More Milestones

A young boy, after dreaming for years of becoming a magic-wielding Priest, finally manages to bluff his way into the clergy and learn the magical arts of healing despite having no magical ability.

Intrigued? Good. That's my elevator pitch for Lifebringer.
Uninterested? Good. I like having something to improve on.

On the notion of Lifebringer, it's reached the 20,000 word and 100 page marks over this long weekend just gone. The story has been more thoroughly plotted out and I'm feeling pretty confident in its direction. It's looking to be a long one, as I'm a bit under 1/5th of the way through. For comparison, Maiden Voyage clocked in at around 80,000. This one is looking more in the ballpark of 120,000-150,000. I like big numbers, they feel impressive to write...

Speaking of Maiden Voyage, it's done. I know, I said it was 'done' a few months back, but this time it's really done. It's been proofed and given a final tidy-up and is 100% ready to send out. Now all I have to do is send it...

Which is where that first line comes in. I've been doing my best to learn about how to pitch my book. To be honest, this is my first time doing this for a book so I expect that I won't be very good at it. In any case, here's what I have for Maiden Voyage.

First, the elevator pitch:

A young engineer in a post-apocalyptic Europe becomes involved with the rediscovery of lighter-than-air flight and joins in a landmark voyage across the continent.

And now, the grand display:

Malcolm Chevin is retiring at 22, after just one project as head engineer. It's been years since he fled his wealthy aristocrat parents and made for Switzerland, and it seems he's set for a quiet life. But it is not the nature of the young to live quietly.

When Malcolm volunteers himself to help build a breakthrough long-haul airship to ensure the retirement of elderly engineer Frederick Zeigler, he finds himself on the cusp of a scientific revolution, and in the midst of an arms race.

Now the airship, with Malcolm aboard, finds itself tangled in plots of sabotage, a relentless pursuit and an endless battle against the elements. Malcolm is no stranger to the military might of the Francs, but will his elderly colleague, his best friend and the ship's enigmatic captain fare so well? Or will the ship's maiden voyage be its last?

So that's that. I guess I'm posting this up here because on the one hand I want people to at least laugh at my failures, but I'd also be keen as mustard for some feedback from more experienced writes who happen upon this solemn blog.

In any case, thank you to everyone who has supported me so far, and wish me luck in this final leap into the abyss. And by abyss I mean contracts.

A Bite-Sized Story: Hello

Happy Easter!

If you're not in to that sort of thing, happy Sunday!

I wanted to post something more from The New Age of Steam, but at the same time I don't feel there's anything from Beyond the Horizon I want to put up here just yet (maybe next week...) and there's nothing to say about Maiden Voyage at the moment (waiting on the final round of feedback). Instead, I dug up an old story I wrote a while back during the first draft of Maiden Voyage.

Similar to The Deadwater, this piece is set in the same universe as all the 'New Age of Steam' stuff. However, this one is set before the time of Maiden Voyage. Well before. This piece is a soldier's thoughts on the last day on earth. A window into the apocalypse. Enjoy.

Hello

                Yesterday there was gunfire. Today there is none. We salute the oncoming silence with a silence of our own, as though this lame last-minute peace will bring change. We fought too long, losing our morals bullet by bullet. We can blame every man above us in the chain of command, and somewhere at the top they must blame God, but it's the truth now, here at the end, that we are all at fault.

                I'm leaving this out of blind human hope in case there is someone here after all of us have gone, in case there is anyone left. I had a squadron, and a commander, and an enemy. Now I have myself and my thoughts having wasted my life on begging for permanence. I've been holed up here for three days, holding this building to my last because until today I could justify what I was doing. It appears everyone else is the same way as me now, because the fighting is over.

                If there was a man at the right desk we might hear sirens soon, but why would you turn up to your job on your last day alive? That being said, I'm not sure what else that man would do. There's nothing worth anyone's life left to see here, we bombed the city to rubble, then bombed the rubble for good measure. Then we marched in and fought over it tooth and nail. I thought I was fighting to prevent them from doing the unthinkable. It turned out we were thinking the same as them. In the end, we both became so convinced the other wanted to press the red buttons that we did it ourselves. I counted the first few minutes, but now I don't know how long it is until they arrive. This is more important than counting.

