OK, I’ll give you the good bit first. Paris and London were great fun despite the predictable frustrations of having to make decisions by committee (including moody eleven year old). This ought to give me some insight into how my characters should behave. Suddenly “bored”. I did a lot of people-watching. Mostly girl watching, of course, as boys don’t interest me so much. My bias. Visited York for a day which provides some good refresher material on the place and setting of my novel. I thought I could see the line of the Dales and even possibly Ingleborough from York. Of course, my book isn’t historical fantasy such that it needs that precise accuracy, but it makes it more fun for me and for the reader, i should think.
The worst thing about traveling is long lines. Metro and tube travel are fine, but airline travel is like the old water torture. Painfully slow and idiotic. And cramped. I found myself wondering what it is about humans that would put up with all that discomfort and idiocy just to save money and time. That certainly is one of the lovely bits of steampunk fantasy is a return to days when travel was comfortable — the private train compartment, the spacious ocean liner or airship. Sigh. It went through my mind that I should see if there are any dirigible airship companies and if not, start one for transatlantic travel. Of course, you would need hangars.
This relates to my puzzlement over why some humans like to congregate in mobs. See tourist sights, stand in line for hours. Then move about in crowds. Paris is quite awful in this respect. I didn’t find things so bad in London. But apparently the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame and the Paris catacombs are all things that mobs of people feel they absolutely must see and experience. In fact, perhaps standing in the line for hours and battling the crowd is part of the triumphant experience of having done it. Because I did not get the feeling very many people appreciated the sublime vistas of the tower or of history in the other attractions. It was simply overcoming all the obstacles of airport security, trains, planes, lines and crowds to finally arrive and have the enormous privilege and ego boost of being forever after able to say “I have seen the Eiffel Tower and been to the top.”
I shall have to keep an eye out for places where this might happen in my stories. It is a bit like waging a battle. The tremendous hardships and boredom leading up to the battle and then the joy at being able to say that you survived. If you did, obviously. We set ourselves of from the larger masses who have not gone to the top of the Tour Eiffel. This elite of experinces is still a mob but in a word of six milliards of people, it is still a small group. Does everyone “get something out of it”? I think so. It varies in degree and even kind, but everyone gets something out of being there in these famous places. In today’s media world (which really began in the Industrial Revolution) we see images of places and people and just the fact that we do see those images makes the experience of really seeing them, being there, a thrill and an achievement. We have made something essentially fictitious into something real. We have seen with our own eyes and touched with our own hands.
Without that first hand experience of places and things, we really have no sure way to know if they are real. If all you have is the advertising brouchure, in a sense the place is not real. It is always different from the vision (the fiction) the salesman offers. So it is writing historical fiction set in real places. I take real places and turn them into fantasy. People can visit them and experence them in a completely different way — not only for themselves as real places, but also as the tangible manifestation of the fantasy. Maybe the story is real if the place is real. That has long been part opf the storytellers art.
Now, the endless nightmare. I have spend almost two days now trying to sort out my iTunes library and get my iPhone sync’d properly. The daft machine keeps losing or duplicating my music and ap files. Madenning. Then you have to wait for it to reconstruct and hope taht you have reached the end of the nightmare. But so far no luck. It just keep going on. I mention this because of steampunk and Emily Glass’s world of low technology. “Low” is a derogatory term for what is really technology taht you can fix yoruself or find someone else who knows how. You can see what’s wrong with the cogs. Computers (les ordinateurs) have their cogs all invisibly inside them. Instead of reorganizing your recordings on a shelf, or looking for one you yourself misplaced, we now have this intermediary. A servant who is prone to bouts of insanity. You cannot get up and go to your shelf and pick our an LP or a CD (well, you can of course, but not if you want it on your iPhone or iPod). Instead, you have to ask this really dim servant to do it for you, like some mad robot run amok. And you didn’t build this mad robot yourself. Someone else sold him to you. So, you cannot open up his head and figure out which broken sproket is causing the trouble. And you can’t meanwhile get to your library because the robot wont let you.
Technology. But ah those steam engines at the London Science Museum!! They were something. You would almost wish for them to break down just for the satisfaction of fixing them and then watching them run perfectly, smoothly, powerfully, pumping their pistons… It is very erotic.
Needless to say, steam engines are slipping their way into Emily Glass’s story. I wrote about eight pages during vacation, which doesn’t sound like much but it was good stuff. The crisis over Sabrina’s illicit visit to the Flaming Head and Emily’s also. It is a centerpiece of tension with several ramifications for the story.

