Steampunk, at its purest and most basic, is anti-establishment fiction in a Victorian setting that adorns an adventurous stage with impossible gadgetry driven by steam, clockwork, aether and Tesla coils. Imagine 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Frankenstein or The Time Machine, but with more goggles, zeppelins, corsets and guns … oh, and the odd zombie, vampire or mad-scientist thrown in for good measure. But that’s just the textbook answer … or would be if a textbook on steampunk existed, anyway.
Commercially, steampunk is a growing sub-genre under the rather wide umbrella of science fiction and fantasy. It’s intriguing that steampunk as an aesthetic has been branching out into other genres, including romance, horror, paranormal and pure fantasy. Or is it the other way around? Is steampunk an underlying aesthetic or is it window dressing? Those questions are best left to the purists and the marketplace.
Most good steampunk literature has a strong sense of being part of real world history. It’s real history told with a twist … a change in the very fabric our knowledge that turns the impossibilities of steampunk into an alternate reality more compelling and vibrant than the history itself. The question is, how does a writer achieve this?
The answer? Research.
It would be foolish to suggest that every writer of every steampunk story researches actual events and then merely applies and alters them. There are many examples of researched and un-researched steampunk that are good reads and are commercially successful. However, a writer can increase the likelihood of both a good story and its success by delving into real history-even at a cursory level-and then playing with it as a god plays with the fabric of the universe. After all, truth frequently is stranger than fiction.
For me, it is critical to create a moment in time where my fictional history deviates from the real one. Doing so allows me to extrapolate from that moment in time and rationalize the existence of both magic and impossible technologies in a recognizable but alternate nineteenth century. Imagine a world where witches are as common as blacksmiths, the railroad was surpassed by zeppelin transports and fully functional artificial limbs are a reality, albeit an uncommon one. And all derived from a single change, a critical moment gone awry in the history of the Catholic Church.
The irony is that the altered moment I refer to-the assassination of Pope Gregory IX in 1227-is not even mentioned in the manuscript I’m currently editing. What is important is the awareness of this “revisionist” history. Because of it, I understand the reason why witches were not exterminated. I know why the populace didn’t die off from The Plague and how technology flourished a hundred and fifty years too early. This awareness lends itself well to understanding the social, political, economic and cultural influences that shape characters and culture .
History is awash in a variety of extremely colorful characters that can give-with a little bit of research-a truly genuine and vibrant feel to an invented history. For example, while researching the American West of the 1870s, I discovered real people like Emperor Norton (yes, America had an Emperor in the nineteenth century) and Bloody Bill Anderson, who was a brutal and ruthless advocate of both slavery and the slaughter of anyone who believed otherwise. Both historical figures are in my manuscript, and they add both color and validity to what is a very alternate history.
I’m not suggesting that a writer of steampunk needs to be a historian. Far from it. However, steampunk authors owe it to their readers to be familiar in the aesthetic and at least some of the significant people and events of the time. An adventure story traversing Europe and the East Indies in the early nineteenth century should mention the East India Company or justify why it doesn’t exist. A story set in America in the 1860s should address the Civil War or eliminate the war completely. A steampunk story set in China during the Victorian period should mention British influences there or find a reasonable way of working around them.
In the west, we refer to the nineteenth century as the Victorian Era as a direct result of Queen Victoria and the British Empire’s influences. However, that period of human history was an exciting time all around the world. More and more steampunk is reaching out to the four corners of the Earth and exploring it with truly interesting explorations of world cultures.
Steampunk audiences understand the historical setting in one way or another. When you take pen in hand (or finger to keyboard) you’d best have a few ducks in a row. Not only will you be drawing upon actual history to invigorate your writing, you’ll be giving your readers easy markers and handholds to lock onto as you fiddle with the space-time continuum.
Quincy has been published in multiple anthologies, online and print magazines, as well as in one omnibus. His steampunk version of Rumpelstiltskin is under contract with Fairy Punk Studios, and he’s written for the Internet radio show RadioSteam. His novel Chemical Burn-a finalist in the Rocky Mountain Writers Association Colorado Gold Writing Contest-was first published in June of 2012, and has been picked up by Fantastic Journeys Publishing. His new novel Jake Lasater and the Blood Curse of Atheon, will be on sale this summer, and he’s writing an off-world steampunk-esque series. You can follow his ongoing exploits on FaceBook and at www.quincyallen.com.
