Showing posts with label Steampunk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Steampunk. Show all posts

Monday, 19 November 2018

World Building by Fantasy Author Chris Pavesic...

Hobbit Food
“The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question ‘How can we eat?’ the second by the question ‘Why do we eat?’ and the third by the question ‘Where shall we have lunch?’” –Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
In elementary school children learn that the basic needs are air, water, food, and shelter in that order of importance. The need for other things, like love, security, and meaning, are lower on the level of significance. Anthropologists study the eating habits of a society in both basic forms and elaborate ritual purposes in order to gain cultural insights. The acts of obtaining, preparing, distribution, and eating of food are a fundamental part of a culture’s infrastructure. Is it any wonder, then, that food plays a principal role in the world-building of fiction realms and that some of the most famous and successful speculative fiction authors like Douglas Adams, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Suzanne Collins devote a extraordinary amount of narrative time to the central questions of how, why, and where their characters eat?

J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit begins with an unexpected dinner party. Bilbo, the reluctant host, is not expecting guests and empties his pantry to accommodate their arrival:

“Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What’s that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me.”
“And for me,” said Thorin.
“And raspberry jam and apple-tart,” said Bifur.
“And mince-pies and cheese,” said Bofur.
“And pork-pie and salad,” said Bombur.
 “And more cakes—and ale—and coffee, if you don’t mind,” called the other dwarves through the door.
 “Put on a few eggs, there’s a good fellow!” Gandalf called after him, as the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. “And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!”

As the host, Bilbo knows his duty and is willing to go without food to make certain his guests have enough. He is careful not to offend those he has welcomed into his home. This is an adventure story that Tolkien wrote for his children, after all, and the tone is lighthearted at the start, although it does not end with the typical “happy ever after.” The epic adventure that follows in The Lord of the Rings is a different type of story altogether, and the subtle change in both language and tone at the start gives the reader fair warning of the darkness and intrigue that will develop throughout the novels.

Screen Shot 2017-12-24 at 3.25.06 PMThe Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ringbegins in a similar manner to The Hobbit with a birthday party for Bilbo (shared with Frodo of course). There is an overabundance of food, even by the standards of hobbits, and yet the host’s courtesy is gone. Bilbo concludes the evening by making an insulting speech and playing a trick on his guests. This breech of civility is in its own way foreshadowing the negative effect of the ring on Bilbo. It has eaten away at him, as he later confesses to Gandalf, leaving him feeling thin, “like butter that has been scraped over too much bread.” The fact that Tolkien describes the effect of the ring in terms of food highlights this connection.

  Screen Shot 2017-12-24 at 3.25.22 PM

One of the most successful speculative fiction series of recent times, The Hunger Games, focuses on food as a way to explain the power dynamics in a culture. Almost every scene in the series of novels revolves around food in some way, from the starvation in the districts, Katniss’s hunting and foraging in the forest near her home and in the arena, the meals on the trains, the heavily controlled food portions in District 13, and the excess in the capital. Characters are associated with food: Peeta and bread; his father and cookies; the Mayor and strawberries; Greasy Sae and questionable beef; Rue and grooslings. The control over and distribution of food equates to power. This even occurs at the familial level when, at the start of the first book, Katniss is at odds with her mother because of the older woman’s mental collapse and the following exchange occurs:
One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I’ll never see food again. And I said, “I won’t unless I bring it home.” That shut her up.
The balance of power in the relationship is established by which person literally “puts food on the table” and Katniss seems to revel in the fact that she wins that battle. It’s one of the moments in the series when Katniss’s anger is not directed toward the capital, although their policies are the base cause of her tension with her mother.

There is more to a story than wonderful characters, evocative prose, stirring adventures, and exciting battles. World building by authors is far more than creating descriptive passages about landscapes, villages, or towns. Meanings are encoded in the texts and some symbols—like Tolkien’s One Ring or Collins’s Mockingjay Pin—will grab a reader’s immediate attention. They are too obvious to be overlooked. Others, like the ideas behind “how, why, and where” food fits into the society, are subtle: they add meaning to the story without waving a red flag in the narrative itself and pointing at the symbol as being particularly significant. * Yet their inclusion influences the meaning of the story and creates a richer story world experience for the reader.

*Writers do give us hints of course! Just look at the titles of the works, or at the chapter titles.

Take a peek at the Unquiet Dead, the first book in Chris Pavesic's newest series, the Chiaroscuro Chronicles. Blogcatherine

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.


