Balogun Ojetade's Blog, page 28
March 15, 2013
STEAMPUNK AMERIKKKA!
STEAMPUNK AMERIKKKA!
In the film, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter – based on the bestselling novel of the same name – a young Abraham Lincoln’s life is changed forever after he discovers, to his horror, that slavery is an institution controlled by vampires and the slaves are not to be used for labor, but for food. Lincoln decides that to end slavery is to end the scourge of vampires. Lincoln thus becomes an Abolitionist.
The idea of this took me back to elementary school, wherein we were taught that the real Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves after a terrible war between the Northern and Southern United States – fought because the “evil” South wanted to keep slaves and maintain slavery, while the “good” North sought to abolish slavery. A few years later, Icame to realize that what was taught to us in elementary school was as absurd as Abraham Lincoln ending slavery to stop a plague of vampires.
Many Steampunks choose to ignore the horrors wrought by colonialism – slavery, indentured service, sexism, classism; they create a world in which these things do not exist, or are sugar-coated so much, the world might end up diabetic.
A while ago, in response to another blog I wrote entitled What is Steamfunk? Exposing The Big Steampunk Lie, a Steampunk said “History is exactly what it says on the tin, an event that happened in the past. Learn its lesson and move forward. The human race will never achieve its potential if we cannot let the past go, and progress to greater things. If race, religion, sex or age is an issue to you, it proves a lack of intelligence, or an example of a small mind, which in of itself is an evolutionary cul de sac.”
Now, I wanted to come back in some clever way, like former enslaved brother, Jourdon Anderson did in response to his former “master” asking him to return to work on the same plantation upon which he and his family suffered. But I…wait…you haven’t read the brilliant letter by old Jourdon? Well, here you go:
I got your letter and was glad to find you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this for harboring Rebs they found at your house.
I suppose they never heard about your going to Col. Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville hospital, but one of the neighbors told me Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.
I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here; I get $25 a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy (the folks here call her Mrs. Anderson), and the children, Milly, Jane and Grundy, go to school and are learning well; the teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday- School, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated; sometimes we overhear others saying, “The colored people were slaves” down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks, but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Col. Anderson. Many darkies would have been proud, as I used to was, to call you master. Now, if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.
As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free-papers in 1864 from the Provost- Marshal- General of the Department of Nashville.
Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you are sincerely disposed to treat us justly and kindly–and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future.
I served you faithfully for thirty-two years and Mandy twenty years. At $25 a month for me, and $2 a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to $11,680. Add to this the interest for the time our wages has been kept back and deduct what you paid for our clothing and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to.
Please send the money by Adams Express, in care of V. Winters, esq, Dayton, Ohio.
If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night, but in Tennessee there was never any pay day for the Negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.
In answering this letter please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve and die if it comes to that than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood, the great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.
P.S. — Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.
From your old servant,
Jourdon Anderson
I wanted to be clever, however, my response was just…well, me:
Race, religion, sex and age are not issues to me, however they are concerns. Many people of color have these concerns. Many who are brilliant. Such concerns are not proof of lack of intelligence, nor of small mindedness. Who is seeking such proof anyway? There are several people on this site with the same concerns – none of whom lack intelligence…none of whom have small minds.
If I abuse and steal from my neighbor and then tell him to move on…to let it go…I am the one displaying small mindedness. Should Jews let go of the horrors they endured in the holocaust? Are they small minded or lacking in intelligence for saying “Never again” and for not letting go of their past troubles? Absolutely not! No one who has suffered at the hands of an oppressor should “let go”. They should use the past to move forward. This is a principle in African culture called “Sankofa”. A good principle I will continue to live by.
And so I – like a good African traditionalist – and, indeed, like a good Steampunk and Steamfunkateer – now look back at the America my ancestors and elders knew…the America I choose to express in my Steampunk; the America that provides a wealth of happenings, people and settings that make for great Steamfunk stories.
And to those who want to say “let sleeping dogs lie”, or “let the past go”, or some other insensitive bullshit – my mother sharecropped; my aunts and uncles…my maternal grandparents…my first cousins. I grew up hearing the horror stories and the happy ones and they shaped and molded me, my creativity and my love for all things Black / African.
As I stated in the opening of the Steamfunk anthology: To “let go” is to be un-African; to “let go” is to let go of myself. Ain’t gonna happen. Ever.
