalised rejection, #1 is getting discussed between the top and second-top people in the young adult department (the company has had the full manuscript for almost ten months now), and #2 will probably garner a reply next month (they’ve had it for just under 6 months, which is how long that publisher usually takes).
Today I (finally) finished the first draft of “Cloud Wars” (this month’s main twitter tale) and have continued reading through my NaNoWriMo novel, “Justice is Blind”. I just read chapter twenty for the first time, and it was surprisingly good.
“Justice is Blind” is about a blind empath girl who realises another empath wants complete power over Normals – and she is all that stands in their way.
(And there are some psychic cats.)
Cloud Wars: Twitter controversy # 2
It’s been pointed out to me (usually with sniggering) how unbelievably Freudian my first day of “Cloud Wars” turned out to be. All I can say is. . . I had absolutely no idea.
It’s interesting, though – pirates kill a bunch of people, no problem. A woman starves her husband to death – what a laugh! But mocking emos, or mentioning a “ripe” cloud. . . suddenly I have issues.
One of the most enjoyable parts of writing these twitter stories is having enough of an audience that one or two readers are bound to eventually mention what everyone is thinking.
Tune in next week for the torture of puppies!*
*JOKE, darn it!
Cloud Wars: Mad Science
To celebrate scifi, I’ll be posting a bunch of mad science moments here at twittertales.
Today’s is a special favourite. It’s a whole bunch of upside down houses.
This one is (or rather was) a genuine house. You can see the video through the website, http://weburbanist.com/2010/02/07/flip-this-home-10-unbelievable-upside-down-houses/
Cloud Wars: Scifi that isn’t fi
Cloud seeding (ie making clouds suddenly drop rain or snow) is real. I’ve seen the results (this year, in Beijing – the heaviest snowfall in sixty years). Clouds can be seeded by cannons (which can be loaded on the back of trucks, or shot from the ground – and yes, people living nearby hear them – and immediately rush inside) or small planes.
No, there aren’t dogfights and abductions between sparring plane companies – not yet.
Cloud seeding is used in Australia, America, and China, but has been most wholeheartedly embraced in China – where it causes friction between provinces (“You stole my rain!” “You stole MINE!” etc)
It is very efficient (mindbogglingly so), but like all godlike powers, it has a down side. We don’t yet know the long-term effects of messing with the natural patterns of rain.
It’s also obvious (already) that rain generally comes from one direction. If people close to the source of the rain are using up every cloud that passes, what happens to everyone else?
Day 7: Completed Story
1.
A friend got me the job – $90 an hour, starting the day after he left on holiday. Seemed a lot of cash to work for the local tourism office.
*
The boss looked at me silently for an hour. “Can you swim?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“How long can you hold your breath?”
*
I said, “So, you want me to get attacked by a crocodile?”
“That’s right.”
“For. . . tourism?”
He said, “Works every time.”
I said, “Okay.”
2.
It was a pretty spot, with a handful of limp eucalyptus and the babble of the stream keeping me company. Crocs watched me without blinking.
*
I hooked up a high-tension cable primed to spring the instant I released my grip. Then I put on my wetsuit and jumped in. Nothing happened.
*
Forgot to put the video recorder on! I backed up slowly and realised the sun had cooked its battery. So I SMSed for more. Stupid crocs.
3.
Take two. Camera on this time. I kept a firm hold on the cable release button and went deeper. The crocs didn’t move. Why won’t they eat me?
*
It occurred to me that I actually didn’t want to lose a leg, and then – WHAM! Huge jaws clamped on my foot and SPROING! I flew into the air.
*
The crocodile swung in wild cartwheels with me, like a dog with a toy. We both flew over the campsite and landed sprawling in two trees.
4.
Pretty sure being stuck in a tree next to a croc (also stuck) was tourism gold. Too bad my leg was broken and I couldn’t get to the cameras.
*
A pigtailed girl examined me. She said, “Whatcha doin?”
“I’m stuck, and I need help.”
She shrugged, and went to the water.
“No!” I yelled.
*
The girl’s parents hustled her away, but promised to come back real soon. I saw the dust as they drove away. My crocodile yawped at me.
5.
Thirsty. Leg hurt. Croc looked angrier. The little girl’s parents took a video of me and it before fleeing. At least I know I’m on Youtube.
*
An aboriginal man yelled, “Watcha doin?” until I woke up.
“Help me,” I said.
Then a croc spotted him and ran across the mud to kill him.
*
My new friend is Will: “So, you didn’t think to mention the crocs around here?”
“Sorry.”
Will shrugged it off, shaking our whole tree.
6.
Will’s crocodile guard finally left, so Will went to fetch – something. It turned out to be another camera. Hilarious.
*
The RSPCA arrived before the medical team. They cut down the tree and my croc vanished underwater without sparing me a farewell glance.
*
Morphine! Yes! Besht medicine ever. My leg’s not even broken anymore – I’m sure of it. Can I have a crocodile for a pet? Pleeeeasse?
7.
The boss gave me a cheque, minus expenses. “Well done,” he said.
I shrugged.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Have you ever fought an emu?”
Haz Booze
I got a pirate ship.
Last night I had a birthday party (you can see some of the results on today’s twittertales.wordpress.com blog). I was afraid that, since it was an occasion at which I was socially required to be happy, I’d freak out. Instead, I enjoyed myself. In part, this was because of one crucial act on my part: I invited the extraverts.