When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed. So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

Purchase Your Copy from Amazon 


IMG_0886About the Author Chris Pavesic lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, fairy tales, steampunk, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends. Learn more about her at chrispavesic.com References
  • Adams, D. (2010). The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. [Kindle Edition.] Random House, Inc.
  • Collins, S. (2009). The Hunger Games. [Kindle Edition.] Scholastic Books.
  • Tolkien, J.R.R. (2009). The Hobbit. [Kindle Edition.] Harper Collins, Inc.

Thursday, 8 March 2018

Book Tour: Unquiet Dead by Chris Pavesic...


About Unquiet Dead:

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.

When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogues members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.


Unquiet Dead
Chiaroscuro Chronicles, Book 1
Chris Pavesic

140 pages

Genres: Steampunk, Mystery, Dark Fantasy

Learn More About Unquiet Dead:

Amazon

Goodreads

Facebook

Follow the virtual tour and visit tours hosts sharing spotlights, excerpts, and reviews. Link to tour schedule:

https://saphsbookpromotions.blogspot.com/2018/03/virtual-book-tour-schedule-unquiet-dead.html


Read an Excerpt:

“I’m glad to see you’re talking again.” Benedict glanced at her, his eyes kind. “Did you work out whatever was bothering you?”

Catherine gave him a wry smile. “No.”

“Want to talk about it? I can be a good listener.”

“No.” She stared down at her shoe as she tapped it against the smooth wooden footrest of the wagon. “Not now,” she added, to take some of the sting out of her reply. “I need to get my thoughts clear before I discuss them with another person. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Suit yourself.” He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

“We do not have to stop talking. Just…on a different subject.”

He smiled. “Lady’s choice.”

“Why did you undertake this job?”

“That’s direct. You don’t think it was for the money, then?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s an awful lot of money.”

“I don’t know you very well, but I have a feeling that you don’t do much only for the money.” She glanced at the horses, the reality in front of her. “Those animals are proof of that. Clean, well-fed, and happy. With little red ribbons in their hair. Most people would not be so kind.”

Benedict smiled at her comments and then his face grew sober. “A lot of the people who lived in those communities—they were friends. They were murdered, plain and simple, and no one seems to know who it was, who benefits from their deaths. It’s rare someone in my position would be able to do something about it.”

“You want to find the murderer or murderers and bring them to justice?”

His grip tightened inadvertently on the reins. “I want to find out who killed them and bring a reckoning.”

Meet the Author:


Chris Pavesic lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Find Chris Pavesic Online:




Twitter Handle @chrispavesic


Monday, 26 February 2018

Cover Reveal and New Book Release: Unquiet Dead by Chris Pavesic...




Blogcatherine

Unquiet Dead

Chris Pavesic


Screen Shot 2018-01-12 at 7.55.36 PM

About the Unquiet Dead: 

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.

When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogues members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

