Notes from a Day of Writing Steampunk

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Notes from a Day of Writing Steampunk

There is an irrefutable beauty to dallying in the fog of Victorian London, even if it is an alternate one.

I imagine myself drawn through a city in a horseless carriage, steam pumping from its pistons to merge with the grey, a flickering gaslight lighting the immediate space around us. I say us, for I am accompanied by the ghost of my fellow, and now deceased detective, Lord Ignatius Cuthbert; he wriggles within the glass bottle I conceal in my pocket. I have forgotten what it is like to be completely alone, he does not allow it.

We travel alongside the gurgling Thames; we cannot see it, but no other liquid leviathan could make such a hubbub. Our purpose remains unknown: Victoria is ever secretive these days. But whenever The Empress of India and half the known world calls, I answer, or rather, we.

Whatever runs through those blue veins of hers it is no longer blood, and it is waste to preempt any meeting. So, I don’t. Instead, I sit back and allow this unreality to sweep across my senses and attain that state of calm that I must if I am to aid Her Majesty in whatever it is she wishes, and regale you, my reader, with said tale. For I, Mortimer Headlock, fixer for an Albion past its prime, am ever on duty. Let villains beware. Let nations tremble. For I have returned, and these goggle-covered eyes have much wisdom to impart.

Eureka Moments

A: “Let’s here it then.”

B: “Prepare yourself, this is brilliant.”

A: “I’m waiting.”

B: “If I had a drum, I’d be rolling on it.”

A: “I’m still waiting.”

B: “Alright, alright, keep your socks on. I just wanted you to be the first to know.”

A: “I’m hoping that one day I will.”

B: “Oh, you will, matey.”

A: “Is this leading to a — can you lend me money — type scenario?”

B: “I can’t tell a lie.”

A: “You can’t tell anything. Get on with it.”

B: “I’m trying. Anyhow, I’ve had this idea for an app that’s possibly the greatest since the world became Pokédexed.”

A: “Good, I’ll get ready to shout eureka.”

B: “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

A: “It would be.”

B: “Alright, here I go. It’s an app that requests aid from the community to help in getting things done for other people. Anyone can help, and if they do, they get fed by the person who they’ve helped. If you want someone to cut your grass, you text on the app. If you want someone to go shopping for you, you just text the app. If you want someone to help you tidy up…”

A: “You just text the app.”

B: “That’s it, you’ve got it. Good, isn’t it?”

A: “As your hare-brained schemes go, yes.”

B: “Geez! You’ve never said that in all the years I’ve known you.”

A: “You’ve never given me reason to.”

B: “Hmm!”

A: “So what are you gonna call it?”

B: “This is the most brilliant part of all, and don’t worry, Mr Cautious, I’ll test it here thoroughly before I trial it with others. Because it’s a mixture of self and getting things done with assistance, I’m going to call it Please.Do.Me.”

A: “!”

B: “Well?”

A: “You do realise you still live with your mum.”

B: “Hm, I’ll rethink.”

Ornate Curls of Life

This was inspired by some wise words by my good friend MichelleMarie. Please check out her always inspirational blog.
 
 



 To see life
 As only you can,
 Not predefined,
 Not part of the plan,
 But full of style,
 Curlicued swirls,
 An ocean of feeling,
 A field of whorls.
 To look past the rigid;
 To look past the fixed,
 And feel the colour,
 Sense how all is mixed.
 These are the portraits
 Of my poetry,
 Written with feeling,
 And not just for me.
 Ornate curls
 Of life, I was told.
 That’s what it is
 To strive to be bold.