And now, without further ado, I present – for your reading (dis)pleasure…
STEAMPUNK AMERIKKKA
Historic Timeline of Slavery
1501-African Slaves in the New World
Spanish settlers bring slaves from Africa to Santo Domingo (now the capital of the Dominican Republic).
1619-Slaves in Virginia
Africans brought to Jamestown are the first slaves imported into Britain’s North American colonies. Research shows the year may actually be 64 years earlier – 1555.
1700-First Antislavery Publication
Massachusetts jurist and printer, Samuel Seawell, publishes the first North American antislavery tract, The Selling of Joseph.
1705-Slaves as Property
Describing slaves as real estate, Virginia lawmakers allow owners to bequeath their slaves. The same law allows masters to “kill and destroy” runaways.
1775-Abolitionist Society
Anthony Benezet of Philadelphia founds the world’s first abolitionist society. Benjamin Franklin becomes its president in 1787.
1776-Declaration of Independence
The Continental Congress asserts “that these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States.”
1793-Fugitive Slave Act
The United States outlaws any efforts to impede the capture of runaway slaves. (Also see 1850)
1808-United States Bans Slave Trade
Importing African slaves is outlawed, but smuggling continues.
1820-Missouri Compromise
Missouri is admitted to the Union as a slave state, Maine as a free state. Slavery is forbidden in any subsequent territories north of latitude 36°30′.
1834-1838-Slavery in England
England abolishes slavery in its colonies including Jamaica, Barbados, and other West Indian territories.
1850-Compromise of 1850
In exchange for California’s entering the Union as a free state, northern congressmen accept a harsher Fugitive Slave Act different from the previous one of 1793.
1854-Kansas-Nebraska Act
Setting aside the Missouri Compromise of 1820, Congress permits these two new territories to choose whether to allow slavery. Violent clashes erupt.
1857-Dred Scott Decision
The United States Supreme Court decides, seven to two, that Blacks can never be citizens and that Congress has no authority to outlaw slavery in any territory.
1860-Abraham Lincoln Elected
Abraham Lincoln of Illinois becomes the first Republican to win the United States Presidency.
1861-65-United States Civil War
Four years of brutal conflict claim 623,000 lives.
1862
On September 22, Lincoln drafts the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. The final is issued on January 1, 1863.
1863-Emancipation Proclamation
President Abraham Lincoln decrees that all slaves in Rebel territory are free on January 1, 1863. The Proclamation only emancipated those slaves in states that were in rebellion against the United States. The proclamation did not emancipate slaves in the states that never left the Union.
1865-Slavery Abolished
The 13th Amendment to the United States Constitution outlaws slavery.
The Underground Railroad was a covert network of people and places who assisted fugitive slaves as they escaped from slavery in the South. Most widespread during the three decades prior to the Civil War, this activity primarily took place in the regions bordering slave states, with the Ohio River being the center of much of the activity.
At the heart of the Underground Railroad were the beliefs of the abolitionist movement. The 18th Century Quakers – members of the Religious Society of Friends – were the first organized abolitionists, believing that slavery violated Christian principles. By the first decades of the 1800s, every state in the North had legally abolished slavery. Abolitionist ideas then spread west into the territories that would soon become Indiana and Ohio.
People involved with the Underground Railroad developed their own terminology to describe participants, safe places, and other codes that needed to be kept secret. People who guided slaves from place to place were called “conductors”; locations where slaves could safely find protection, food, or a place to sleep were called “safe houses” or “stations”; those who hid fugitive slaves in their homes, barns, or churches were called “station masters”; enslaved Black people, who were in the safekeeping of a conductor or station master, were “cargo”.
Code words were also used to enable fugitive slaves to find their way North. The Big Dipper, whose handle pointed towards the North Star, was referred to as the “drinking gourd”; the Ohio River was frequently referred to by a biblical reference, the “River Jordan”; Canada, one of the final safe havens for many fugitive slaves was called the “Promised Land“.
Besides Canada, many fugitive slaves also escaped to cities in the northern and western U.S., Mexico, the Caribbean Islands and South America.
It is important to realize that while conductors and fugitive slaves were participating on the Underground Railroad, all of their actions were illegal. The federal government had passed Fugitive Slave Acts as early as 1793 that allowed slave catchers to come north and force runaways back into slavery. By the 1830s and 1840s, these laws were expanded in reaction to increased Underground Railroad activity.
With the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, assisting or helping hide fugitive slaves became a federal offense, making all Underground Railroad activity subject to six months in prison and a $1,000 fine. Escaping from slavery or helping someone to escape from slavery was a very difficult and dangerous task.