Genres: Steampunk/Mystery/Dark Fantasy 

Length: 140 pages. 
Available in Print and E-Book 

Add to Your Shelf on Goodreads 

Purchase Your Copy from Amazon 

Learn More on Facebook


Excerpt

Services were scheduled to commence in an hour, and Ernest needed to be ready. He struck a match and lit the first gaslight, watching the flame take hold and flare up. The light pushed back the shadows so parishioners were able to find their way to the pews without stumbling. He would extinguish the artificial lights right before the service so the effect of the sunlight illuminating the darkness hit with maximum impact as it flooded through the skylights. 
The parishioners would marvel at how the Temple filled with the Goddess’s Holy Light just in time for the service. Ernest would marvel at the fact that none of them were smart enough to realize he flipped a switch on back of the altar to swing open mechanical shutters. 
There was a religious stirring in Grand Marsh more powerful than anything Ernest had experienced in his ten years as a Sacerd. The services at dawn, noon, and sundown were packed. Few of the farmers went out to the fields. They worked in town on community projects or sat drinking at the tavern. Their wives remained in the town square, full of chatter, instead of staying on their farmsteads. Their thin voices filled the air. The youngest children were kept close while the teens clustered in protective packs far enough away to keep their discussions out of reach of their parents’ ears. But close enough to be in sight at all times. None of them wandered off. 
Three times a day they filled the Temple, ready to hear his words. Faces tilted up to him. Man and woman, young and old. And none of his parishioners would confess why they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that they were neglecting their farms. They were afraid of speaking blasphemy. But he knew the reason, and it caused a lift in his heart that was not due to religious inspiration. They were scared, plain and simple, and it gave him hope. 
Since being assigned to the far parish almost five years ago, a posting he saw as an end to the upward progress of his career in the Temple, he struggled daily to swallow his disappointment. It wouldn’t leave, and it was bitter. Bitter. 
In this remote village, far from the bustle and industry of Chiaroscuro, the quality of his life, the texture of his life, changed. He longed for life in the city. The world seemed to have shifted into two zones. The pace of life for the city dwellers increased while people living in the countryside were being left behind. 
Time’s arrow struck fastest through the densest populations. Sacerds assigned to any of the major cities made more connections and accumulated more power in a single week than he did in a year. Exerting influence was impossible when the spheres of power were spinning outside of his reach, moving too fast for him to see, let alone have an impact. 
The wound to his pride stung the most. The elders had hurt his feelings. To be dismissed so easily, passed along so casually—it was like the swatting of an annoying insect. The Temple elders did not treat him as if he mattered, as if his family ties were consequential. True he was a third son, but of a noble line. And they assigned him to a rustic Temple to attend to common folk far below his station. 
Very little was required of him here. Or, more precisely, very little of what he did here interested him. He burned to return to the central Temple and to be part of the intrigues and power shifts. This attracted him more than caring for the simple souls of farmers and shopkeepers. Power was why he joined the Temple, and what he was now denied. 
But not for long. The thought clanged in his mind with undeniable rightness. Not righteousness. It was an important distinction. Would the Goddess sanction his actions? Probably not, but he was past caring about her approval. During all of the ceremonies, all of the prayer and introspection, he had never felt any divine presence. He had never witnessed any miracles, and doubted their existence. 
But power, oh he had seen the existence of power. Political. Social. Religious. Whatever you called it really didn’t matter. Get enough people to follow you. Enough people to believe in what you were selling. This was the belief that could move the world. 
There was only one woman in his life he needed to please now, and she held no divinity. Merci had offered him a way out of this rural purgatory, and he had accepted. Truth be told, he had grabbed at it like a castaway might grab at a line from a passing airship. If the price were the damnation of his soul, so be it. 
He glanced out the window at the transport coming down the lane. A high quality clockwork carriage with the Temple’s Crest stamped on the doors rattled over the boards strewn across the irrigation ditch and stopped, parking in the speckled light cast by the ornament trees planted along the lane. The carriage blocked traffic, but the driver did not seem to care. Elder members of the clergy, Hlytere, and above, felt they had the right of way. Others had to go around. 
A pale, dark-haired woman emerged and stood for a moment looking around. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her hair and walked through the yard toward the Temple. Ernest’s gaze followed her, trying to imagine who this stranger was. 
Her footsteps sounded in the aisle and, when he turned from window, she was almost upon him. Her speed startled him. When he saw her face to face he realized she was younger than he had supposed. Too young to be a Hlytere, but her use of the carriage meant she was favored by the Temple elders. The seed of jealousy radiated through him. He felt it in his chest and the pit of his stomach. He struggled to keep the emotion off his face. “Greetings.” He shook her hand with a firm grasp. Her hands were small and smooth and white. “Will you come in for a moment?” He led her to the small reception room off the main area that contained a round table and several wooden chairs. He lit a cheroot, offered her one, which she declined, and they sat down. 
“Please forgive me for calling on you so close to mid-day Services, Sacerd Ernest.” She paused. “You are Sacerd Ernest, correct? It’s not like me to presume.” 
“Of course. I’m glad you came. I watched you drive up, you know, and I wondered who you were. We don’t get many visitors from the Temple here.” 
“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, cousin. Of course, I didn’t recognize you. So perhaps it’s not so surprising.” 
“I’m sorry. I …” 
“I’m from the cadet line of our family tree. My father is the elder son of the younger son of our line.” 
His brow creased in thought. “Grace?” 
“Yes,” she said with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers rested there for a moment too long. Lingered. And then she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, which were slim and bare beneath her robe. 
Sacerd Ernest regarded his guest, wondering that her physical presence should suddenly dawn upon him so. She was more beautiful than he had thought at first. Her skin was clear and lovely, and her eyes and mouth were made up carefully and well. 
What’s her game? He licked at the perspiration that appeared upon his upper lip. 
“I would like your help in a small matter. And of course I wanted to meet you.” 
“You did?” 
“Our sponsor has spoken of you with such affection.” 
“Our superior?” He used the wrong word to see if she would correct him. 
“Technically, I suppose, she may be yours. I’ve never thought much of the rules of hierarchy in the Temple.” She cocked her head, listening to noises from the other room. Some of his parishioners had started to file in for the service. “It’s such a mercy, isn’t it?’ 
Ah, code words. 
She must think she’s being clever, although he had no idea who could possibly overhear their conversation. It was only just dawning on him why she must be here. In his town. In his Temple. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get out of Grand Marsh. Get back to Chiaroscuro. It didn’t bother him that people, his parishioners, may die, or suffer a fate worse than death. He just wanted to get out. 
It’s not my fault if I’m following orders. 
But that was a poor excuse, wasn’t it? Guilt flared, hot and strong. 
Do you want to stay in Grand Marsh forever? Ministering to the townsfolk? Do you? 
No … but he didn’t want to hurt people. Those conflicting thoughts pulled at him. There was the question of right and wrong. What was right for him might go wrong for others. But that was the way it had to be. 
Thus he banished the guilt. When something inside of him tried to protest again, tried to tell him to think before he did this, he smothered it. 
“When?” He didn’t have any time for nonsense. The quicker it occurred, the quicker he resumed his rightful place. 
“In two days. I have some items in my transport that need to be set up in the Temple, but kept out of view.” She smiled and spoke a little louder so that the earliest arrivals overheard her. “I wish I could stay to help with the Mass, but I am needed back in Chiaroscuro.” She lowered her voice. “Officially I never left the city.” 
“Of course.” He guessed that she had no desire to partake in the service. “I will help you with whatever you need.” Whatever may come of it, he had gone too far to stop now.
Meet the Author:

