Steampunk Superheroes

Friday has rolled around again, that meant it's time to offer up my entry for Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction. This week, we had to pick two of:

Steampunk.

Superhero.

Noir.

Erotica.

Farce.

Men’s Adventure.

And write something. Nice! But it meant that my usual slacking off of reading other people's entries at work can't be done, as I don't want to have something NSFW on-screen when a kid asks me how to stop spelling banananana.

I chose Steampunk and Superheroes - and depending on how you like your superheroes, possibly farce, too. If you like them all broody and deep, with hidden layers and tortured souls, then you ain't getting that. If, instead, you love the Adam West Batman Show (be warned that link is to TV Tropes) then this is for you.

“Good evening, all of ye meritorious members of the Mechanascience Association! As I take the podium for tonight’s meeting, to espouse to you the progress of my latest predilection - a flight of fancy based upon the works of that most eminent scientist, Mr. Charles Darwin.” With a flourish, The Technomancer gestured to Sprockette to draw aside the curtain. Sketching a chaste curtsey she did so, and he reveled in the startled gasps and the smattering of applause before continuing. “I humbly present to you: Monkey Wench! An estimable fusion of biology and technology she will no doubt be instrumental in our efforts to thwart those rapscallions in The Clockwerk Alliance!”

as always the presentation was followed a more informal gathering in the smoking room. Feet up on an ottoman, The Technomancer puffed contentedly at his cigar. He listened with half an ear to Monkey Wench eloquently holding forth to an interested knot of listeners, including some of the Mechanascience Association’s inner coterie. The peace was short lived though. With a clattering bang, the door was thrown back and a breathless street urchin came in. “Parden me, sirs an’ ladies, but yer needed down at the wharfs! It’s them Coalstack Boyz!”

“They’re causin’ all sorts o’ trouble!” Instantly, the room sprang to attention, focusing on the impressive bulk of The Steamhammer, waiting for his lead. “Righto my lads and lasses, Forge and Foundry Division will field this one. Let’s see,” he rumbled, glancing about. “I’ll take The Wind-Up Kid with me, Mr. Lectric, and I would be honoured if you would grace us with your presence, ma’am” he finished, winking at Monkey Wench who blushed furiously. Pausing to throw a ha’penny to the boy, The Steamhammer led his team out of the building.

Slowly, the team spread out, but kept within hearing distance of each other. Regrettably, this meant they could all listen to The Wind-Up Kid complain. “The Coalstack Boyz! What a waste of time for all four of us! Why, I could take ‘em on me own! Come on, they don’t even have a catch-phrase, and barely have a costume! Not one in three has a cape!” He was right of course, The Coalstack Boyz were the lowest level in that insidious amalgam - The Clockwerk Alliance. Little more than henchmen and hired goons, The Coalstack Boyz ran the minor rackets and did all the grunt work... they had to prove themselves before being initiated into the higher levels of Evil. Our brave and plucky heroes come upon them, pilfering goods from one of the loading bays.

Shouted Mr. Lectric, striking an inspiring pose. “For the might of the Mechanascience Association is here to foil your foul deeds!” The incorrigible bounders that made up The Coalstack Boyz threw their ill-gotten cargo at Mr. Lectric’s head, and sprinted for the shadows. As luck would have it, most of the boxes were too heavy to make the distance, yet he still spectacularly dodged to the side to avoid them. The Steamhammer closed in on the miscreants and was about to come down on them hard, as only he could...

thick, ropey tendrils shot out of the blackness, and lashed round his bulky figure, holding him immobile. A sonorous clanking echoed repeatedly from the darkness, and the mechanical legs of Spinning Jenny appeared. Cackling manically to herself, she started to wind him in towards her massive mandibles.

Monkey Wench leapt into action with a lady-like (albeit slightly feral) grunt. Bringing her fore-paws to bear with their massive Stilsons, she attacked one of Spinning Jenny’s joints. With a

of rending metal, the leg dangled uselessly. Shrieking the spider-thing turned from her attack on The Steamhammer, and focused her attentions on Monkey Wench instead. Things looked grim indeed for our heroine, until her allies returned from routing The Coalstack Boyz. Mr. Lectric charged in, with shocking effectiveness. Battered and beaten into submission, Spinning Jenny ejected from her carapace of brass fulcrums and whirring cogs, and made off over the rooftops.

retired to the hallowed halls of the Mechanascience Association, where Monkey Wench was lauded for her fine showing on her first outing. Yet all is not well in our fine city. While the Clockwerk Alliance was stymied on this outing, they still imperil us all... Deep in her underground lair, Spinning Jenny raises the speaking tube to her mouth, and whispers throatily into it “Dr. Phlogiston? I will require your services once more...” In the darkness a whistle sounds and massive governor balls begin to spin once again with malicious intent...