The Underground Railroad through rose-colored goggles
The Underground Railroad is often portrayed as the result of benevolent abolitionists who toiled out of the kindness of their hearts to lead and shelter fearful runaway slaves, helping them break free from the bonds of slavery to start life anew in the Promised Land.
These abolitionists are depicted as white people who placed lamps in windows or quilts on fences as signals for safe places. Slaves would then hide in the homes and barns of conductors, hidden in their secret hiding rooms and passage ways. This scenario is pure myth.
The reality of the Underground Railroad was much less romantic. Escaping enslaved individuals often had no help or guidance from anyone throughout the majority of their journey. While it is a common belief that white Northerners were going into the South and bringing slaves from the farms and plantations into the North, the truth is that most enslaved individuals left on their own. When the enslaved did have assistance, the aid they received varied from being given a place to rest in barns and sheds to being provided with a small amount of food and sent on to the next location. Those seeking freedom would have had to place a good amount of trust in the people who were assisting them, for at any moment their safety could be compromised, leading to recapture.
There is also a common misconception that all people working to assist escaping individuals were white Northerners. The fact is that the majority of the conductors on the Underground Railroad in the South were Black, often still enslaved themselves.
Come on, ride this train
It is very difficult to know the exact number of people who escaped from slavery and even harder still to know the exact number of people who escaped with the help of the Underground Railroad because no complete records were kept. Best estimates put the number at 100,000.
The thousands of people, both famous and not, who escaped or assisted on the Underground Railroad were very brave individuals whose courage, cooperation, and perseverance helped them to survive and endure. Here are some of the stories of these heroes and sheroes.
Brown, enslaved in Richmond, Virginia, convinced Samuel A. Smith to nail a box shut around him, wrap five hickory hoops around the box, and ship it to a member of the Vigilance Committee in Philadelphia. The box was 2 feet 8 inches wide, 2 feet deep and 3 feet long.
At 5 feet 10 inches and more than 200 pounds, Brown had very little space for movement. Even though the box was marked “This side up with care,” he spent some of the time upside down. He could not shift his position because that might attract attention. Brown took only a little water to drink, and also to splash on his face if he got to warm, and some biscuits. There were tiny holes within the box so he could breathe. In all, the trip took 27 long hours. When the box finally arrived in the Philadelphia Anti-Slavery office, four people locked the door behind them, knocked on the box, and opened it up. Henry stood up and reached out to shake their hands. He was a free man!
Henry ‘Box’ Brown went on to speak all over the U.S. and Europe about his escape.
1827 – 1900
Born enslaved in Virginia, Parker was sold away from his mother at age eight and forced to walk in a line of chained slaves from Virginia to Alabama. After several unsuccessful attempts, he finally bought his freedom with the money he earned doing extra work as a skilled craftsman.
Parker moved to Cincinnati and then to Ripley, where he became one of the most daring slave rescuers of the period. Not content to wait for runaways to make their way to the Ohio side of the river, Parker actually “invaded” Kentucky farms at night and brought over to Ripley hundreds of slaves. He kept records of those he had guided towards freedom, but he destroyed the notes in 1850 after realizing how the Fugitive Slave Law threatened his home, his business, and his family’s future.
1839 – 1915
Years of working on ships around Charleston, South Carolina paid off for Robert Smalls and twelve other enslaved people. On May 13, 1862, Smalls, his wife and two children, and twelve other slaves took over the Planter, a steamboat built to haul cotton.
Dressed as the captain, Smalls used the signals he knew would allow passage by Fort Sumter. He then steered the ship towards the Union Navy, which was currently blockading the port. Hoisting the white flag of surrender, Smalls offered the boat to the Union forces.
Not only had he won freedom for himself, his family, and twelve others, but Smalls had also given the Union a ship, weapons, and important information about the Confederates’ defenses. President Lincoln authorized a bill giving Smalls $1500 for his actions. He was named captain of the Planter, and took part in seventeen engagements (events during the Civil War) on behalf of the Union.
When the war was over, Smalls lectured throughout New York. He bought the Beaufort, South Carolina, home where he and his mother had been enslaved; he lived there for the rest of his life. Smalls served terms in the South Carolina Senate and House of Representatives before being elected to the U.S. Congress for five years.
1822 – 1913
When, as a young child on a plantation in Eastern Maryland, Tubman tried to protect another slave, she suffered a head injury that led to sudden blackouts throughout her life. On her first escape, Tubman trekked through the woods at night, found shelter and aid from free Blacks and Quakers, and eventually reached freedom in Philadelphia to align with William Still and the Vigilance Committee.
