“How do you feel?” my husband asked me last night when I told him I had finished writing my novel, Autodrome. “Not sure,” I answered truthfully, fully aware the answer should’ve been excited, euphoric, nervous, or enthusiastic. In fact, my strongest emotion was relief. Relief that I had somehow wound up at the end of that complex ball of word strings. Relief that the seemingly insurmountable list of ‘notes’ had somehow condensed itself into a few simple sentence insertions. Relief that, if nothing else, I had a start, middle and an end.

About time too. I am a slow writer. There is no getting away from it. I am obsessed with the minutia. Yes, I have a thing for the bubblegum feel of action adventure and stylistics, but my greatest dread is someone catching me out on mechanical details or historical accuracy. Perhaps this is why the writing of Autodrome has really hurt my head!

I remember a period of feeling utterly lost. The last quarter of the novel refused to be written and despite my having plotted the story in detail. I realised it was all in danger of ‘going on a bit.’ Rather than plough on until the bugger gave in, I found myself at a stalemate, unable to convince myself to write words for the sake of it. Writer’s block? I don’t think so. I don’t really believe in the thing. More a case of needing time to sift ideas and resift and resift.

In the meantime, I took solace in that great social tradition, the writers’ convention – or, as it turned out, three of them. Last September, Fantasycon gave Del and I our yearly excuse to return to our spiritual home of Nottingham and sink a beer or several with friends, old and new. November brought a Saturday night at Novacon, featuring an angry robot, free Champagne, and Ian Watson birthing a banana through his jumper. And in-between came Ian Con as it was affectionately named – the birthday extravaganza of writer, publisher and editor, Ian Whates.

Not that writing slunk away on its belly entirely. Instead, I started work on a new novella, a sister piece to Black Sunday, written in May 2009. While Black Sunday is set in the 1930s dustbowl, the new novella emerged as a New Weird-tinged story taking place on a desiccated planet. And it was all going swimmingly well…until the ideas for the last quarter of Autodrome started to fall into some sort of meaningful tea-leaf pattern.

Placing the new novella into the cryogenic sleep pod otherwise known as ‘on the back burner’, I took another shot at Autodrome. And this time, it gave me a way in. Seeing those startling, wondrous words ‘THE END’ after my final round of edits, I couldn’t help but feel relieved. And the thing is I’m pleased with the ending. It came out right in the end…And what does make me feel excited, euphoric, nervous, and enthusiastic is the thought of others reading it now. For me, that’s what this whole writing game is about, hoping others enjoy the world you’ve shaped and want you to shape some more.

Talking of which, its time to defrost the new novella.

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Maybe twice a week I get it. The Great Idea. In my case, I’m usually thinking in terms of a short story. I have very little in the way of plot, just a genesis of a setting, a character, or a title. It niggles at me, this Great Idea, like a distantly glimpsed nirvana. A golden land set on top of a mountain. A really big mountain. With a ladder at the summit that leads into cloud, and beyond that, some of those extra wide pyramidal steps you get on Gladiators. Part of me thinks ‘This could be the best story I’ve ever written.’ Part of me thinks ‘I must get around to writing it sometime.’

Without fail, I shelve all of my story ideas for a period. But I must admit to failing in one of the most cherished of writer traditions, namely, the Sacred Notebook of Scribbles. While I’m in awe of writers who detail dreams, thoughts, conversations, all the odds and ends of everyday life, I have a quite frankly peculiar view on the writing down of such. Call it a defence mechanism if you like, but for me, if the idea does not survive a few weeks being tossed to and fro in the slurry of my mind, it was never mine to write in the first place.

Occasionally though, I do engage a Great Idea in mortal combat – and, yes, I do see it as a battle because the writing process is brutal and bloody. Not because I’m some sort of emotional goddess, imparting hard won wisdoms on the lowly reader. Nothing as jaw-achingly pretentious, I hope. No, what I’m talking about is refusing to give in when the story decides it’s in it for the kill. Sometimes a story can stay closed to me for years, but if I make the decision that that particular plot really suits a solicited market, I load up the big guns. For me, this is one of the examples of how a writer really has to bloody love what they do in order to survive it. And every time I do survive it, I still have this sense I just got a lucky punch in.

I was at a party recently when one reveller uttered those oft repeated lines. ‘Wow, you write? That’s my perfect job. I’d love to sit at home and write for a living.’ Times like that, I remember the Great Idea and I get a cold sweat on. Yet at the same time, despite all those times I’ve stared at a screen and willed a story to play dead, I also know that I am at heart a bloodthirsty word warrior.

So, just as soon as I’ve finished writing the finale of my new book, I’m taking on one or two of the Great Ideas that’ve survived the quagmire. And this time I’m taking no prisoners.

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Writers are eternal students. Our minds play host to a rich variety of subjects, albeit for the time period necessary to complete any given project – after which we file away that mess of knowledge under the heading, ‘Useless Facts’, only to be exhumed for the purposes of future story threads and pub quizzes.

Research is temporal to a degree then but none the less essential. How can you enslave your readers with a believable story unless you ground it in reality? Yet all too often, a new writer will make the fatal error of embarking on a story without any real knowledge of setting, plot or characters. In short, they opt for the ‘easy’ route.

Earlier this year, I attended a QandA session featuring some of the UK’s foremost fantasy authors. Towards the end of the session, an erstwhile audience member stated that he was making a conscious decision to write fantasy and SF because ‘You get to make shit up’. The appeal of the genre, he claimed, was a writer’s ability to get away with little or no research…or as I interpreted it, blue murder. Because here’s the rub. A writer needs imagination, needs it bubbling over like an effervescing witch’s vat. But forgo the research necessary to ground an idea and the writer’s imagination is as intangible as frog’s breath.

Let’s take a writer of unholy genius, Clive Barker (‘Weaveworld’), and his epic fantasy series for children 'Abarat'. The land of Abarat is a strange world populated by queerly fantastical creatures. Given the imaginative nature of this work, is it really likely that Barker paid any attention to research? Wasn’t his Clive Barkerdom sufficient? Not so. In fact, Barker dedicated a serious chunk of energy to the groundwork supporting the novel. In his words, “I made a list…(of) really important influences: Terry Gilliam books; ‘Time Bandits’; ‘Fantasia’; the ‘Cirque du Soleil’; Ray Harryhausen movies; ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’…the joy for me, when I got to the book, was I could see where all those were – I could see, I could smell ‘Wizard of Oz’ around the book and ‘Cirque du Soleil’ and ‘Fantasia’.”

It may be argued that what Barker is describing is not research  but influence. In this instance at least, Barker’s work ethic focuses less on his enslavement to the internet or local library than preparation of the mind. But this is still self-analysis undertaken in the name of research – i.e. if a writer does not take the time to pull apart his/her creative minds and unearth the influences with which they wish to shape a story, all they are left with is a lonely idea – and to quote that ghastly truism, an idea does not a story make.

Other writers take their research to a more physical level. Nicholas Royle (‘Antwerp’) explores abandoned buildings as a means of creeping under the skin of contemporary urbanism. Mark Chadbourn (‘Jack of Raven’) worked two hundred feet under ground so that he could get a feel for the conditions endured by coal miners for his debut novel ‘Underground’.

But to return to the question of intellectual research, Chadbourn also says, “I’ve studied and read about archetypes for years…I’ve had a real interest in psychology and philosophy and there’s lots of areas I dabble in that I think are all linked” to the extent that “I’ve absorbed so much of the archetype information so deeply that I don’t have to think too hard.” The key then is achieving a fine balance between knowledge of your story’s physicality, its setting and soft furnishings, and the detailed research of any aspect you are not already familiar with, something so crucial in the development of plot and characters.

And there we touch on a fundamental element of good quality fiction: character development. To illustrate how this relates to research, lets take a story about a vet and his wife who has Multiple Sclerosis. Disenchanted by her husband’s inability to deal with her condition, the wife has come to the practice to tell the vet she is leaving him. The vet is preparing for surgery on a very old dog; in his mind he assimilates the supposed pointlessness of operating on the dog with his feelings of inadequacy when it comes to giving his wife the physical and emotional support she needs. So here we have a number of the ingredients necessary to render an effective story: a wife’s anger towards her husband (displaced frustration at the limitations of her failing body), a husband’s sense of impotence, and his decision as a vet to fight for the life of a dying animal when he does not have the strength to fight for his marriage. Now what? Forge ahead with the story, pouring out every last trace of empathy and inner emotion? The wiser option is to step back and explore the key questions which will make a difference between life or death for the story. What does the vet’s working environment look like and how does he prepare for surgery? (Watching episodes of Animal Hospital does not guarantee authenticity.)

What is wrong with the dog? What language would a vet use to describe the dog’s condition – this will differ according to whether he is addressing the dog’s owner or his colleagues. What about the wife? The portrayal of an MS sufferer is paramount to the story’s integrity. In other words, how can a reader ever hope to relate if the fabric of the story is poorly constructed and thus floored? The answer is to avoid clichés by taking the time to research a story and its characters, even if the wife is a green-skinned octopus from Planet Droig and the dog an android.

But the notion of characters is a tricky one. No amount of research can teach you how to get at the bleeding core of a character, their ‘humanness’ unless you are willing to open yourself up as a person first and a writer second. Admittedly, you have the option to leave your characters un-fleshed, join the plot-hard ranks of Dan Brown and rake in the green. (Be warned, character superficiality is a trick in itself.) But for those who want their characters to demonstrate depth, another type of research is essential, namely personal insight – and since we cannot relate to every single given scenario, this is where the development of a research ethic is so crucial.

At the opposite end of the writing spectrum, there is the danger to over-feast on stimuli and procrastinate. After all, it is very tempting to convince ourselves that we have not done enough research to start a story. The key here, as to everything else in life, is balance. Flesh out the skeleton of your plot, breathe life into your characters, give them a believable setting in which to interact, and then let your imagination do the rest. It’s a simple recipe.

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So, how does a woman who doesn’t drive, who was strongly advised not to take Physics GCSE, and who knows too much pop trivia for her own good end up writing steampunk? Shouldn’t I at least have a rudimentary background in engineering and mechanics? I’m as puzzled as anyone else, but regardless of mine and steampunk’s seeming incompatibility on paper, I am passionate about the genre and find that it tends to infuse much of my work as a writer. To me, there are few things as fascinating, awe-inspiring and ever so slightly terrifying as the steam engine in action. In addition, while I am hugely inspired by the aesthetic qualities of steampunk…thick bottle glass, brass fittings, nuts, bolts, valves, gauges, dials, leather, stained glass, etc…it is their combination with the grime of steam power which sells the genre to me most. And this is where I find the greatest paradox between my persona as an individual and my persona as a writer. I am not the most practical soul around, but give me a story to write and I want to sink my hands deep down into the oil-slicked guts of the thing. I want to tunnel underground, explore the filth-encrusted backstreets, visit opium dens and drag races and fifties diners and carnivals and lawless pioneering towns…

I used to worry that I lacked the necessary qualifications to write about the mechanisms behind steampunk. But increasingly I’m understanding that so long as a writer is willing to do considerable research, it is sometimes an advantage not to understand a subject too well. Because that is where reality breaks down and imagination takes flight. I am also reassured that the adage, ‘write what you know’ can be a red herring. How’s about if instead of it being a literal case of write what you know – example, a fisherman writes about fishing and, well, fish – it should be a case of write what you find flows easiest and is received the best by readers. In the past I got hung up on subject matter, restricting myself to suitably ‘feminine’ story lines, fairy tales and pretty fantasy. These are genre traditions I still love and will definitely write about again. But what I’ve discovered recently is that my writing style lends itself to action, mechanicals, fight scenes and their ilk. It turns out that what I know is a certain writing style, and most tellingly, the reason I know its working is because I turn off my inner critic when I write it. I trust myself in the steam/gaspunk environment in a way that is liberating.

