Steampunk, Undefined

Had a wonderful time once again at this past month's SteamCon event in Seattle, Washington. The panels went nicely - mostly focusing on writing and self-publishing - got to spend time with some good friends and even made a goodly quantity of new ones. Scores as a win, I say.

Sometimes it's easy to forget, when you spend so much time in a particular genre - whether it be fiction, society, fandom, music or whatnot - about a few different perceptions that tend to go on. There is the perception among people outside of your genre about the people inside the genre, as well as the perceptions held by people inside the genre about others inside the genre as well as about those people outside the genre.

From the outside in, this generally gets expressed simply by one of two common questions I get asked:
"What's going on here?" and "What is Steampunk?"

The first question is mostly overheard at Steampunk events - I typically dress more or less how I normally do, plus or minus a vest or clever glasses, so innocent bystanders usually guess I'm a reliable source of insider information. They also guess that I'm not going to give them an answer in essay form (I leave that for the blogs).

But the second question I hear as often from people who know very little about Steampunk as I do from people who LOVE Steampunk.

Now, if you don't know much about Steampunk, it's a reasonable question to ask, right? (There was that episode of Castle where everyone was wearing top hats, right?) Any time a segment of subculture strikes popular attention - punk, goth, hipster, geek, whatever - there's naturally some curiosity about it. And that's a good thing. Steampunk isn't a religion or a cult, so nobody's looking to proselytize or corral in new members.

But it's when I hear it asked from other Steampunk fans that I grow concerned. Not because it's betraying some lack of Steampunkery or whatnot, but because oftentimes I smell a trap. Much in the same way the Comic Book fandom - and Geekdom in general - has been experiencing self-defining growing pains, Steampunk seems to be feeling the itch as well. But let's call it what it is: this is adolescence.

One of the primary characteristics of adolescence (which means, by the way, literally, "growing up") is self-definition. Figuring out who you are, and coming to grips with that. Self-confidence, self-identity, self-esteem. It's kind of self interested, really. And we find that same element in nearly every organization - it's been present in religions, political parties, and it's not by itself a bad thing. It's just a thing.

Now, granted, the roots of Steampunk have been around for years - you can effectively track it back to the Victorian era itself - but it's been reformed in the age of rebellion, of the redefinition of history, and it's been turned into a social structure, a fashion statement, a cultural resistance born straight out of the fires of DIY and a love of old world elegance.

When I wrote the Chronicles of Aesirium, I'll admit that my first goal was not to write a series of Steampunk books - the industrial age simply worked as the most ideal backdrop for the world I was creating, and it felt like the best place to insert my story. I wasn't trying to write the definitive Steampunk book - nor would I have ever wanted to. If anything, they're somewhere in the middle between "it has a gear on it" and "STEAMPUNK!", which is where I would generally want to be.

The new series - "Tales of the Dead Man" - is even less so. The first book, "Steel and Sky", involves two differing cultures, tech and natural magic. The tech world has a steam-powered science, but I wanted to take it out of pure victorianism and do something different with it. Also, I've written 6 borderline steampunk books, I wanted to introduce some new developmental elements into the new books - but the spirit of steampunk, as I see it, is still there.

And that's the part of Steampunk's adolescence that I enjoy so much. The elegant way in which we do it ourselves, embracing that most industrious spirit of adventure.

Dead Man (teaser)

Chapter One: The Pirate

The end of world came almost without warning.

No dark clouds, no ominous celestial portents of any kind. One day, the sun shone, the two moons continued their lazy chase across the Aerthian sky. The next moment, the sky parted and a great and glowing sword of light burst from the wound, striking Aerthos down and cutting a vicious swath of death through all its inhabitants. Man, woman and child, animal and vegetable fell before its dread blade, and when all had perished, even the Reapers stood for but a moment before they, too, were slain.

The world became like a lump of coal, blackened and dry. Cracks formed in the crust of the land, splitting the world wide to its core, until, at the last, every last ounce of life was sucked away to slake some bottomless thirst that lay beyond their perceptions.

Even the Reapers, the old woman thought with a shock that stirred her from her dream.  The most powerful beings in all of Aerthos, those who held the power of life and death in their hands, who could pass between the lands of Aerthos or through time itself as easily as a mortal could step from their beds. What manner of being has such power?

The screams of the dying were still fading in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn darkness. The winds toyed with the curtains of her room, blowing in from the east and the south. The same dream had first haunted her nights almost five years ago to the day, and she had not even the barest concept of what she could do to stop it. Surely the gods do not give us dreams of the morrow in order to punish us with fears of the unavoidable, she had thought.

As Song-Mistress of the Sky People, she had to be on the watch for dreams of grave portent. Sometimes the dreams were simple – go west for rain; watch the baker’s tower for an unexplained fire; treat the mason’s son with dried farol root and the extract of a spicy persimmon fruit to reduce his fever. For two incarnations of the Song-Mistress, there had been few concerns – the sandstorms which frequented the deserts notwithstanding – but now, this. She sighed ruefully.

A short-legged fur-covered animal appeared as if from thin air, its bright orange eyes sparkling in the half-light.