Chris Pavesic lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Find Chris Pavesic Online:

Website
Amazon Author Page
Facebook Author Page
Tweets @chrispavesic

Monday, 21 November 2016

Book Tour: The Time Traveller's Resort & Museum by David McLain...


New Release by David McLain!

Title: The Time Traveller's Resort and Museum

Author Name: David McLain

Illustrator: Felix Eddy

Genre(s): Time Travel, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure, Romance, Comedy, Steampunk

Release Date: November 17, 2016

Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing 

Follow the Tour:

Guest post by David McLaine: San Tiempo Community Events Calendar...

                Thank you for listening to XYXY 199.99 FM, San Tiempo’s one and only public radio station, supported by time traveller’s from all centuries, bringing news and information to everyone in the Time Travelling community, and if there’s anyone else listening, I can tell you that our plan to kill Hitler is underway! For you who don’t know me, my name is Hadron Wessex, and up next we’ve got the San Tiempo Community Events Calendar.

                The H P Lovecraft Centre will be hosting a talk on paradoxical biology this Sunday, November 20th at eleven pm. Focus will be on horns, wings, and tentacles. Refreshments will be served. Let’s hope they don’t have calamari.

                The 23rd annual 4th dimensional chess championship will begin on Tuesday the 22nd at the San Tiempo YMCA. Players of all ages are invited to attend. Please bring your own chess set and anti-gravitational boots.

                The 1938 New York Yankees will be playing a charity pick-up game against the 2438 Somerset Cricket Club, on November the 23rd at 9 pm at Charles Taylor field, proceeds going to widows and orphans of the second world war.

                And they said it would never happen, but the Beatles will be reuniting on November the 26th, for a benefit at the museum of the Time Traveller’s. Opening act is Beethoven. Hope you’ve got your tickets everyone, because this one is sold out.

                If you can’t catch that, you may want to catch the dinosaur photography exhibit, that’s going on all month long in the museums biology wing. Tickets are available to purchase in almost all major currencies.

                And it’s the End of the World as We Know it and I Feel Fine! Folktales from various future dystopia’s can be heard on Monday, November 28th at the Ninth Street Coffeehouse. All Major Religions are encouraged to attend, but may leave disappointed.

                November the 30th Will be opening night for the Art Theatre’s Classic Film Festival: Movies from the twenty first century, with a discussion afterwards entitled: Marvel Comic Book Movies, Why the hell were these guys so obsessed?

                If art is your thing, why not check out the 3d impressionist exhibit going on now through November 31st in the Time Travel Museum’s Fine Art Gallery. The focus is on 33rd through 38th century painters, and their selection of walking paintings is absolutely spectacular.

                Finally, on the 32nd of November, the Veterans of Fictional Wars will be holding their annual Spaghetti Dinner and Balloonfest at their hall at 5 PM. Everyone is invited to attend.
                That’s it for our community calendar. If you have a community event you’d like us to broadcast, please send a telepathic message to our community events organizer. Up next we’ll being hearing an hour of classical rap.  Stay with us, we’ll be right back.   