Another consolation in all this is that there are examples of incredibly sheltered, naive women who have written some of the most stunning works in history. Emily Bronte for one. Author of the vicious, bleak, fiercely sexual Wuthering Heights. Daughter of a curate, habitant of isolated moorland, who died age thirty and single, and published this solitary seminal work. In our contemporary climate, we have songwriter, Diane Warren, a spinster who has been known to work on Christmas Day and who is responsible for writing some of the most beautiful, commercially successful love songs of our time, Aerosmith’s Don’t Want To Miss A Thing, Alice Cooper’s Bed Of Nails (co-wrote), The Sugar Babes’ Too Lost In You, Toni Braxton’s Un-break My Heart, and many more.

My point is not to compare myself in anyway to these women, both of whom might be classed as geniuses in their fields, but to illustrate that what we know may be something that only emerges through practice, tenacity, even accident.

I have faced criticism at times for not being SF enough. I hold up my hands entirely and admit that my stories will probably never slot comfortably into traditionally defined SF or dark fantasy. I’d say that’s probably true for a lot of genre writers. But what I am is pedantic about realism and the detail, and this is why I think I have found such a kinship with steampunk. I guess, despite appearances, I’m a soot and oil stained grease monkey at heart. Just so long as I don’t have to relinquish the pop trivia.

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While continuing to pay homage to its literary origins, noughties’ Steampunk has evolved into a veritable subculture in its own right. Dark aesthetics, combined with a flare for antique fashion, laboratorial curiosities, cybernetics, and the reengineering of all manner of rogue mechanicals, were always destined to appeal to the goth, punk, cyber and industrial contingent. But Steampunk has also cast a wider net; its ‘period’-feel seducing anyone with a soft spot for Victoriana and alternative histories.

Fans have now come to embrace Steampunk, or ‘Steam’ as it is sometimes known, as a culture, a community and a lifestyle. ‘Neo-Victorianism’ infiltrates every aspect of their lives, from fashion to interior design to transport to music.

However, while it is fairly easy to label what constitutes Steampunk attire – corsets, petticoats, suits, goggles, laced boots, etc - Steampunk music is less well-defined. Online discussions list artists as varied as NIN for Closer, the train-like beat of the piano giving it a new world feel, Tom Waites for his use of distortion, electronics and accordion, Björk for her fusion of electronica, roaring twenties’ big band sounds and industrialism, and even Queen for their music-hall spirited, A Day At The Races. And while purists cite classical music or early nineteenth century recordings played on a hand-cranked gramophone, most aficionados agree that any modern performer whose music or stage show evokes a sense of the Victorian era can be classified Steampunk.

Yet even that margin is too small. To do the Steampunk music genre justice, we need to acknowledge a theatrical mélange of artists and artistic styles: gothic, new world, vaudevillian, Brechtian dark cabaret, Eastern European, chamber music, vintage jazz, and more.

Below is a taster of just some of the artists classified Steampunk:

Abney Park

In 2005, Seattle’s Abney Park released Taxidermy which showcased new versions of songs from previous albums, three live tracks and two covers. This album also heralded a switch in stylings from goth/industrial to Steampunk. Reinventing themselves as roving time travellers and airship pirates, the five-strong group continue to attribute their new, eclectic sound to the strange instruments and exotic musical influences lifted from the numerous locations and eras they have visited. In their own words, ‘Expect clockwork guitars, belly dancers, flintlock bassists, Middle-Eastern percussion, violent violin, and Tesla powered keyboards blazing in a post-apocalyptic, swashbuckling, Steampunk musical mayhem.’

recommended tracks: Airship Pirate, Sleep Isabella, The Secret Life of Doctor Calgori

Visit www.abneypark.com for band news, event details, and a market place selling Steampunk attire including leather flight helmets, airship crew dogtags, safari clothing and other gear.

San Francisco’s Vernian Process take their name from the works of 19th century author and one of the forefathers of the science fiction genre, Jules Verne. They describe themselves as a Darkwave band influenced by Victorian scientific romance and contemporary Steampunk. Founder, Joshua A. Pfeiffer, has made it his intention to take listeners on a cinematic journey, encompassing ‘Industrial complexes, angelic cathedrals, misty cobblestone alleyways, ancient forests, war-torn ruins, deep undersea caves, rotting clock towers, and all manner of timeless dreamscapes.’

In 2008, Vernian Process started work on the soundtrack for the steampunk themed videogame, Shades of Violet: The incredible Adventures of Violet Vendetta for Fly Games Studio.

Visit www.post-punk.com/vernianprocess.html for more information.

Unextraordinary Gentlemen have their roots firmly in the Victorian fantasy fiction genre. The bass guitar is used to represent a ‘punk’ element, a drum machine conjures up the steam-driven engine, and keyboards introduce sounds reminiscent of Victorian-era instruments such as strings, brass, and piano. Guitars and live drums are banned. They describe their sound as post-punk, synth-pop, industrial and experimental, and cite artists such as Nick Cave and Tom Waits as their major influences. Their songs range from the darkly humorous to the dour and the self depreciating, but all are infused with a sense of dramatic flair and spectacle.

recommended tracks: Mr. Soot's Little Black Book, All You Want, Black Iron Road, Frozen Mood

Visit www.unextraordinarygentlemen.com for more information.

The Vagabond Opera exists in homage to all aspects of bohemian cabaret. Theirs is truly a spectacular Spectacular, with belly dancing, neo-classical opera in eleven languages, kitsch Americana, Yiddish theatre, and European bonhomie. Originating in Portland, USA, the six-piece ensemble features trained operatic tenor and soprano vocals, accordion, tenor and alto saxophones, cello, stand-up bass, drums, and, on occasion, a burlesque hoola-hooping fire performer.

recommended tracks: Marlene, Svi Te Terran, Goodnight Moon

Visit www.vagabondopera.com for more information.

Cellist Melora Creager played with Nirvana and, after founding Rasputina, toured with Bob Mould, Porno for Pyros and, most notably, Marilyn Manson. In 1997, the band’s EP Transylvanian Regurgitations was remixed by Manson.

A 3-piece mostly comprised of cellists, Rasputina describe their sound as chamber-rock. Their appreciation for antiquities is reflected in a love for Victorian apparel and period stylings for publicity shots and stage shows. Hard to pigeonhole, their music is bewitching dark and angelically ethereal.

recommended tracks: Transylvanian Concubine, Cage in a Cave, Coraline on the Neil Gaiman tribute album Where's Neil When You Need Him?

Visit www.rasputina.com for more information.

Other recommended listening: The Peculiar Pretzelmen, Skeleton Key, Decemberists, The Birthday Massacre, The Dresden Dolls, Johnny Hollow, Beat Circus, Bat For Lashes

Wildcards –

Their inclusion here may be arguable, but in some aspects, Steampunk is all about the fusion of world music with futuristic sensibilities. No one does this better than New York’s Gogol Bordello, a multi-ethnic Gypsy punk band from the Lower East Side who are renown for their theatrical stage shows. Their Eastern European sound blends accordion, fiddle, and saxophone with an eclectic punk cabaret to create a feast for the ears and eyes so appealing that Madonna cast them in her 2008 film, Filth and Wisdom.

recommended tracks: Wonderlust King, American Wedding, Start Wearing Purple

Visit www.gogolbordello.com for more details.

A classical piano major, Sarah fashions a truly unique sound that is part vintage jazz singer, part vaudevillian pianist, part crystalline vocals. Twice Juno and twice Gemini Award nominated, Canadian Sarah is a performer, artist and poet with a world-wide fan base.

recommended tracks: Pilgrim, Last Year’s War, Lucky Me

Visit www.sarahslean.com for more details.

Other sites of interest:
www.clockworkcabaret.com - a weekly music radio show.
http://steampunkworkshop.com - detailing steampunk projects.
www.brassgoggles.co.uk - blog reporting on all things steampunk.
www.steampunklab.com - for inventions of a curious sort

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