“Ah, Merlo,” the woman smiled. “Did I wake you with my dream?”

The creature shook its head. The old woman stroked the creature’s soft iridescent fur, causing her hand to momentarily look as if it was fading in and out of reality. In truth, it was a side effect of the creature’s natural camouflaging abilities, but Merlo had ways of using her fur’s shifting color patterns to achieve a variety of mystical effects as well.

The creature’s fur was the least of her uses to the old woman, however. As with all of her kind, Merlo was connected to all her species, living and dead. All memories and thoughts were stored in the aether of the world, floating in and out of their kind’s grasp. It made a fitting companion for a Song-Mistress – Merlo’s access to her species’ memories gave her a veritable library of history that stretched back thousands of years. Access to the whole of history helped put whatever visions the Song-Mistress might receive into proper context.

Sometimes, the best the creature offered was comfort. With the series of dreams like unto the one which had just awakened her, there was no context that helped, no historical anecdote that reassured the Song-Mistress. The dreams had troubled her and it had grown long since past the point where she had considered them a simple trick of anxiety or bad wine. What she had dreamed would come to pass, and though the final outcome was unclear, she knew that all life hung in the balance. She was old enough and wise enough to know that all too often the least desirable outcome stood the greater chance of happening.

But it was not until a month earlier that she had been given hope. Hope, strangely enough, that came in the form of a corpse.

She put what steps into motion as she was able, and now, with those steps already on another edge of the world, she was helpless to do aught but wait. Patience was not a lesson that had come easily to her. By the time she had a grasp of it, she had so precious little time left. One more irony to add to the pile, she mused. One more pinch of incense to add to the flames.

She exhaled, contemplating rising early to meditate in her prayer room. It was on the west of the city; it would still be in shadow for another two or three hours. She decided to stay here for now, and go to her prayer room when the sun was higher and that extra bit of cool would be most appreciated. For now, she decided to remain in the quiet shadow of her room, alone with her dark thoughts and the merest fragment of hope to drive them away.

“Fly well, my niece,” she whispered, flexing her old and tired fingers in an ancient gesture of good fortune. “Find what we so desperately need and return with it to us.”

Sleep would not return to her that morning. But all day long she would pause and look to the north, for sign of the airship’s return.

"Dead Man" is the new Aesirium novel by author Ren Cummins, due out by the end of 2013.

You can read more about his previous novels at http://talariapress.com/the-chronicles-of-aesirium/

Chronicles of Aesirium update!

It's a big day for mid-process project changes. I shall now gently put "The Old Bones" back onto the back burner while I make some big preparations for something potentially even bigger. I'm gonna need three/four artists, a videographer, a couple of actors, a musician/songwriter, a six pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade, a fantasy playlist for my iPod, and enough people to push a Kickstarter campaign all the way through to completion. And, of course, all of you, my friends - - - I can't do this without all of you.

"Do what?", you ask?

Why, how about a whole new Aesirium trilogy?

Yep, that's right. It  just hit me today, that while I'm very excited about the prospects of the Old Bones as a series, I'm really just not done with Rom and her friends, and their world of Aerthos. There are so many stories there, left untold. From the final (?) adventures of Favo Carr, to the new dramatic tales of Grindel and Prama, plus the lost legends of Force, Inertia, Artifice and Ian. Plus, there are more tales still, beyond and through the Blink, the old foundations of Aesirium, the Sky People, and more!

But first, there are more things even just associated with the stories of Rom herself, including an expansion of the world you already know. Maps and paintings of the characters themselves, including Mulligan, Rickets and Yu; an arcana of the main characters as Tarot cards - - you might have wanted an idea of what Cousins' deck looks like - - well, that's a new project I'm developing. I've also had a lot of requests for Mully, Yu and Rickets as plush animals; I'll be working on that soon, too.

All of this will be leading up to the next series, but I haven't decided yet which, exactly. Both stories are roughed out; look for a poll to hit my Facebook page soon - - make your wishes known, friends of Aesirium! The Favo Carr stories and the Grindel & Prama stories will all be coming out eventually, but whose do you want to see first? Ooooh, decisions, decisions!

Don't let it be said I am a cruel creator - - I want to give you what you want to read - at least, well, I'll let you choose from a small list, but that's something, isn't it?

Talk to you soon!

~ - ~ - ~

Ren Cummins is an author who currently lives in the Pacific Northwest. In addition to writing, he is an accomplished artist and musician, cat herder and professional nerdist. His second novel, "The Morrow Stone", was nominated for "Steampunk Book of the Year" in 2011. He is co-founder of Talaria Press, an independent publisher that focuses on alternate publishing models and low-overhead project management.

"Reaper's Return" is book one of a completed 7-book series of young adult steampunk fantasy tales, about Romany, an 11 year old orphan girl in Oldtown-Against-the-Wall, who discovers that sometimes, death is just the beginning of your life's adventure. It is a 65,000-word novel, written for ages 12 and up. All 6 novels and an additional anthology are available as both ebooks for Kindle and in paperback format through Amazon.

For more information about the books and the author, please see the author's website at www.talariapress.com