                When I last looked up I saw a chain of ropes and airbags floating off into the distance, like the city was a mother casting her last child adrift out of desperation knowing it wasn't safe here anymore. It wasn't safe anywhere anymore, and the people in those balloons would learn that soon. I've sat in this room for many hours now, suitably alone in my final moments. The silence is still alien to me. I have a window in my roof, where a bomb brushed concrete some weeks ago. I want to look up and see the last of the sky, but I know what it looks like already. It's a permanently overcast shadow of its former bright blue self, and it will stay that way for years to come. Whatever plants survive the big bombs will die out in the coming months. Nobody will make it through.

                I had thought of praying, but if I were God right now I would be looking upon the earth with disappointment and contempt. To pray on this day would be to mock God himself. I can barely believe there still is a God, for days now I have been thinking that there is only men and our history of mistakes.

                I can see a trail now in the sky, a line of slightly darker grey. I have seen my reaper. The bomb will drop soon, and I'll see the hints of a distant flash. The shockwave will hit me first, and I will hope with the last hope I have that this building stays upright. Then I will become ash, and it's likely this last record of myself will too.

                Goodbye, and if you are reading this, hello.

A Collection of Prompts

Last week I said I'd post with some ideas I have for stories set in the world I've been building over the last few weeks. First, though, I thought I'd put out an update on how Ambervale is going.

I've finished Part 1, or at least have it at the point where it can't be improved until the whole story is finished. Even then, the changes will be minimal. Part 2 is approaching a similar place, and Part 3 will be written as soon as I'm comfortable with Part 2's standard. Overall, I feel the story is fairly strong, the prose is solid and the structure is inventive enough to be memorable without being so outlandish as to be awkward or difficult to read. I won't go about posting Part 2 here, not yet.

As far as the new world goes, I have yet to do more on the worldbuilding side of things. The names of things like nations and lands come to me as I write, so that's the place for all that to happen. I've fleshed out each individual magic system, but writing about each will be time-consuming and would ruin some of the intrigue of the story or stories that come out of this world.

The first idea (and keep in mind that these are vague) is as follows:

A young man has always dreamed of being a Priest, but The Protector has never chosen him. Not to be dissuaded, the man goes to study the arts of being a Priest, bluffing his way into the order's school by pretending he has in fact been chosen by The Protector. The Protector, faced with the possibility of having the reputation of his Priests besmirched by this imposter, is forced to teach this man the ways of his magic.

Idea number two is similar, but would instead follow a man obsessed with finding a Chronist or even The Watcher themselves. The adventure takes him to all corners of the world, and what he finds will likely be far from what he expects.

Idea number three takes a different approach. Instead of following a mortal person, it would follow The Former herself as she teaches and nurtures her small number of students. I still need to think of what exactly would happen in this story, but I like the idea of writing from the perspective of a God rather than of a person.

Obviously, the first idea is the most fleshed-out, and would likely be the first to get turned into a novel. Still, it's good to have options, and whatever one I'm not working on actively will sit on the backburner and become more fleshed-out as time goes by.


Now to address the burning question: What does this mean for The New Age of Steam?

Well, The New Age of Steam has not been abandoned. In fact, far from it. The Ambervale story is set in The New Age of Steam universe, and Beyond The Horizon is still my main project as far as novels go. If I complete a story in this new universe, it'll be a long time from now. That said, I may start writing something in this new universe soon. There's no reason I can't have multiple projects on the go at once.

Next week, I recount the story of the time I wrestled a bear in Latvia.

And Done

Yep, that's it. All done. Finished. Woohoo.

In longer words, I've finished editing my first book in 'The New Age of Steam' series, 'Maiden Voyage'. Or at least I feel there is no more to be gained from editing. Is it perfect? No. Is it good? I think so. Is it readable? I don't know, you buy it and decide.

Why would I not think my own book is perfect? The answer is simple: I'm a better writer now than I was when I started. There's no two ways about it, I've just improved. The end of the novel is better than the start. All the editing I've done has been centered around bringing those opening chapters up to that same standard as the end, and for the most part they are, but there is still something about them that just isn't as good as the ones toward the end of the book.

Could I have fully brought them in-line with the rest of the book? Yes, I absolutely could have. I even started doing exactly that at one point. What I realised, though, was I would lose something integral to the book if I altered those chapters too much. I could improve the prose, but I couldn't keep everything else the way it needs to be. I opted to finish my novel with what I felt was the best story, even if it meant the prose wasn't as strong in the start.