I enjoy writing horror because it allows a writer to really stretch and go way beyond standard norms and reader comfort zones. But what makes a good horror story?
First, let’s define horror fiction. Wikipedia defines it as a genre of literature that is intended to “scare or startle readers by inducing feelings of horror and terror.”
In other words, it’s fiction that produces feelings associated with horror-what Merriam-Webster defines as “painful and intense fear, dread or dismay”-in the reader. The Horror Writers Association essentially agrees with this definition.
I do as well, though I would add that effective characterization is so important to achieving the goal that it should be part of the definition. Why? Horror is more likely to be realized by the reader when there is a character, with whom they can relate, experiencing it at the same time. In this way, certain characters in the story are intended to stand in for the reader.
Character is doubly important when one considers the fact horror is a very subjective emotion. Some of us find the sight of blood horrifying, while others don’t. Some of us tremble and sweat at the slightest turbulence on an airplane, while others barely notice it. If the author can put the reader in the protagonist’s shoes, they should experience feelings of horror through empathy even if they themselves don’t find the object of the protagonist’s horror that scary or dreadful.
Before we continue, we should probably ask the question: Why would anybody want to actually experience this? Horror is, after all, horrifying.
In Thrill Seekers Thrive on The Scary, published on WebMD.com, Dr. Frank Farley, psychologist at Temple University, says people can satisfy their curiosity about and fascination with the frightening, the bizarre, the unusual, and make sense of it. Dr. Glenn Sparks, professor of communications at Perdue University, believes people have a basic need to seek out situations outside their comfort zone. In some cases, they want to confront danger in order to conquer it.
Then there are the physiological changes that occur when confronted by danger, which some people enjoy-the adrenaline rush, the pounding heartbeat, the sweaty hands. Says Farley, “There’s almost nothing else, including sex, that can match it in terms of the incredible sensory experience that the body is put through.”
That’s powerful stuff. So how do we “bottle” that in a book?
The basic structure of a horror story goes like this: You have the normal, introduce the horror element that disrupts the normal, and finish with the new normal.
Force some interesting people in a story to face the fantastic with high stakes, and you’ve got the setup for a thriller. Make the fantastic horrifying, and you’ve got horror. Make the horrifying life-threatening, and you have survival horror. Make the horrifying element a ghost, demon, etc., and you have supernatural horror. Make the horrifying element a serial killer who brutally slaughters his victims, and you have splatterpunk. Make the horrifying element be life-threatening to everybody at once, and you have the makings of apocalyptic horror. And so on.
Personally, my favorite kind of horror stories are apocalyptic. There are so many great stories that can be told in an end-of-the-world scenario. When well told, these stories can be stirring to the spirit as well as the intellect, particularly when horror is contrasted with hope.
So now we know what horror fiction is and why it’s sought out. But what makes a good horror story? The answer is deceptively simple. In short, a good horror story is a good story that happens to be in the horror genre.
I’m not trying to be cute here. Too often, writers put the horror element so far forward that other elements of the story that matter, particularly character, take a backseat. At all times, a good horror story will give us people we care about, engaging conflict and so on.
Story always comes first!
In fact, with horror, getting the basic story elements right is even more vital because the horror element may be so fantastic it requires a greater suspension of disbelief and therefore a higher degree of grounding. The more the reader can empathize with the character’s subjective response to the horror element, the greater their shared feelings of fear and dread. The more richly rendered the setting, the more the monsters that populate will stand out. The greater the willing suspension of disbelief, the more likely the reader will confront the horror in your story, find it believable, and experience genuine feelings of horror. And so on.
In short, the greater the story, the greater the horror.