Tune in next week for the next thrilling installment of:

English, Motherfucker, do you speak it

We're nearly at the end of term four, and my afternoon class ALWAYS speak in Vietnamese instead of English. I couldn't help but say this (modified as the picture of course) so then with a moment in paint, I had to of course make it.

Its nearly holidays, yay! We're just slacking off around here, so I'm planning on doing a bunch of writing then (honest!)

Confessions of a Penmonkey

Earlier last week I got Chuck Wendig's Confessions of a Freelance Penmonkey, and read it over the weekend while in Dong Anh. I was a bit nervous, not because of the book, but because it was the first time I'd taken the kindle there, and I was worried what our niece and nephew would to do it. They're both around 3, and love technology, as the way only a hamfisted baby can. They've killed a iphone a laptop twice, and countless other phones, cameras and other pricey electronics.

But the kindle passed with flying colours... probably because they're used to colour displays, touch screens, pictures, vibrations and sounds. 

The writing was great, too. His website updates daily, so it was nice being able to read his style of writing on the weekend where I had no internet connection.

The three main things I took away from it - apart from a large dose of his profanity laced humour which I love - were:

• That you should finish stuff, not just flit from shiny topic to new idea to the next great idea - something I have been particularly susceptible to recently.
• Outline so you know where you're going, you will end up with a stronger story in the long run.
• Leave your work for a while, like a month or so, and come back and edit it then. To be honest, I haven't done much editing of my stories at all, but it will be something that I will have to start doing - and not just by pulling out wayward commas.

So I'll shelve writing a story to do some more outlining, and then get back onto it. If I feel bogged down, I'll swap to a fable or New Hanoian review. Plus, I have 2 or 3 of his flash fiction challenges that stalled due to work or holidays or just petering out.

But soon it'll be time for that great bit of creative writing - End of Year reports. 

The uninvited guest

Once again, Chuck Wendig has an awesome flash fiction idea: write about an unexpected guest. For me, this topic was a doddle. There's not a lot of fiction to it, this actually happened, though I did embellish it slightly - mainly by making me more coherent and toning down the swearing. A thousand words he says, but this one tops the scales at 1600 or so. But usually mine are anemic, coming in at half way, so screw it, I'm allowing myself a little lee way. For genre, I guess it could be part of my memoirs, though I'm not writing them till we get flying cars and all the other good stuff we've been promised.

The Uninvited Guest

If you’re going to take a bunch of kids on a week long camp, then fourth grade is pretty much the best age group. They’ve grown out of wetting the bed. They’re old enough that they won’t cry because they miss mum and dad. And hormones haven’t kicked in yet making them want to get frisky with each other.

But a week away from all the comforts of home mean that you need to stock up on the finer things in life the night before, so you have good memories to get you through. My classes are always boisterous and rambunctious at school, so once you throw archery and horse riding into the mix, a mental happy place is a necessity. 

Picture from here. Aren't you glad it's not of the star of the story?

The evening before our departure I have a few beers while the sun is setting and the roo is cooking on the barbie. Rare, so the juices can mingle with all the other ingredients on the burger: bacon, beetroot, egg, onions. I’ve read of salad, but I’m not a practicing member of that faith. The meal is finished off with some chocolate - even though it’ll set off my cough a bit. A nightcap, a level or two of whatever game takes my fancy, some tasteful porn, then an early night. Life is grand.

I often drink a fair whack of water during the night, and after an hour or so of sleep, I wake up with a tickle in my throat. In the dark I reach over for where I always put my jug, and being the classy bloke I am, I drink straight from it. I splutter a bit... some has gone down the wrong way. I lie back down mumbling to myself because I’m still coughing. Then I realise I’m having some difficulty breathing; I guess having chocolate wasn’t the smartest move. Oh well, it will pass soon.

Only, it doesn’t. And my throat feels really weird.

Like...  maybe I’ve swallowed a bug!

That thought brings me to full wakefulness. On a normal day, I cough like a returned serviceman who’s been smoking two packs a day since he was fighting in the Somme. When I blow my nose, it’s as if Satchmo stole Saint Peter’s horn and is sounding the last trumpet. So while I shun sport, I have a good pair of lungs on me. This bug ain’t going to hang around, I think to myself, and take a couple of really deep breaths. 

I smack myself on the head. Idiot! Deep breaths in isn’t the way to do this! What, you wanna suck the bug into your lungs? Maybe get it stuck in a bronchial tube? I take a few shallow breaths and then breathe out heavily. I try this a few times, ramping it up with some coughing too. I feel light headed, and lie back.

Maybe there’s no bug. It could just be my overactive imagination. I tell myself I’m overreacting and close my eyes. It doesn’t work. I think I can hear it moving, the sound carried to my inner via my Eustachian tube. I’m not sure if it’d work that way but it seems damn convincing to me.  I sit up, and start hacking and coughing again. I get a brain flash... I know... I’ll hit myself in the throat a couple of times, that ought to dislodge it! Being a slow learner, it takes me about three or four blows before I realise this is a really stupid idea. 

I have some more water, and convince myself that there isn’t a bug (again) and try to sleep. This lasts for about all of thirty seconds before I’m starting to stress about my shortness of breath. I try hanging my head over the end of the bed. Is... is that progress? I think that’s better. I flip over onto my back, and try that way. Yeah, that’s better. But it sure is uncomfortable. Hey, maybe I can see it! I leap out of bed, and head to the bathroom. I open my mouth, and stick out my tongue, trying to look down into my lungs. Can I see something? Maybe. Maybe if I shine a light, that’d help.

I race back to my room and dig out the portable light made up of a lot of bright LEDs. Back in the bathroom with my tongue sticking out, I blind myself a couple of times trying to work out how to shine the light down my throat instead of into my eyes. Then I decide that the bug might be scared of the light, and scuttling deeper into darkness, like a cockroach in the kitchen. I need natural light, that’s the ticket! Like fire! I go into the kitchen, and grab my candle for when we have blackouts and return to the bathroom. Angling the candle, I assume the pose again, but not for long... hot wax drips from the candle onto my upper inner thigh, barely missing my todger - it’s warm in Darwin so I sleep naked. After a short burst of swearing, I put out the candle. This was a bad idea. I can see the lurid headline in tomorrow’s newspaper: Teacher dies in bizarre sex act blah blah blah autoeroticism blah blah blah hot wax blah blah blah asphyxiation. Anyway, the light isn’t working. Probably it’s crawled in head first, and I am wasting my time illuminating its arse.

Finally, I get confirmation that there is a bug down my throat after a few more coughs and a bit of retching. Something must be working as I’ve now pissed it off, the bug starts biting me. Now I know I’m not crazy. Time to try panicking slightly. It doesn’t work, but I feel better. A few more coughs and this time some progress, but not the good sort... blood in some phlegm. I take some deep, calming breaths, but realise that once again I am attempting to suck it into my lungs. I don’t want this little guy deciding it has to eat its way out through my soft, tender alveoli.

At no stage do I think “I should go to hospital, I’ve been at this for over an hour.” Instead I think I could maybe poke it out, so I go and get a chopstick. Luckily, while I’m psyching myself up to poke it down my throat, I give a tiny feeble cough, and out comes a few legs. This is more like it! A few more coughs with some gusto, and here comes the rest of the bugger. Woohoo!

Now, I’ve always had a thing for killing bugs good and dead before this. I have had a long standing rule that spiders should be hit until they’re in at least three pieces to make sure they are dead. This guy, well, he certainly cops a flogging. I beat him with a shoe, a book, stomp on him with my boots on. When I’m done, he’s a monomolecular stain on the tiles, which I wipe up with toilet paper and then set on fire. Vengeance!

And now it’s time for me to get back to sleep. Easier said than done, I’m awash with adrenaline, full of rage and victory. So I get up and turn on my computer. In practically every game where you’re saving the world, there’s a bug level. So I dig out old save games and have at it, crushing chitin, pounding carapaces, and snapping limbs. I use chainsaws, hatchets, crowbars, machine guns, magic, my fists, tanks, and even spaceships on them. I feel better, even though I’m rather haggard as now it is dawn. Time to get my stuff together and go on excursion.

The first night of the camp, we’re sitting around the bonfire, and the owner of the property says it’s traditional to tell scary stories. He kicks off with a possible, but not very plausible story about a feral pig being attacked recently by a crocodile down by the river. He had been harping on us not to leave rubbish out as it attracts the wild pigs, and this element adds a good reason not to go wandering off on your own so we appreciate it. But the story is none too scary. A few of the kids have a go but they mainly tell retreads of whatever movie they saw recently, or completely over the top versions of the most scariest story ever, with excesses of blood and monsters.

One of the parents says that maybe a teacher should have a try, and with a gleam in my eye, I begin telling them of what happened last night. Of course I swap out phrases like “inbred, poo-rooting monkey fucker” with “Getoutgetoutgetout!” but the core of the story is there. I love story telling, with its facial expressions and tones and cadences, and I’m well into the swing of it with my Teachers Voice. Towards the end of the story, one of the parents is looking kind of green, one or two kids have their hands over their ears, and there’s a gaggle of girls clustered around a parent. I let my voice go rough and thoughtful as I end the story. “I’m not sure if the bug was in the cup of water,” I say, as if to myself “or if it crawled in there, while I was asleep. Maybe it was looking for a place to lay its eggs. Maybe it did.” The other teacher decides we’ve had enough scary stories for one night, and we head off to our cabins.

Recipe

So I've been slack at writing, but we were on holidays. I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things. I'm part way through my entry for this week's Flash Fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig, but I got derailled by yesterday's post by him, where he was asking for a recipe for Unicorn Nipple Cookies.

*****

This is from the Eldritch edition of Cooking Light Magazine. It's out of print these days, but you can sometimes scrounge up a copy in used specialist bookshops.

Unicorn Nipple Biscuits

Ingredients:
1 cup of elf tears
3 tablespoons of ground sassafras root
4 cups of flour
2 griffin eggs
Stick of butter
Pixie dust
1/2 cup of brown sugar
1/2 cup of white sugar
2 teaspoons of honey
2 cups of mermaid's milk


Method:
The night before, soak the ground sassafras root in the elf tears. You only really need enough tears to cover the sassafras, but let’s be honest, it’s so much fun procuring them that it doesn't hurt to be extravagant in your measurements here.

The next morning, preheat your oven to the 3rd Circle - that's Gluttony for those of you still on the old Infernal scale.
Strain out the sassafras (pro tip: the elven tears can still be used to scour your hydra) and set aside.
Separate the egg whites and the yolks. The unneeded griffin yolks can be used in the summoning of a succubus to clean the kitchen afterwards.
Place the whites in a large bowl, and belabour your imp until he has beaten them to a smooth consistency, while you slowly add the white sugar.
When the mixture begins forming peaks add the sassafras.
In a separate bowl cream the butter and brown sugar.
Add two cups of flour, and 1 cup of mermaid's milk, and mix.
Smooth the surface and then inscribe the Sigil of Falgan upon it with honey.
Add the remainder of the flour, and more milk if needed.
Mix the dough thoroughly.  Place it on a baking tray in bite-sized portions.
Smother it in the egg white mixture, sprinkling a pinch of pixie dust on each one.
After chanting Drison’s incantation pop them into the oven for twenty minutes.

Garnish with an iridescent scale from a lesser bronze dragon when cool.

*****

Now back to some more creative writing, there's a slim chance I'll get my Flash Fiction done before I get distracted by his next post

Flash Fiction - Jake and Gran & Gruk: Attorney-At-Law

Friday afternoon and I've just scraped in with getting two entries for this week's Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction. Didn't end up doing it last night, of course I got sidetracked. The challenge this week was to pick any of these sixty random and strange pictures and write about it. There's quite a few that I liked the feel of. I might revisit some of these at a later date. For now, I've done two. Not 1,000 words each, just little lightweight ones. Gruk: Attorney-At-Law's style may be a bit of a struggle to read, but it's in the same vein as Grunt Smash-Kill and writing as him was always popular. Jake and Gran was a doddle to write too. I did it second, but for obvious reasons I figured Gruk should be posted last. It's much more like my normal style.

Jake and Gran

Jake always hated visiting his Gran. She was so old. All her stories were repetitive and boring. This trip sucked. Here it was, the start of summer vacation, and he was stuck in the car, when he should have been in front of the TV playing his X-Box. Stupid Gran.


When they got there - finally - he was still in a bad mood. Hopefully his mother wouldn’t want to stay for the whole weekend. He hated the room he slept in, full of dolls and stuffed teddy bears, and doilies everywhere.  Hate was such a strong word, but when you’re fourteen, you have easy access to so much anger. Slamming the car door he skulked and slouched into the house, trailing a lace in the gravel of his Gran’s driveway, kicking up dust.

After constant badgering from his mother, he sighed, rolled his eyes and gave his Gran a peck on the cheek, wrinkling his nose at her old-person smell. He slumped into a chair, pointedly not making eye contact and grunted or mumbled all his answers until the adults moved onto topics of their own. Jake was itching for the visit to be over. He hummed annoyingly and tuned out of the conversation. It was always the same old crap anyway, about dead people and events from long ago, what a waste of time.

Surprisingly, the conversation ran down faster than normal, neither his mother or Gran seemed much in the mood for talking. Jake smiled. This was more like it. Finally the old bag had run out steam, and they’d be heading home soon! Maybe he’d be able to talk his mother into eating out on the way home - anything was better than the interminably long meals of bland, stodgy pap that his Gran always served up while droning on about the same topics she’d already gone over so many times.

Jake led the way to the door, as his mother helped his Gran out of the chair that engulfed her frail frame. As she hobbled painfully to the door, she stopped enroute and picked up a large, slightly grubby teddy bear. Impatient to be gone, Jake steeled himself on the grass for a goodbye hug. A bored look on his face as his Gran drew level with him, her bottom lip quivering,
“This is Mr. Bugglesworth,” she said, her voice cracking, “look after him for me please Jakey!”
“Gran! I’m not a little kid any more! I don’t want the stupid bear!”
At this, his mother chimed in... “Jake! Mind your manners! What would your father say?”
With little grace he sighed theatrically and presented himself for a hug.
“I guess this is goodbye, Jakey. They said its inoperable, and I’ve not got long left. I’ll miss you,” his Gran said, as she leaned her head against his, and burst silently into tears.

*****

Gruk: Attorney-At-Law

“Hi, it me, Gruk, atterny at law. I is a lawyerer, and I do lawyerring werking heer at Johnsun, Smif, Winters and Assossyates.” 

“‘But Gruk,’ yew miyt be saying, ‘Yew is uh cave man! How can yew be heer, dooink all dis stuff?’”

 Dat is gud kerwestion, it awl hass to do wif takkyon beem mannyypullayshun. My rowl is dat of cellyberrity tell a vishun lawyerer. Dat probberly wear yew rememember Gruk from.Heer at Jonhson, Smiff, Winters and Assyociates, we cayter to awl sorts of littygayshun. Have a complex constachushunal case? No proberlem, we hav reefined and diggernified barriersters too. On starf, we hav amybulanse chaysers, skreeching devorse harpees, serlymee co orp erate mussil, yew name it, we doods it!”

“Gruk has wun agenst such prommynent sulissiters az Cownsiller Gerrtruude de Sinkink Cow, Robo-Tron Lawinator 8500, Misster Libbertary and de Masked Lejustator. Heer at Jonsun, Sermiff, Wintaz and Assyoshiates, we onlie hiers de best!”

“Call me! Call me now! - I pick up de fone and seys ‘Hi, it me, Gruk, attorrnery at law... what yew wearink? Dat coz Gruk awlso do moonliting as sexy fown callerer too. Dat just part of de servis yew get at Jonhnsun, Smif, Winterers an Asosoiachates!”

“Wevver yew is arfter a huuj payowt, gettink off skot free, a kerippiling injunctshun or just yor tiym in de spotterlite, Gruk can help yew. Rememba de naym: Gruk... atterny at law!”

Progress, of a sort

Nothing really to upload at the moment, but I have been progressing. I did a bunch of reviews for the New Hanoian, picking up one of the monthly prizes, which is I what I was shooting for. They have a little box on the main page called featured member which gives a summary of some of the past prize winners. The times I won before were ages ago, and so I wasn't in the lineup. I'm not sure if they still update it,  I hope so. If not, oh well, its only vanity.

 A few friends and I have been doing some collaborative writing, as well. That's been interesting and fun, especially when one of us takes it in a place the other wasn't expecting. I like it, and hope that the wheels don't fall off due to other distractions - I'm partially guilty of this what with my short attention span.

Chuck Wendig has a great flash fiction challenge up,  where you go to this website, and pick one of the random, silly stock photos to write about. I've picked three I like, so I will make a start on one of them after this... unless I get distracted by something else. 

I've been doing some reading as well, and found even more useful, well written and informative websites about writing - but I realise this is a bit of a rabbit hole I don't want to get sucked too deeply into... its not just about reading about how to do it, I actually have to do it, too. I'm home sick today, so I can't post the links, but someday I'll get around to it.

Plus, I've talked Tho into letting me get a Kindle (I'm pretty sure), yay!