Now, this isn't to say the prose at the beginning of the book is bad. In fact, I'd say it's actually not far off the standard of the rest of the book. Still, it's not quite as good as what you'll read across the bulk of the book. Simple as that.

For those that like numbers (yeah ok, I mean me) here's what the book finished up at:
82,360 words
375 pages
33 chapters

It's nearly 20,000 words longer than the end of the first draft. I cut out huge chunks of text, and still the thing ended up longer. How?

Well, the chunks that were cut ended up being re-written. They were always shorter in their new forms, but other things needed to be embellished, so as much as I took away I would end up adding somewhere else. There's also 3 new chapters in the 2nd act, so that was another few thousand words.

The pacing is smoother, the text is richer, and the story is better. Maiden Voyage, after two and a half years, is done.

Now to find a publisher...

Progress

I've felt a compulsion to include the reader in this journey of writing a novel, but so far I don't feel there's been much inclusion. I've posted excerpts (which are now out-of-date) and a few general, sweeping thoughts on writing, but I've realised anyone wondering when they can read this thing is completely in the dark. He's the cold, hard facts.

I have 72,759 words written, almost 8,000 more than I had at the end of the first draft. Interestingly enough, this is the opposite of what I expected to happen as I edited. I anticipated wanting to cut away big sections, as that's what I'd been led to believe editing was. In reality, I was happy with the general structure of the story and the gist of my passages was spot on. What I needed was clarity and embellishment, and that's ended up increasing my wordcount.

The raw numbers are as such:

72,759 words

334 pages

30 chapters

3 of those chapters didn't exist in the first draft, and 2 of those are right at the end. The ending was something I initially wanted to change completely, feeling I had totally failed to capture what I had intended. Again, the reality was that the ending was close to spot-on and what I needed was to build the tension around the ending, to raise the stakes one last time. I feel I've done that now.

I've completely finished the main editing pass up to chapter 11, which interestingly enough makes for 111 edited pages. The last two chapters have by far and wide been the hardest to clean up and fix so far. From here on out, I expect the work to get easier and easier. It's been interesting, I must say, that in re-reading the piece I've been able to see how I improved as a writer as my manuscript went on.

How long until I'm done? I don't know. I really don't. I would like to say just a few months, but it took me 2 months to finish up chapter 10 and I have no idea if that will happen again. I want to have it finished before the year is out, and everything I do will be with that goal in mind.

Wish me luck.

Or don't, whatever.

Raising the Dead

It's been a long, long time since I've posted here, and I daresay I've had good reason to stay quiet. I've been a busy man, and busy men don't blog. Why write a post now then? Well, I felt like shouting into the void again. Whereas before my posts here were a self-deprecating croon, this time it's a fanfare of achievement. I may be tooting my own horn here, but there's traffic and no-one else around to toot for me.

'So what's been happening, Pixie?' I hear you cry with anticipation. I'm teasing you, drawing it out. All you want is the sweet release of information. Well, let me slake your thirst ever so slightly. I finished the first draft of Maiden Voyage a few months back. 'Aww, is that all?' you whine. Now now, I can't have you fully quenched just 2 paragraphs in. The first draft of Maiden Voyage was completed late last year, clocking in at 65,000 words and just over 300 pages. The first editing pass included some sparing structural shifts and 2 shiny new chapters, bringing it to just over 70,000 words.

Where am I now then? Well after finishing the draft I spent a long time avoiding the piece entirely. Perhaps I needed to step away from my fictional world and look at it again as a reader. Whatever it was, I was eventually able to return to Maiden Voyage and fix a series of errors with layout and grammar. 'But Pixie', you whinge, 'that's not where you are now, that's were you were a few months ago.' Shut the fuck up, reader, I'm getting there. If I gave you the whole story in the first sentence I wouldn't be a very good author would I?

Around the beginning of the year I signed up to a frankly excellent writing course. I had already taken the introductory course, which spanned 8 weeks in the latter half of 2013, and had learned little. Why take the follow-up course then? Well, when you're around writers and talk for 3 hours on a Thursday night about writing, you tend to go home and write. Did I pay $5,000 to stay motivated to write? Of course not, I paid to learn from the best. Writing was a side-effect.