About The Time Traveller's Resort and Museum:

“If you need to know men's secrets
Or if there's something you need to find 
If you want to see the dinosaurs 
Or the insides of your mind.
If you want to watch the earth begin,
Or see what the apocalypse will leave behind,
You need to thank Alice Anderson,
For Alice is the mother of time.”

That was how the rhyme went. Every time traveler knew it. Everyone that is, except of course, for Alice herself, since she hadn’t invented time travel yet. Since returning to London, Alice’s life has been turned upside down. She’s been accused of murder and lost her position in the scientific community. Her only ally in this journey is a strange man who seems to think that Alice may be about to open up a strange new world of possibilities, but is probably not telling her everything he knows.

Read an Excerpt:

“Hello,” Alice said, with a certain degree of reluctant enthusiasm.

“You sound American,” an annoyed voice on the other end of the line said.

Alice dropped her bag. “I've been in New York for three years,” Alice said. “You're lucky I don't sound like I'm from the Bronx.”

It was Alice's sister, Wendy, giving what by her standards was a remarkably warm and friendly greeting. “You're lucky I don't steal your passport while you’re here and force you to teach Electrical Engineering at the University of the Orkneys. Electrical Engineering, that's what you do, isn't it?”

“You do realize that I just spent an entire evening in a metal tube, sitting on a very small seat that appeared to have been made from rocks confiscated from terrorists at security?”

“Terrorists use rocks these days?”

“Well, they're harder to spot going through metal detectors, aren't they?”

Ending a sentence with a question apparently sounded appropriately British and Wendy seemed to ease up a little.

“How was the flight, then?” she asked.

“I believe I aged three years,” Alice answered, looking for the way to the exit. “Do you want to have a drink?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“In America, it's considered polite to ask.”

“I believe that the University of the Orkneys has early tenure.”

Wendy took pride in her absolute loathing of all things American. She saw Alice's decampment to New York as nothing less than a complete betrayal.

“Would you mind if we met in at my hotel?” Alice asked, trying to sound as if this were a polite request and not a desperate plea.

“I don't know,” Wendy said. “There aren't going to be a lot of randy outer-space types there, are there?”

“It's an astronomy conference,” Alice insisted. “Not a Sci-Fi convention.”

There was the unmistakable sound of pursing lips on the other end of the phone. “What hotel are you staying at?” Wendy asked.

“The Kensington.”

Wendy thought about it. “I'll meet you, but let's meet somewhere else. There's a pub down that way that I've had my eye on.”

“Wendy–”

“I have to drive in all the way from Brixton. You can walk a hundred metres out of the hotel lobby.”

Alice sighed. She decided not to point out that in fact she had come quite a bit farther than hundred meters. “What's the name of the place?” she asked.

“The Gristle and Thorn,” Wendy said.

Alice spotted the word “EXIT” on the far side of the hall. “Couldn't find any place with a ghastlier name? Was the ‘Skull and Crossbones’ already booked?”

“Just meet me,” Wendy insisted, and for a moment, she did her best to sound kind. “I've missed you.”

It has been said that all journeys begin with a single step, and while it might seem that Alice's journey began all the way back at JFK, in actuality the first step of Alice's journey began with a decision. It was not a big decision, not the kind of thing that would strike a historian as a significant chapter in the decline and fall of the Western Empire, but for Alice Anderson, it was the equivalent of crossing the Rubicon. It was the simplest thing really – a choice of restaurants.

“The Gristle and Thorn it is,” Alice said, picking up her bag again and shuffling through the crowd.


Meet the Author:

David McLain is the author of the two novels: Dragonbait, and The Life of a Thief. His stories have been published in the anthologies Metastasis, Penny Dread II, and the Doctor Who Anthology Time Shadows, as well as over two dozen magazines. He has been featured on NPR's Off the Page and the History of England podcast. He lives in New York.

Connect with David McLain: 






Meet the Illustrator: 

Felix Eddy graduated Magnum Cum Laude from Alfred University. She is the author and illustrator of A Bestiary Alphabet, and has illustrated several book covers and children's books. You can find out more about her at www.felixeddy.com


Purchase Links:

MIRROR WORLD PUBLISHING: 




AMAZON.COM: 

AMAZON.CA: 

KOBO: 

BARNES & NOBLE: 

Chapters.Indigo: