Over the last two days, I’ve knocked out 2,300 words of a requested steampunk short story. It involves airships, so I’m trying to do something a little different. I mean, airships are to steampunk as lost heirs are to high fantasy. So, come on, do something new, right?
I’ve spent most of June either noodling around on book proposals and other miscellanea, or taking time off. In fact, I have a book proposal going right now for a new Sekrit Projekt which may or may not go somewhere, but it certainly won’t go anywhere at all if I don’t turn in the proposal. I’m also back to writing actual, you know, fiction, which is what this is really all about.
More to come, of course, but here’s a bit of WIP:
“You,” says the most important Meat on the slipside. I know he is important Meat because he is dressed like a fool and doing no work.
I meet his eyes, my own glittering stare encompassing the liquid brown of the man’s gaze. He needs no response from me, he knows he has my attention.
“Where is Captain Armature?” the Meat continues.
“Falling,” I answer. I am laconic truth, and find the depths of my despair yawning below me like the bottom of the sky.
This imperious Meat blinks a moment, thrown off whatever script he has prepared. “Then who commands here?”
Three of my deckhands drift close. Two bear blades loosely sheathed, the third carries a long iron lever bar.
“Jakesia,” I say. Swift grins chase one another across the faces of my crew.
Anger flashes in the Meat’s eyes. This one is important, unaccustomed to a lack of cooperation in others. “Summon him.”
“She is here.” I rise and bow, the bad servomechanism in my left him whining briefly in counterpoint to my indifferent dignity.