Normally when I feel like seeing some humans, I invite over my nerdy introverted friends – they’re “safe” people (few people are – some of them, actually, are so shy I don’t dare see them one on one) and my house is a safe place. And, to be perfectly honest, they generally leave early.
There were three basic social groups:
The introverts (who I invited lots in advance so they’d turn out in force), Bible Study (aka “the arguing group” as it’s more accurately known), and people from ballroom dancing. And my parents. The extraverts brought an infusion of energy that intraverts just don’t. No-one got drunk, and no-one was excessively loud or innappropriate (. . . excessively innappropriate, I mean – my Bible Study group is deeply sick). I picked extraverts who are interesting (one of them refers to herself as “Black Bob” in the third person) and who radiate (for want of a less wanky term) positive energy. The mix was about two-thirds intraverts and one-third extraverts.
The night was full of cocktails, mocktails and smoothies and I’d bought a vast amount of liquor, mixers and fruit. The best cocktail was butterscotch schnapps and fake Baileys (it just can’t be beaten); the best mocktail was a mint dulep (with freshly-squeezed lemon and orange juice, and fresh mint leaves); and the best smoothie was either chocolate blueberry or a mix of pineapple, mango, banana and strawberry.
I learnt that: Triple sec is poor man’s cointreau, and pomegranite doesn’t play well with others.
And I was given huge amounts of chocolate and lollies and books, more brightly-coloured alcohol, and a plush dromedary for my cats to kill horribly. And a pirate ship to join (and lead) my growing fleet. The wheel and winch actually turn, and the cannons actually fire tiny cannonballs.
This is the most party-like party I’ve had (or attended) in years, and I enjoyed myself from beginning to end (deeply unusual). I was so pleased (and presumably tipsy) that when my partner and I had our God time, I prayed aloud for the first time in over six months. (Praying aloud is hard, because prayer is so personal; because prayer sounds so silly; and because I was so angry for so much of last year. I’ve only recently been able to read out chapters of the Bible without crying.)
For the moment, I LIKE people.
Day 6: Happy Birthday Me
Really couldn’t think of anything to blog today, so made lemonade out of lemons (literally, a few hours ago).
PG – violence
Time for. . . The Party Story. Each person writes a bit, then scrolls down so just a word or two (mid-sentence) leads on for the next person (who doesn’t read the story in advance). The onyl shared information was that the hero was a female crocodile named Bob.
I’ll start, and (it’s my birthday today), some of my friends will carry on.
Once upon a time, there was a mighty crocodile by the name of Bob. She was beautiful, with leathery skin and a razor-sharp smile. She liked to eat passionfruit and drink mineral water. All in all, her life was peaceful – until one fateful day when Bob went for a walk. She came upon a silver turtle buried in the mud. Picking it up and weighing it in her clawed hand, she noticed a pale glow spreading from its centre. The turtle blinked and, opening its mouth, latched on to Bob’s ear. With a hideous ripping sound the ear came off and was swallowed by a passing pelican, who had previousely been the subject of governemnt genetic testing. Bob, enranged by this act of bodily desecration, opened her mouth as wide as it could go and swallowed the vandal. This act of rage and rash action sent Bob into a melancholy contemplative mood for the rest of the day. While lying on the bank of a river, Bob was unaware of her suroundings. The pelican, who had swallowed her ear and now succumbed to blood lust, dived at her.
Gnawing and gnashing , fighting and biting, they fought. Over, under, round and round. Suddenly there was calm all around.
The battle was over, and the outcome, as expected, was not pretty.
But who had really won? As Bob watched the day’s dying rays glittering on the red slick dissipating through the water, she couldn’t help but shudder as if feeling the chill from some distant plane blowing through her very soul, taking all that she was, all that she could ever have been, and revealing the ultimate truth that lay behind them.
She felt the reflected red of the intermingled gore and blood shining across her once-innocent face. An innocence which had now passed forever.
Vaguely, unaware even of the movement, she began to rub at the stains across her hands. If she had been aware of her action, she would have easily known its futility. The remnants of her actions had seeped as deep into her flesh as they had into her soul. She would never know which she had lost again.
Who had truly won?
As she felt the first whisper of the night-winds cooly caressing her cheek, her eyes remained blind to the world, lost in that play of dwindling day upon the red in the water.
Such a pure red.
At the end of it all, when the day is finally lost and we see we are all becoming one with the ash, as we feel that final coolness invading our bones, is that not – in some way – our final redemption; that purity. That purity of the blood.
The last and first pure thing that our lives can ever claim as their own.
And then, finally, as the bloody disc of the sun sank below the blackness of the horizon, she turned.
What could be left for her now?
For a long time she didn’t move, then her lip lifted slightly in the smallest of smiles, showing only three teeth and a sliver of gum. Muffins. There would always be muffins.
She decided to make a career change so she packed up everything she owned and left for the nearest port to make her life long dream of becoming a pirate a reality.
THE END
Many thanks to my hapless volunteers – Chris M, Black Bob, Jason, Ally, Mel, and Ben. And possibly Jane (I wasn’t paying attention).
PS I did make muffins for a birthday cake thingy, and was given a giant and highly-detailed pirate ship. No crocodiles or philosophers were harmed in the making of this story.