As a part of this course I was paired up with a mentor. I was lucky enough to be placed under the temporary tutelage of Fiona Kidman, possibly the country's most prolific author. It is with some shame that I admit I had to google her when I first read the name, totally oblivious of her laudable works. With the help of Fiona, I was steered in the right direction for the remainder of my editing work.

So that's where I am now, a third of the way through completing Maiden Voyage. The piece currently stands at just under 73,000 words and fills 334 pages. I have a sequel planned, and others within the same world idly being cooked up in my mind as the days go by. When I finish this editing pass, I'll likely sweep once more for grammar's sake and start shipping copies off to publishers. Have I written a bestseller? Probably not. But fuck you, I wrote a book, what the fuck did you do with your year?

Milestones

It's been a while since I posted here, but I have good reasons (I swear). Mostly I've just not felt I had anything decent to say here, but it's also been a bit of a busy couple of weeks. I've broken a few milestones in writing Maiden Voyage this last week, including 20 chapters, 200 pages and 50,000 words. Frankly, it's starting to look like a novel, and that's exciting.

It's also starting to look like I might actually finish, which is somewhat mind blowing for me. It's not that I didn't think I wouldn't reach the end, it just looks like so much stuff when I look back on what I've written and I come to wonder how on earth I managed a story with an actual cohesive narrative, characters with coherent voices and scenes that I'm reasonably happy with.

When I've finished the first draft there's a few conversations I need to have with a few friends of friends (of friends) about approaching publishing and all that and I'm actually getting pretty excited to have those conversations. Back when I started the whole notion of actually approaching publishers or even people that could help me get published was a little terrifying.

I'll also have to start going about the monumental task of full-scale editing.That's something I still find terrifying. I don't know what's pointless and terrible in the story so far and have no clue as to how to go about removing or replacing those sections seamlessly. There's a couple of formatting things I need to sort out too, which are simple but oh so time consuming. I'm very unsure as to whether there's any point to getting an editor in to help (or even how to go about getting one).

Anyway, everything is looking very promising and with some luck I should soon know if I'm headed toward being published or not.

A Preview Part II

I decided it'd been a couple of days since the last post here and as much as I don't want to be constantly posting things I've written I don't feel I have very much to talk about on here at the moment. Today I'm posting the second chapter of The New Age of Steam: Maiden Voyage. This will probably be the last complete chapter I post. Further previews will be smaller excerpts unless a good number of people ask me to post a full chapter.



Chapter 2
Aeronautics

A dozen Engineers, Malcolm in their midst, stood hunched over a large table with papers scattered about it. They were in the main hall of the Engineer's headquarters, a mass of wood and iron which sat suspended below an overhang allowing a breathtaking view of the lake. The view was largely ignored today, the content of the sprawled papers was far more interesting.

"And you have funding?" asked Giorgi, an Engineer in his mid 30's who always knew what those in the room were thinking.

"The Archaeologist's guild expressed interest when I discussed it with their head guildsman and they've agreed to supply most of the funds." replied Markus, the Engineer's head guildsman.

"Most?" asked Giorgi, again capturing the question on everyone's minds.

"The rest consist of a few small donations from wealthier families and organisations. Nothing unusual." Markus replied in his exceptionally level voice once more.

It seemed that after so many years of life, almost a hundred, nothing anyone said caught Markus off guard. There was very little about him to show his age though, he had been bald all his life, having been born a Purple Eye, so there were no grey hairs to suggest old age. His skin was remarkably smooth, again a result of his mutation, and aside from the creases caused by years of conversation he could boast almost no wrinkles. As far as science was concerned he would live to be even older. The Purple Eye mutation had emerged sometime during or after The Ending and after years of study it was believed everything there was to know about it was known. Carriers of the gene might not have the mutation themselves, so it was difficult to tell who might give birth to a Purple Eye. It was fairly rare, though, with only a dozen or so living in Lucerne. They lived to be very old, often as old as 150, grew no bodily hair and had very tough skin that repaired itself with ease. The changes normally brought about by puberty were somewhat hit-and-miss, with some experiencing most of the normal changes and some experiencing none whatsoever, so a large number were in fact infertile.

"And what are the construction plans?" asked Guildsman Tristan, a small and sharply aged fellow, after a few more moments of quietly poring over the blueprints drawn neatly on the papers they crowded around.

It was perhaps the biggest question on everyone's minds, now that it was understood the costs were covered. The thing was enormous, some 250 metres long, there was no way it could be built in the Engineer's cavern.

"We have secured a warehouse in the lake districts. If we allow this project to go forward then construction will start tomorrow provided a few of us Engineers lend our services for the build. We will be undersupplied on manpower given that most of the city's men will be returning to full-time Spring work." replied the head guildsman.

Silence again fell until slowly they began to drift away from the table.

"If we are done examining the designs then I would like to call an official vote." Markus said, letting the silence gracefully fall away beneath his calm yet authoritative tone. "Those 'for' may vote now."

Every hand was raised.

"For formality's sake, those 'against' may vote now."

And the silence held control of the room again for a brief moment.

"Now, then, for the more important matter. Who will offer their services for the project?"

And silence invaded in full force. It was a loaded question. Those who lent their time and skills would have to temporarily abandon their own projects, or in Malcolm's case their freedom, until the project was complete, and this looked to be a very big and time-consuming project. Most of the Engineers were working on their own inventions and few of them were young enough to leave them behind, if only temporarily, without risking their comfortable retirement. Those that were young enough, such as Giorgi, had largely been pursuing funding for their own projects. Benefactors were generally difficult to come by and finding them was often the most time-consuming part of a project. Malcolm had been lucky since the factory owners saw the benefits to themselves his invention offered and Frederick, the present project's mastermind, had been similarly lucky in gaining interest from another guild. In short, nobody was overly prepared to give up their life's work for this project, no matter how groundbreaking it was.

The silence hung for too many moments and Markus, sensing Frederick's growing nervousness, chose then to break it tactfully.

"Perhaps we should allow everyone some time to consider the question and ponder the matter. We will hold another meeting three days from now, which will mark the final time at which one of us can express interest. If you wish to express it between now and then you are more than welcome to. Frankly I don't want to bring in junior Engineers to the project, especially without any interest from our longer-standing guildsmen. This meeting is adjourned."

Everyone, save for Markus and Frederick, made for the door. In the main hallway of the headquarters the silence was again broken as the thought of discussing the project became too exciting. Snippets of conversation made their way into Malcolm's ears as he walked with his fellow Engineers.

"... remarkable thing, though. The implications would be enormous..."

"... possible military applications. One has to wonder..."

"... but how long until the Francians take interest...?"

"Say Malcolm, you're one for Aeronautics. Do you have any sort of opinion here?" Giorgi asked him.

He hoped Giorgi hadn't asked the question on everyone's mind, he was terrible at addressing crowds, even small ones of familiar people.

"Well," he began as slowly it became apparent he would indeed be speaking to everyone, "It's marvellous." he stammered.

He took a moment to pause and arrange his thoughts into sentences.

"First of all the superstructure means an unprecedented amount of integrity, and I'm slightly annoyed I had not thought of such a thing myself. Then the stabilisers, provided they do work as Frederick claims, could mean he has in fact brought us close to achieving this breakthrough. There would have to be all manner of tests though, and I wouldn't dare to dream that the first one built is entirely successful. I'm willing to wager there's something he hasn't thought of or taken into account, or perhaps something we have yet to discover that could ruin his design. I..." he drifted off, giving way to the expectant silence of the others. "I'm hopeful, but at the same time sceptical, and I'm not usually one for downright cynicism."

"You have to involve yourself in the project then." responded Morton, who had worked with him on the Skytrain. "I must say, there were problems on your own project you predicted that had not even crossed my mind, you have a sense for this sort of thing. Frederick needs you."

"Yes... well..." he began to reply, even though he had really nothing to say.

"Oh, stop by your office. I've left you a parting gift of sorts, to help you enjoy your indefinite hiatus." Morton said, graciously interrupting Malcolm's needless words before turning off to return to his own workstation.

Malcolm stood for a moment, watching the others, before turning around and heading to his office as Morton advised. Upon arrival he noticed a fine looking wooden box. Sliding back the cover he found it contained a single bottle of brandy. It seemed the world was trying to intoxicate Malcolm, and as he left his office he decided he would merrily succumb.

*     *     *

He returned to his room only a few short hours after he left, having stopped at a few shops on his way home. Again as he opened the door he found his roommate already there.

"Hello." he said chirpily.

"Someone's lightened up since this morning." replied Douglas.

"Well I've decided to have a proper celebration this evening, so there's plenty to be happy about."

"And what are you celebrating?"

A cheeky smile was spread across Douglas' face as he asked the question.

"My various achievements, which far outnumber yours at this point." he responded with a similarly cheeky look upon his face.

Douglas laughed and responded with a slightly heightened level of good cheer.

"I'll get in touch with the lads then."

"Wonderful. Have them turn up around eight. We'll have a few here then go find a beer hall."

And he left for the kitchen smiling. There was plenty to be happy about. He was looking forward to a night on the town, he had no work commitments for however long he chose and he had just examined the blueprints for the new world's first long-haul airship.

A Preview

I feel the most natural part of the story to preview is the first chapter. A part of me considered showing something later in the novel, trading off mystery for action, but I decided against. Anyway, here's the opening chapter:



Chapter 1
Ice

In the city dug into the cliffs above Lake Lucerne winter was becoming spring. The ice on the walkways slowly vanished and only the out-of-towners still clung to the handrails as the world grew warmer. Below the cliff districts the rest of the city began to make its way back out onto the water as it shifted its blue from a harsh white-tinged shade to a deeper, glistening colour. Ropemen rappelled in ever increasing numbers down the many levels of the cliff districts, checking for cracks in the rock that had been pried further open by the frost. As the numbers of Ropemen scouring the rocks increased, the numbers of Ropemen on the de-icing shifts decreased and slowly they all moved into a new season of work. The air was still cold and thin but the city, as anyone could tell you, was alive once more. Malcolm Chevin hadn't rubbed his eyes out of tiredness in weeks.

The last de-icing shift on the Skyrail was a week or so after all the other de-icing work had dried up. There was no such thing as too cautious when it came to the new invention's first peak season. During the winter the trains had floated to and from the lakeside only when factory shifts began and ended but now in spring it would be running non-stop up and down  between the two halves of Lucerne. Malcolm Chevin was on this last shift, suspended far above the ground by a mass of ropes and clips, scraping away the solid water on the highest stretch of the railway before the 5 am train set off with the first few Factorymen. Malcolm wasn't a Ropeman though, he was an Engineer, a very dedicated Engineer. The mastermind behind the Skytrain. He'd put in hours designing, planning, constructing and, over the winter, de-icing the whole gorgeous project. He knew his invention better than anyone else, down to every rivet.

The Skytrain was perhaps the most notable, and important, project Lucerne had worked on in decades. The freedom of movement between the lake districts and the cliff districts was revolutionary. It would have probably been easy in the Early Times, but that was before the cliffs were settled. The train relied on the new discoveries in lighter-than-air flight. Essentially it was an airship that ran on a line of cables so as to avoid the dangers of crosswinds, for which Engineers now claimed they would soon have a solution. The train was the first of its kind and, if the peak season went well, the first of many.

The last ice was off by 4:30 and Malcolm scrambled his way up and off the wire with the Ropemen, marching back to their headquarters and turning in his ropes for the last time. The busiest season in the city was beginning, but for Malcolm the hard work was done.

"Happy retirement, Mal m'boy!" called one of the older Ropemen as Malcolm dumped his ropes in the collection box, feeling surprised that he had been spotted among the relatively taller Ropemen.

There was meant to be a presentation at the Engineer's headquarters at eight but aside from that he hadn't the slightest need to be anywhere in particular for a long while. It was a pleasant freedom, afforded to few in his line of work, but since he had contributed something of massive importance to the people through his invention, the Skytrain, his guild's law dictated that he was not obligated to do any professional work until he chose to. It was initially written in as a way for Engineers to retire. Someone's life's work would come to completion, the fruits of their labours fully ripened, some brilliant new piece of revolutionary technology would be revealed to the Swiss masses and the old genius behind it could live the rest of his life on guild payouts from his invention. Malcolm was far from an old genius though. Some considered him a genius in any case, but even then he was still young and had no wish to retire. He was more than happy to take a break, though, even if only for a few months.

He strode down the worn paths in the rock to his home in the halls where the scholars lived, though he was not a student himself. He let the sweet air envelop him, washing him with waves of the scents of all the early flowers in bloom. Soon the florists would be preparing arrangements showcasing the unique mountain flowers to send down to the lake for the spring festival.

Loveless Malcolm wouldn't be attending, not that that bothered him. It was a celebration for those couples who had survived the winter as a symbol of mankind's ability to survive The Ending, the grand apocalypse that destroyed the Early Times and set the world back to square one. Then there was the long years of hell, according to the few records from the time, where tribe-like organisations were torn between assisting each other for mutual benefit, or slaughtering each other for control of impossibly scarce resources. Slowly the land recovered and more food could be grown, and that is why the first flowers of spring were collected, cut, washed and arranged for everyone to admire and enjoy in the parades, even though only the couples could join in the massive parties throughout the week.

The scholar's residences were dug straight into the rock of the cliff beside the older caverns the early settlers had dug, which had themselves become the University of Lucerne. He pushed open the wooden door and entered the short cave behind it. Though it was intended to match the style of the old caverns beside it, the scholar's building was very obviously a more sophisticated excavation project. The surfaces were smooth, with proper micro-tunnels for the elecs wires sitting just behind them, ferrying power around the structure. Brackets for lights had been purpose-built for the solid rock ceiling so that the bulbs sat uniformly above everyone's heads. Door hinges had small cavities housing them so that the doors sat flush with every surface. By comparison the university building was ever so slightly more haphazard. The surfaces had been smoothed, but they were nowhere near as mathematically precise as the residence's. Occasional bumps and dents were common and there were all manner of small alcoves people could stand in when a private word was needed. The lighting was an absolute mess, to say the least. It was considered far too difficult to convert the whole building to micro-tunnelled elecs, so the wires were mostly exposed as they ran across the ceiling like an absurdly labyrinthine spider web. The bulbs were not evenly-spaced as they were in the residences, having been placed simply wherever old torch brackets had been. In the deeper rooms, dug in a time where the caverns were used as the home of a small community rather than as a system of caves survivors hid in, everything was a bit more uniform. The lighting was well-patterned, the corridors were decently straight, the doors were square and there were even some fireplaces with chimneys channelling smoke to up above the frozen peaks. After a time, when those groups of survivors that refused to fight each other heard of the settlers in the cliffs, the population began to grow. The tunnels went deeper, the rooms got bigger, the construction became more sophisticated. It wasn't until the world began to stabilise that the people of the caves emerged and began to develop the cliffside, by which point their community numbered around two thousand people. Those that couldn't stand the elevation and exposure to vertical death-drops made the journey back down the mountain to settle the lakeside, and Lucerne as Malcolm knew it took form.
He turned his key in the lock of his room and let the door swing aside, shuffling in as he stuffed his key away in a pocket.

"Take the scenic route, did you?"

Malcolm jumped just a little. He knew the voice. It belonged to his roommate, a tallish blonde man with sharp, sculpted cheekbones and rather piercing blue eyes, the sort that had no trouble with women provided he maintained a mysterious air about himself. That was, of course, where he fell short. He was too fond of talking, though he did have a fairly lush and enjoyably deep voice. It was not a voice he often heard at 5 in the morning.

"Every route's a scenic route up here Douglas." he replied with a tiny sigh travelling along with his words.

He was falling into a deep, contemplative mood this morning and he had no wish to be pestered by his roommate. A pestering was inevitably in order though, he realised as he turned to face his friend. He sat there at the table, already dressed for lectures, with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Seeing the question on his face, Douglas explained himself with a cheer in his voice.

"I thought we could celebrate your retirement."

"It's a shame there's no Bachelor of Comedy programme for you." he retorted dryly.

"Well I'm having a drink, you're well aware of how hard this sort of beverage is to procure." said Douglas, handily recovering from Malcolm's disinterest.

He was right, too. 'France' as it was in the Early Times was a mess. At the moment it was stable, more so than it had been in a long time, but trade with the Francians was still filled with difficulties. Douglas had a grandfather who was a senior in the Tunnelman's guild, so there had been plenty of inheritance waiting for Douglas when he started his studies, but even then this wasn't the sort of purchase someone made lightly. Another light sigh escaped his lips and he sat down while Douglas uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass.

"Here's to the genius from Switzerland. May he find his way into many history books." Douglas cheered at him.

"You know, sometimes I want to be remembered, but then I realise it will be history students remembering me and I change my mind" he replied with a grin after they had customarily touched glasses and sipped their drinks.

As per usual, Douglas had found a way to lighten his mood. Not that he was one to be in a mood very often. Douglas, however, was seemingly never in a mood other than happy. The constant upbeat behaviour could grow sickening at times, but for the most part Malcolm was thankful of it. Douglas being happy made him happy, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than happiness.

"You're not planning on putting away too much of this bottle before lectures I hope." he said.

"I got up this early to celebrate with you, I think I deserve at least two glasses." Douglas responded, "In any case, it's the first lecture of the Spring semester, I'll bet they don't cover anything I don't already know about old land vehicles."

Douglas was a history student himself, an Archaeology major. He loved nothing more than finding bits of things from the Early Times and assessing what they might have been and what purpose they served. Admittedly the Archaeologists were great friends of the Engineers, their finds of Early Tech assisting in the rediscovery of many old technologies, elecs being a fine example. It was believed that Lucerne was the first city this side of the Dividers Range to rediscover and install such a thing.

"One day, Douglas, the past will surprise you, I'm sure, and you will soon become a quivering wreck as you ponder on the revelation that men were once apes or something similarly absurd." he mused, staring into is glass as though Douglas wasn't really there.

"One day you'll run out of jokes about history students, I'm sure." Douglas retorted.

"Let's hope by then you've graduated." he closed, raising his glass cheekily before taking a final sip.

He stood and moved to the small kitchen, grabbing easy morsels to top himself up after his early shift, calling out to Douglas as he did so.

"I have a guild meeting at 8 and I plan on visiting a Threadman beforehand, so I'll be going in a minute. Seeing as you have no objection to drinking on your own I'll ask that you leave some of that bottle for this evening."

"What's the point of retiring if you don't let yourself enjoy the freedom?"

He wasn't retiring, and Douglas knew it, but of course he was pouncing on the opportunity to poke fun at Malcolm.

"And at that I'm going." he called with finality as he opened the door.

"See you tonight." said Douglas.

Malcolm closed the door behind him, marching back through the halls and out into the slightly less freezing Spring air with a pastry in his hand, finally letting his mind tick over to wondering what the meeting today was about.


If you want to see something later in the story then tell me in the comments section. I won't be posting the whole story chapter by chapter, but this will certainly not be the last you see if this novel.

Explaining Myself

All zero of my lovely commenters have been asking me to explain what my current novel is about. Seeing as everyone I've told about my book has also asked me this, I'll try and go about explaining the premise in an approachable and understandable way.

Wow, that made it sound like a very complex story...

The most rudimentary way of describing it, and the way I always initially describe it to anyone who asks, is 'it's about a dude on an airship'. I'm not lying to you if I say that.

To elaborate further I feel I must set the scene of the world as a whole. There has been an apocalypse. Exactly how this apocalypse occurred is largely unknown, given that everyone at the time was running and screaming rather than calmly writing down what was going on around them. It has been about 500 years since this apocalypse and society has largely recovered and is now going through an industrial revolution (for the most part). I won't describe each region, only those which are relevant to the story, but do keep in mind that the whole world is not like Europe. Yes, the story is set in Europe.

Possibly the most significant change is that the northernmost parts of the world, from around the tip of Denmark upwards, is permanent ice. There is also a massive and largely impassible mountain range separating Europe from Asia. These mountains run from approximately the Baltic coast down to the top of the Arabian sub-continent. Though travel across these mountains is possible it is not very common and there is essentially no communication between Europe and Asia.

The story itself follows Malcolm Chevin, a young and somewhat prodigal engineer living in the city of New Lucerne in the re-founded Swiss nation. Malcolm volunteers himself for the maiden voyage of the world's first long-haul airship, a journey that will take him over the rest of Francian-controlled Europe, across The Dividers and back again. The journey, of course, does not turn out to be that simple.

I feel I should end the description there and hope it is enough to titillate those reading this post. Tomorrow (or potentially today, if I'm feeling generous) I will be posting an excerpt from the book.

When does mystery in a story (book, film or elsewhere) stop being important? Comment below with your views.