Now let’s talk about the horror element, which can be conveyed as elements that are internal or external, imaginary or real, supernatural or physical, atmospheric or in-the-flesh. This is where you can have a lot of fun and let your imagination soar. Is it a plague that changes behavior? A trusted pet that turns on a family? A serial killer stalking a couple in a remote motel? A nice, outgoing family man slowly becoming violently insane? Tentacled monsters freed from an underground cavern? Hordes of the cannibalistic dead? A sadistic summer camp counselor? A derelict house haunted by the spirits of its victims? How successful the novel is will depend on two things-first, how well your writing gets the reader to empathize with the characters’ horror, and two, how much the horror element resonates with their imagination.
Horror is still a young genre that has been largely neglected by the major bookstores. With the advent of eBooks, online retailers like Amazon are eating their lunch as literally thousands of titles are becoming available, many of them very good. As a result, there is still plenty of opportunity for writers to break in and make a name for themselves. Forget your preconceived notions of what horror fiction is-that it’s werewolves and vampires, that it’s Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th, or whatever else immediately comes to mind-and make it your own.
Most important is to tell a good story and have fun, and your reader will too!
Craig DiLouie is the author of the apocalyptic horror novels Tooth and Nail, The Infection and The Killing Floor. His latest horror novel is in contract negotiations with a major publisher. He is an Active Member of the Horror Writers Association. For more information about Craig’s work, visit www.craigdilouie.com, where he blogs regularly about apocalyptic horror media.
Congratulations! You finished NaNoWriMo this year–a 50,000-word novel in just one month. Maybe it’s a full story, or maybe it’s just a beginning; maybe you printed out the little diploma and hung it on your wall, or maybe you didn’t even finish. Maybe you didn’t even do NaNoWriMo this year, but you have a book left over from last year, or a book that you wrote without any connection to NaNoWriMo at all. The point is, you wrote a book. Hooray! That’s a step most people never even make it to, and you’ve done it. Good for you.
Now it’s time to go back and make it better.
“Revision” is, for a lot of writers, a scary word. You may think I’m trying to give you a bunch of extra work. You may think I’m telling you that the book you wrote doesn’t count, and that you have to write the whole thing again. You may even think that the book you wrote is brilliant and doesn’t need to be revised at all. Rest assured that your book IS brilliant, and it DOES count, but that you need to revise it anyway. Revision is something that a lot of aspiring writers balk at, but experienced, professional writers never question. It is our very best friend, and, quite frankly, one of the primary reasons we are professional writers. Revision is a magical process that will turn your finished book into an excellent book; it will take your brilliant story and refine it in a way that will help everyone recognize its brilliance. Think of the recipe for your favorite food: even if you have all the right ingredients, the dish won’t turn out like you want it unless you combine them in exactly the right way–and even if the flavor is perfect, the best chefs will spend just as much time on presentation and serving, making sure that every aspect of the meal is perfect.
Or, to make things easier, I can sum up that entire paragraph in one sentence: your first draft is for what you want to say, and your final draft is for how you want to say it.
The revision process starts with distance. Remove yourself from your writing for a while–a few days, a few weeks, a few months, whatever it takes to give yourself a fresh perspective when you come back to it later. Work on other projects, read other books, and cleanse your mental palate. If you have someone willing to read your work, give them the manuscript so you can get some outside feedback. The purpose of this step is to help yourself see the book for what it is, not for what you think it is. Inside your mind you have an idealized view of the story you wanted to tell–you know what emotions you wanted to create, what reactions you wanted to elicit in the reader, and which parts of the story would be exciting or romantic or scary or sad. While you were writing it, you saw it the way you wanted it to be. Other people–and yourself, with enough distance–don’t have that idealized view, and they’ll see your story for what it really is. When you give yourself distance and come back with fresh eyes, you can compare the story on the page to the story in your head and figure out which parts worked and which parts missed the mark. WARNING: most of it missed the mark. I can tell you that without even reading it, because that happens every time, and it happens with every author. The more you write, and the more you develop your skills, the better your first drafts will be, but even your very favorite writers write bad first drafts. They do it all the time. I do it myself. The trick is to not let it get you down–don’t get depressed, don’t give up, just use this as an opportunity to fix what’s wrong. Again, think of a chef: when she tastes her latest creation and realizes there’s not enough salt, she doesn’t close her restaurant and move away and never cook again, she adds more salt. You’re not here to agonize over your problems, you’re here to solve them.
Step two, of course, is to look really closely at the problems you found in step one, and figuring out exactly what’s causing them. To continue the metaphor, step one is where you taste the food and realize something’s wrong; step two is where you figure out that it’s wrong because it doesn’t have enough salt. Like all things, this comes with practice, but you can start that practice by asking the right questions. It’s not enough to say “this book is bad,” you have to ask yourself why it’s bad. Is it boring? Are the characters unlikable? Is it hard to understand? Maybe your helpful friend who read the book told you he couldn’t figure out why the characters were doing what they were doing. Your job, as the author, is to look at those characters and their actions with a discerning eye: do they have good reasons for what they’re doing? Do those reasons connect as logically to their actions as you thought they did when you wrote it? Are those reasons clear in your mind but never really presented well on the page? Say the book is boring: does the reader have good reasons to care about what’s happening? Does the reader like the characters enough to be invested in their problems? Does the reader have all the information they need to be ready for the climaxes and the cliffhangers and the big emotional payoffs? No matter what the larger problems might be, you can dig underneath and find the specific issues that are causing them.
Once you’ve identified specific issues, step three is to figure out how to solve them. Let’s look at character motivations again: your readers (and perhaps even yourself, if you’ve created enough distance from the manuscript) are confused about why the main character is doing what he’s doing, and you’ve determined that this is because his motivations are never properly explained. There are many, many, many ways to solve this, and you need to figure out which is the right one. Do you just add a few lines of inner monologue where he explains himself? Maybe several lines, scattered throughout the book, where he reaffirms his personal beliefs? Maybe you need a new scene–the bad guys do something that affects the main character personally, so he has a clear and visible reason for opposing them. Maybe you need to add a new character: a dependent who the bad guys can hurt, or a buddy that the main character can talk to, or a romantic interest that will give the main character something to fight for. Maybe your character’s motivations rely on some key piece of knowledge she didn’t have access to in the first draft: oops! Figure out how to give her that knowledge, maybe with a mentor/traveler/newscaster/whatever who can explain it to her, or a scene of investigation or accidental discovery where she can learn it for herself.
It all boils down to this: when you look at your book critically and identify its weaknesses, you can drill deep down into what’s causing those weaknesses and figure out exactly how to make your book better. Once you’ve cleaned up the storytelling, you can do the same thing with the writing: polishing it and refining it until it’s not just good, but great. Learn how to revise, and your writing will become better than you ever imagined.
Dan Wells has a new book coming out in March called FRAGMENTS, the sequel to PARTIALS; it’s a post-apocalypse SF story about a group of plague survivors trying to rebuild civilization. Also check out his e-novella called ISOLATION that’s kind of sort of a prequel to the series and takes place several years before the apocalypse.
Bio: Dan Wells lives in Germany with his wife and five kids. Why Germany? Why not? He writes a lot of stories, reads a lot of books, plays a lot of boardgames, and eats a lot of food, which is pretty much the ideal life he imagined for himself as a child.
I probably shouldn’t admit this, but when I first heard the term “NaNoWriMo,” I thought maybe it was a Star Trek species or a riff on Robin Williams’ “Nanu, Nanu” alien catchphrase from 1970’s sitcom Mork & Mindy.
In case you don’t already know: it is neither of those things.
NaNoWriMo is an acronym for National Novel Writing Month. And, lest you assume (as I would) that it’s some random meaningless designation like Bacon Appreciation Week or Balloon Animal Day (not to downplay the importance either of those deeply important celebrations), I can assure you that this is serious business.
During the month of November each year, thousands of people all over the country commit to writing about 1,677 words a day sans outlines and without editing. At the end of the month, each person is meant to have a relatively short (about 50,000 word) draft of a novel. And some of those novels eventually get published. My book Semi-Charmed Life was fortunate enough to be among those.
Being largely based on free association, that resulting first draft is generally a bit of a mess. At least, that’s true in my case. In 2009, I participated for the first time, moved by the desire to find out if I could write fiction. I am, after all, a journalist, whose forays into creative writing had previously been relegated to personal essays, memoirs and creative nonfiction. But I was craving an outlet without deadlines or specific guidelines for my voice. I was in the mood for a different kind of challenge.
For me, NaNoWriMo was a game changer. And I am not alone. Not even close. This wasn’t the first time I’d toyed with ideas for books, usually getting all excited and then deciding a mere week or two later that the concepts were lame, would never go anywhere and were not worth months or years of anyone’s time. But this was the first time I was offered a structure for writing a novel, that I was instructed to pick an idea (even if just for the first page or chapter) and stick with it … no matter what.
Though I am disciplined as a writer (I have to be as a freelance journalist), I’m not big on enforced structure. So, for me, it was relief not to have to have to outline or research much, elements that NaNo discourages. And, as goofy as the supportive exclamation point-filled NaNoWriMo emails sometimes seemed from the cheerleading staff of fellow writers, knowing that thousands of others were attempting the same feat did keep me on track. And don’t even get me started on the graph: Participants sign up online, create profiles then watch a graph that tracks their word count accomplishments grow and shrink. I can’t quite tell you why, but that graph kept me honest. I couldn’t bear fail it! It kept me writing even on difficult days.
That is to say; as much as I enjoyed the process, I also found it difficult sometimes. Like everyone else, I started on November 1st of that year. Which was my first wedding anniversary. Which was the day I was traveling via plane with ten buddies back from a best friend’s wedding in Mexico. Which was the day after their wedding, when I was a lot hungover from too much tequila and Churros. As you can imagine, I can’t say it was the most productive writing day of my life. And it would not be the only one that was rough going.
For most of us, no matter how much we adore writing or how much time we have to dedicate to the task on a given day, there are always times when the words just don’t flow, where what we scribble or type is pure crap. If I’d gone about writing my book through a different method, I would have, of course, had the luxury of taking a pass on those days, but that’s how you get stuck and give up. NaNo forces you to push through the less creative moments to get to the next thing. After all, you can always go back and edit when the month is through.
I won’t bore you with talk of my addiction to Cherry Coke Zero during that time or the explanations to my husband that got me through that time and out of certain holiday obligations, BUT suffice it to say that a plot emerged despite my total belief that it would not. And afterward, when I reread the draft, which truly was a big mess, I saw some elements that seemed worth pursuing and I started the rewriting process.
The Rewriting Quandary
For me, rewriting can be easier than writing for the first time. After all, there’s no blank page staring you in the face. But not everyone feels that way. So, how to keep yourself working on revisions long after the NaNo process has ended?
Well, first of all, I know that many colleges and continuing education institutions offer classes on taking your novel to the next level and so that structure and accountability can be helpful for some. I personally felt that I’d already put so much work into completing the draft. To abandon it then would just have felt wasteful. I wanted to see where it could go.
My book in particular was a strange mix of genres, part coming of age, part mystery, part humorous satire-that was never what I’d imagined I would write. And I was proud of it … and a little intrigued too.
I sent the draft to friends and family for feedback, made revisions, then sent it to more people I knew for notes. Of course, it’s not always easy to hear that feedback, but you just try to remember that its all in pursuit of a greater goal. People are only expressing opinions and, while you may not like everything you hear (in fact, you definitely won’t!), it’s helpful to give the manuscript to many people of different backgrounds and interests. That way, if they all give you a similar note or point to a similar problem, you know that it really does need to be addressed.
On Picking Readers For Notes
Another thought: we all have relationships in our life with people we love that are complicated. (And, yes, that’s probably a euphemism for something worse.) If you can, avoid sending those people the manuscript for feedback. It may seem obvious, but its’ really easy to make that mistake.
Ask yourself, will I be able to hear negative thoughts from this person and do I trust him or her to give me honest feedback without twisting the knife or trying to make me feel small? Does this person truly have my best interests in mind, in this context, or is our relationship competitive in some ways? Often people don’t even realize that your attempt to write a novel pushes emotional buttons for them, so it’s important that you consider everyone’s feelings, so that you don’t end up feeling angry, defeated or upset.
Once You Get Published
Anyway, a bazillion revisions later, the unimaginable (for me) happened: I found an agent who was excited about the story and she sold my book Semi-Charmed Life to Macmillan’s St. Martin’s Press. It hit bookstores this July 2012.
The day they handed me the galley and I actually held the bound manuscript in my hand in the form of a book was probably the proudest of my life. Of course, what’s amazing these days is that we can sell to publishers or self-publish and, either way, get to see our work in book form.
I spent most of the summer touring around like a crazy person, doing everything I could to promote the book. That’s harder than you’d imagine these days. Since Borders closed, the chance of someone just coming upon a book accidentally while browsing is down something like 25%. The greatest challenge is just letting people know that you and your book exist, then hopefully encouraging them to give it a chance.
My novel’s cover is pretty and sort of looks like a water color painting and it certainly has the components that suggests, but it has a darker, more literary, almost cartoonish side (compared sometimes to The Royal Tenenbaums in tone) and that’s something a person would only know from actually picking it up and reading it. So, the trick is getting people to try it out, to take that step.
The other night, I was at a cocktail party and was introduced to a fellow novelist. He told me the title of his book and I told him mine and we both vowed to buy copies. That’s a vow I’ll keep: as we both admitted, once we realized how tricky it is to get a story out there, we started buying books by every author we happened to meet. It just seems like good karma, like the right thing to do. And I’ve ended up reading some fantastic new books that way too!
While traveling around teaching writing workshops, giving readings and even calling and/or Skyping into book clubs around the country to discuss Semi-Charmed Life (something I am still enjoying very much), I often talk up the NaNoWriMo process. Sometimes I feel like I must sound like some crazy cultist because I am such a believer. But the process worked for me and I think, even for writers who care less about the outcome and more about the experience, it can be incredibly enriching on an emotional and creative level, like writing Morning Pages while doing The Artist’s Way. It’s an escape from the everyday, a chance to let your mind (as cheesy as it might sound) do its thing and run free without constrains.
For me, it was a chance to discover that I had a much wilder imagination than I’d assumed. Who knew? It’s been a new way for people to get to know me, as well. Friends and relatives have read the book and said things like, “I feel like I understand you on a whole other level now. And I think maybe you’re crazy.” Nice.
I have been using the NaNo process to write my second book for the last six weeks. It’s longer than 50,000 words and I couldn’t wait for November to start because I have an actual deadline this time from my publisher, but the basic principles still make sense.
Interestingly, this time is harder. That surprised me. I’m more inhibited by what I know about publishing and by expectations. I can let my mind run rampant to some extent, but I also have to make sure that I stay on track, so I don’t horrify my publisher. But its working, or I guess I’m working, and that’s what’s important.
Ultimately, I like to think I wasn’t entirely wrong about the definition of NaNoWriMo, when I first heard it bandied about. While the acronym may not refer to some alien species, it is sort of a strange cultural community full of people who allow their minds to take them to lands far, far away. And that’s a unique thing.
Meanwhile, I should be getting back to writing. Better say goodbye.
Or as they don’t say, but totally should, during National Novel Writing Month:
Nano Nano.
Good luck!
Nora Zelevansky is a novelist, freelance journalist, essayist and editor, whose writing has appeared in publications including ELLE, Vanity Fair online, Salon.com, Cosmopolitan, Travel + Leisure, the Los Angeles Times, Martha Stewart Weddings, Town & Country, Style.com, SELF, The Daily Beast, The Washington Post and Daily Candy to name a few. She is a contributing writer for C Magazine. Semi-Charmed Life info, My website, Book For Sale, Facebook Author Page
Twitter handle: @missnoraz
Steampunk, at its purest and most basic, is anti-establishment fiction in a Victorian setting that adorns an adventurous stage with impossible gadgetry driven by steam, clockwork, aether and Tesla coils. Imagine 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Frankenstein or The Time Machine, but with more goggles, zeppelins, corsets and guns … oh, and the odd zombie, vampire or mad-scientist thrown in for good measure. But that’s just the textbook answer … or would be if a textbook on steampunk existed, anyway.