After hearing that her niece and children would soon be sold, Tubman arranged to meet them in Baltimore and usher them North to freedom. It was the first of some thirteen trips during which Tubman guided approximately 50 to 70 people to freedom.
Tubman spoke often before antislavery gatherings detailing her experiences. She was never captured, and went on to serve as a spy, scout, and nurse for the Union Army. When the government refused to give her a pension for her wartime service, Tubman sold vegetables and fruit door-to-door and lived on the proceeds from her biography.
Reconstruction
Reconstruction, one of the most turbulent and controversial eras in American history, began during the Civil War and ended in 1877.
Reconstruction remains relevant today because the issues central to it — the role of the federal government in protecting citizens’ rights, and the possibility of economic and racial justice — are still unresolved.
Central to Reconstruction was the effort of former slaves to take full advantage of their newly acquired freedom, and to claim their rights as citizens. Rather than passive victims of the actions of others, Black people were active agents in shaping Reconstruction.
After rejecting the Reconstruction plan of President Andrew Johnson, the Republican Congress enacted laws and Constitutional amendments that empowered the federal government to enforce the principle of equal rights, and gave black Southerners the right to vote and hold office, however, in time, the North abandoned its commitment to protect the rights of the former slaves, Reconstruction came to an end, and white supremacy was restored throughout the South.
Reconstruction During the Civil War
The nation’s efforts to come to terms with the destruction of slavery and to define the meaning of freedom began during the Civil War. The nation sought to define slavery before the slaves could define it for themselves – he who imposes the terms of enslavement will impose the terms of freedom.
From the war’s outset, the Lincoln administration insisted that restoring the Union was its only purpose and this remained President Lincoln’s stance. However, as military victory eluded the North, the president made the destruction of slavery a weapon of mass destruction against the South; and in January 1863, Lincoln “pushed the button” and unleashed the Emancipation Proclamation.
The Lincoln administration insisted that the preservation of the Union, not the abolition of slavery, was its objective, but as the Union army occupied Southern territory, slaves by the thousands abandoned the plantations. Their actions forced a reluctant Lincoln administration down the road to emancipation.
However, as an old African proverb says, Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree.
Emancipation only meant freedom from chattel slavery; it did not mean the enjoyment of human rights.
The meaning of freedom itself became a point of conflict in the Reconstruction South. Former slaves relished the opportunity to flaunt their liberation from the innumerable regulations of slavery.
Immediately after the Civil War, Blacks sought to define their freedom by reuniting families separated under slavery, establishing their own churches and schools, seeking economic autonomy, and demanding equal civil and political rights.
White Southerners, unwilling to accept a new relationship to their former slaves, resorted to violent opposition to the new world being created around them.
From Slave Labor to Free Labor
The most difficult task confronting many Southerners during Reconstruction was devising a new system of labor to replace the shattered world of slavery. The economic lives of planters, former slaves, and non-slaveholding whites, were transformed after the Civil War.
Planters found it hard to adjust to the end of slavery. Accustomed to absolute control over their labor force, many sought to restore the old discipline, only to meet determined opposition from the emancipated Black people, who equated freedom with economic autonomy.
Many former slaves believed that their years of unrequited labor gave them a claim to land; “forty acres and a mule” became their rallying cry. White reluctance to sell to Blacks, and the federal government’s decision not to redistribute land in the South, meant that only a small percentage of the Black people became landowners. Most rented land or worked for wages on white-owned plantations.
Sharecropping where Cotton was King
The Mississippi Delta was where “cotton was king.” The Delta plantation system started in the nineteenth century when white farmers went there in search of fertile farmland, escaping declining productivity in other Southern states.
They brought with them slaves to do the backbreaking work of clearing the wild forest and subduing the Mississippi River with levees. As a result of the slaves’ labor, the Delta became the richest cotton-farming land in the country.
The Delta stretches 200 beautiful miles – from Memphis, Tennessee, down to Vicksburg, Mississippi.
Slavery and cotton production became synonymous with the Southern economy and Mississippi. Since the Mississippi Delta was the last area of the South to be settled, after the Civil War, the state became among the most reactionary and repressive states for Blacks, who lived with the daily threat and reality of violence.
Although Blacks outnumbered whites, the sharecropping system that replaced slavery helped ensure they remained poor and virtually locked out of any opportunity for land ownership or basic human rights.
Under this system, the sharecropper rented a plot of land and paid for it with a percentage of the crop – usually 30 to 50%.
Sharecroppers would get tools, animals, fertilizer, seeds and food from the landlord’s store and would have to pay him back at incredibly high interest rates. The landlord would determine the crop, supervise production, control the weighing and marketing of cotton, and control the recordkeeping.
According to my cousin, Doris Davis – “It was a hard life, boy. We’d get ten…maybe twelve dollars a bale and we had to work from sun up, to sun down – ‘til we bled – to make that. The school system in Mississippi was even scheduled around the crops; still is.”
At the end of the year, sharecroppers settled accounts by paying what they owed from any earnings made in the field. Since the plantation owners kept track of the calculations, rarely would sharecroppers see a profit.
The End of Reconstruction
In the 1870′s, violent opposition in the South, and the North’s retreat from its commitment to equality, resulted in the end of Reconstruction. By 1876, the nation was prepared to abandon its commitment to equality for all citizens regardless of race.
As soon as blacks gained the right to vote, secret societies sprang up in the South, devoted to restoring white supremacy in politics and social life. Most notorious was the Ku Klux Klan, an organization of violent criminals that established a reign of terror in some parts of the South, assaulting and murdering local Republican leaders.
The North’s commitment to Reconstruction soon waned.
Many Republicans came to believe that the South should solve its own problems without further interference from Washington. Reports of Reconstruction corruption led many Northerners to conclude that black suffrage had been a mistake. When anti-Reconstruction violence erupted again in Mississippi and South Carolina, the Grant administration refused to intervene.
The election of 1876 hinged on disputed returns from Florida, Louisiana, and South Carolina, where Republican governments still survived. After intense negotiations involving leaders of both parties, the Republican candidate, Rutherford B. Hayes, became president, while Democrats assumed control of the disputed Southern states. Reconstruction had come to an end.
After slavery ended, railroads and associated companies like the Pullman Car Company became a major employer of Black people.
The story of railroad porters is an important chapter in the history of railroads and the American West. The construction of railroads encouraged large numbers of people to settle in the West.
Many of those settlers were Black people.
Railroad companies barred people of color from holding high-quality jobs. Inventor Elijah McCoy is one example.
McCoy was a descendent of Kentucky slaves who had escaped to Canada with the aid of the Underground Railroad. When he was a child, his family returned to Michigan.
Elijah McCoy studied as an engineer in Scotland but was only able to work as a locomotive fireman upon returning to the United States, despite being issued over 57 patents for his inventions.
The phrase, “the real McCoy,” was created by machine buyers who insisted on purchasing only products designed by the inventor. His name is still associated with authenticity.
For the most part, conductors, engineers, managers and cooks were all white. Blacks were allowed to apply for jobs as porters, dining room attendants, kitchen help and freight handlers. Companies hired African American women as maids and kitchen help. Through their hiring practices, the railroads created one of the most highly institutionalized forms of industrial segregation in the land.
For Black people, being a porter and other service jobs were seen as an improvement over sharecropping, one of the few other opportunities open to blacks at the time.
For many Black people growing up in the South in the 19th and 20th centuries, the threat of lynching was commonplace.
Lynching, an act of terror meant to spread fear among blacks, served the broad social purpose of maintaining white supremacy in the economic, social and political spheres.
Although the practice of lynching existed even before slavery, it gained momentum during Reconstruction, when viable Black towns sprang up across the South and Blacks started to make political and economic inroads by registering to vote, establishing businesses and running for public office.
Many whites – landowners and poor whites – felt threatened by this rise in black prominence.
Lynchings were frequently committed with the most flagrant public display. Like a medieval execution by guillotine, lynchings were often advertised in newspapers and drew large crowds of white families.
Lynchings were covered in local newspapers with headlines spelling out the horrific details. Photos of victims, with exultant white observers posed next to them, were taken for distribution in newspapers or on postcards. Body parts, including genitalia, were sometimes distributed to spectators or put on public display.
Most infractions were for petty crimes, like theft, but the biggest one of all was looking at or associating with white women. Many victims were black businessmen or black men who refused to back down from a fight.
Newspapers even printed that prominent white citizens in local towns attended lynchings, and often published victory pictures – smiling crowds, many with children in tow – standing next to the corpse.
In the South, an estimated two or three blacks were lynched each week in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
With lynching as a violent backdrop in the South, Jim Crow as the law of the land, and the poverty of the sharecropper system, Black people had no recourse.
This Unholy Trinity of repression ensured Black people would remain impoverished, endangered, and without rights or hope.
When I wrote Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman, I wanted to create a retrofuturistic America that was as gritty and brutal as the world described to me by my parents (seen in the photo to your left) and other relatives; a world in which monsters were real…and bore names like Rufus…and Joe-Bob…and Shadrach.
I also, however, wanted to make the book an enjoyable read. My family had it hard in the American South (and North), but we have always been a people who encourage creativity and enjoy a good laugh. So, no doom and gloom for me…just a healthy dose of reality!
I am a Steampunk. I am a Steampunk author. I am a Steamfunkateer. My expression is rooted in Africa and in an America that was not too kind to Blacks, other People of Color, the poor, or women. My roots run deep and are well-nourished and I will forever feast from the fruit of the Echo Tree.
March 13, 2013
THE MAKING OF A STEAMFUNKATEER: Creating a Steamfunk Persona
THE MAKING OF A STEAMFUNKATEER: Creating a Steamfunk Persona
A persona is the fictional person you wish to have been had you lived during the period of time your Steamfunk setting covers, or had you lived in the world in which your Steamfunk stories are set.
Creating a persona takes some thought, a bit of time and a little research.
Deciding who to be is a fun and creative process. If you find it difficult to come up with a persona and a back-story, remember – do not take yourself too seriously and relax. The ideas will soon flow.
Here are some steps to assist you in the development of a Steamfunk persona:
Decide Upon a Time Period
Choose a particular historical occurrence you want your character to have been around for and, possibly, to have participated in; or choose a time you would like to further reinvent, or explore, or think had cool clothes.
Choose a Culture
Decide what culture your persona is from – are they from the Mandinka of Mali? A group of runaway slaves, now living in their own city in Mexico? The Black British underclass?
Research the clothes worn by your chosen culture during your chosen time period and establish your persona’s dress style.
Choose an occupation and / or skill set based on those used and valued by your chosen culture; or you can choose to be a cultural anomaly that travelled and learned abroad and now uses the skills of other cultures with those of your own.
The reason you need to select a culture and time period first is that it’s easier to determine what names were in use at a particular time and place. If you choose a name first then you may find it difficult to fit it in with the culture your character is from. Naming your persona Shaka Vusumazulu, a Zulu name, would not make much sense if your character is from the Oyo Empire (of what is now called Nigeria).
Select a Name
Every culture had its own naming ceremonies, practices, or manner in which names were given. Investigate the culture and see what kind of names they chose and how and why they chose them.
It is best to be as authentic as possible when selecting a name, because your name can open doorways to activities and points of interest for you to investigate in developing your persona’s history.
If your persona is from the Oyo Empire, for example, your name would represent your mission, your power and your challenge. Your surname would traditionally be given first, as family lineage is very important, and then the names you were given through various ceremonies (including your naming ceremony after your birth), initiations and deeds. If you wear a title, that is given before your surname. My real name – and title – for instance, would be said this way traditionally: Balogun Ojetade Farinmola Aregbesola Efunsegun Ogunyemi Oyabode Abeegunde Ige. My title is Balogun, which means “War Chief” and my surname is Ojetade, which means “The Ancestors are Royal”, indicating my lineage is a royal one. Each of my names tells a bit more about me. To know my entire name is to know my story in a nutshell. As my accomplishments increase; as my life expands, so will my names.
Once you finally decide upon a name, write it down and have your friends pronounce it. Do you like the way it sounds rolling off the tongue of others? Does the name lend itself to jokes or teasing and if so, can you handle that? I once introduced myself to a gentleman as “Balogun”. He responded with “What’s up, Bag-of-Bones?” I found that hilarious and clever, as I was very thin at the time. Others might have not found the humor in that; something to consider before making a final choice on a name.
Flesh-Out the Details
Once you have settled on a name, a culture and a time period, you can stop there. You may simply be Serengeti Jones, a 19th century British ex-slave turned monster hunter; or, you can go into depth, developing the ins and outs of your persona through research and imagination. For example, you may be Serengeti Jones, hailing from the City of Westminster, former valet of Lord Alouicious Jones – member of the London Hunter’s Guild and Lord of the House of the Red Wolf. During an expedition in Kenya, your former master was killed by a rabid leopard – the same leopard you killed with your steam-powered slingshot. Seeing this as a God-sent opportunity for freedom, you fled into the wilds of Kenya, leaving Lord Alouicious’ young son, Brent, to fend for himself. You soon discovered that Brent has become a Simbada – a were-lion – who terrorizes the village that took you in. You now hunt Brent and his lycanthropic kin.
Your persona’s back-story can be as simple or complex as you choose. Just have fun with it.
Of course, to create a more multifaceted persona will take time and research. So you don’t feel overwhelmed and so this stays fun, you can start slow and simple, adding more details to your persona’s story as you go along.
Some questions you can use to help develop a detailed history for your persona are:
Would your persona have been literate in your chosen culture/time-frame?
What type of clothes does your persona normally wear?
What type of clothes does your persona wear for special occasions?
How did people of your culture/time-frame tell time?
How did people of your culture/time-frame keep track of days?
What kind of religion and religious duties would be required of your persona?
What does your persona know of history/science/medicine/geography?
What type of money did people of your culture/time-frame use?
How does your persona personally obtain goods and services?
What were the eating habits of people of your culture/time-frame?
What does your persona eat in a normal day?
What types of wildlife live in your persona’s area?
How did people of your culture/time-frame deal with trade?
Who are your culture’s allies and enemies?
What are the military tactics and strategies of your culture?
Funkdafying Your Fashion
In building your persona, be sure that your chosen style of dress makes the statement you want it to. This statement can be bold, or subtle; serious, or humorous; frightening, or inspiring. Know that all fashion makes a statement, so what you put on will reveal things about your persona (and yourself).
You can spice up your costume with various props and trappings. Goggles, top-hats, bowlers / derbies (yes, they are the same – it is a bowler in the UK and a derby in the U.S.) and modified Nerf guns are common accoutrements in Steampunk.
See?
Hell, you could get really funky with your Steamfunk and mash it up with a little Nerfpunk. What the hell is “Nerfpunk” you ask? It’s this:
Heck, if you can Steampunk your Nerf, why not Nerf your Steampunk?
Personally, I am a fan of masks and masquerades. I am fascinated by them and by the implications of the mask becoming the face. I have even written stories about it and one of my favorite poems is We Wear the Mask, which was actually written in the Age of Steam, by Paul Laurence Dunbar:
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Soon, many a Steamfunkateer will don masks as part of their personas with the coming of a new and beautiful Steamfunk line of masks from master mask-maker, Shay Lhea, who is taking inspiration from my Steamfunk short stories and from the funktastic stories in the Steamfunk anthology. I am also creating a series of short stories based on the back stories she created for each of her masks. Be sure to check those out on Shay’s Oculto Masks website.
Creating a Steamfunkateer can be a rewarding – and challenging experience. Push the limits of your creativity and have fun with it. And, of course, always…always…keep it funky!
March 10, 2013
FACING THE FUNK: Renowned Mask-Maker to Create Steamfunk Line!
FACING THE FUNK: Renowned Mask-Maker to Create Steamfunk Line!
Carnival is a festive event that typically involves a public celebration or parade, combining elements of a circus, masking and public street party. People commonly dress up in costumes and/or masquerade during the celebrations, which mark an overturning and renewal of daily life.
Widely thought to have originated in 12th Century Rome – with its purpose being to play and eat meat before Ash Wednesday, thus marking the beginning of Catholic Lent – Carnival – also known as Jankunu, particularly in the Caribbean and the Southeastern United States – actually has West African roots much older than its Roman influences.
Spreading from Italy into Spain, Portugal, England, Germany and France, Carnival – by the 15th and 16th centuries – had become a rowdy tradition, featuring boisterous games and masquerades adopted from a variety of late winter and early spring festive practices. It was a time for ritual and play and by engaging in irony, disguise, laughter, and revelry, people sought renewal and growth for themselves and their communities.
The political and industrial revolutions of the 19th century had a significant effect on Carnival celebrations. With newly formed governments perceiving the festivities as civic events, urban street parades became more structured. Groups from different neighborhoods and workers’ guilds competed with one another for the best performances.
In the Caribbean and Southeastern United States, it is an undisputed African engine that propels this form of cultural expression and the African Carnival, or Jankunu has nothing to do with Lent or Christmas.
Every society, however inhibited or repressed, finds occasion for celebration, feasts, festivals, merry-making and the like – it is an aspect of humanity in which we all share. Most societies also have the idea of the masquerade or the costume in one or another form, whether in social or religious ritual, dramatic theater or the stage, or the street parade.
Where Africa and Europe appear to diverge in this respect is in the setting of costumed celebrations.
French, Portuguese English and Spanish colonialists held costumed balls. Individuals wore costumes and the merry-making was largely indoors, though spill-over onto the streets could be expected. It is the same today with the European Carnivals of Quebec, Venice and elsewhere and is also present also in the celebration of Halloween.
By contrast, the African style of celebration called for costumed bands, and for the merry-making focus to be outdoors, rather than indoors, similar to what we see with today’s Caribbean and American Carnivals.
Egungun
One of the clearest examples of the masquerade in Africa is the Yoruba Egungun Festival. During this festival, every family honors its collective ancestors, and all the members of an extended family lineage wear the same colors, thus constituting a “band”.
From the Egungun celebration also comes a feature that we find prominent in various Caribbean carnivals: throwing talcum powder on fellow masqueraders, from which comes the Trinidadian expression – “you can’t play mas’ and ‘fraid powder!”.
During the Egungun festival people wear masks to show outwardly that they are no longer themselves, that their body has been possessed by an ancestral spirit.
The ancestral spirits of the Yoruba are much more than just dead relatives, they play an active role in the daily life of the living. Believed to provide protection and guidance, there are numerous ways the ancestors communicate with the living, one of the most unique is their manifestation on earth in the form of masked spirits known as Egungun.
Ancient Khemet (Egypt)
The Greek scholar, Herodotus describes – during the 5thCentury – one of the ceremonial processions in Egypt: “… they come in barges, men and women together, a great number in each boat; on the way, some of the women keep up a continual clatter with castanets and some of the men play flutes, while the rest, both men and women, sing and clap their hands. Whenever they pass a town on the river-bank, they bring the barge close in-shore, some of the women continuing to act as I have said, while others shout abuse at the women of the place, or start dancing, or stand up and pull up their skirts. When they reach Bubastis, they celebrate the festival with elaborate sacrifices, and more wine is consumed than during all the rest of the year. The numbers that meet there are, according to native report, as many as seven hundred thousand men and women…”
Sounds like what today we would call a Carnival. Even in regard to Herodotus’ description of women pulling up their skirts, thousands of years later, at Carnival, they do the same thing.
Northern Edo Masquerades
Masking traditions are a major part of the Edo groups of Nigeria, who trace their beginnings to the kingdom of Benin, their neighbors to the south. Basic political units are formed from ritual ties. A council of elders within a number of Masquerade societies forms each small village’s government. Men and women of the Edo people belong to masquerade societies, whose primary responsibilities are to control anti-social forces and help to bring about a better, safer, and well-adjusted community or village.
The best-known of the Edo groups, the Okpella, use a widely varying range of mask types, which, according to some African artists, may take up to a year to complete. The masks that are created by the artist convey many different types of rituals and ceremonies. One example of this is a brilliant, white-faced mask representing “dead mothers”, appearing during the annual Olimi festival, which is held at the end of the dry season, and is worn by dancing kinsmen. This festival, as others do, signifies social control and ancestral reverence, celebrating the transitions of age-grades.
The Otsa festival embraces women dancers in addition to the male masquerade dancers. During the festival, the women come to the dance area with their masquerade celebration to sprinkle white chalk and water, which symbolizes peace and good luck. This festival annually celebrates the feast of Otsa to purify the land and reinforce community solidarity.
In addition to the masks and costumes worn during the masquerades, another vital component is the music and dance used to create the atmosphere that is conducive to capturing the essence of the spirit. The highly sophisticated dance helps expand more of the character being portrayed. Throughout the ceremony, the actions of the dancer may be something entirely different than the person beneath would normally portray. Atmospheric circumstances are another essential element to the success of the masquerade. The right mood and setting add to and enhance the integrity of the performance, inviting the spirits to join. The audience’s participation from the sidelines only adds to the intensity of the masquerade – clapping, singing, and dancing, allowing themselves to feel the spirit’s presence. This strong relationship between human and spirits is the grand hallmark of the Northern Edo Masquerades.
Caribbean Carnival
Caribbean Carnival is the term used for a number of events that take place in many of the Caribbean islands annually.
The Caribbean’s Carnivals all have several common themes, many originating from Trinidad and Tobago Carnival which is based on folklore, culture, religion, and tradition. Carnival tradition is based on a number of disciplines including: “Playing Mas”/Masquerade; Calypso Music and crowning a Calypso King or Monarch; Panorama (Steel Band Competition); Jouvert morning; and a number of other traditions.
Jankunu (“Junkanoo”) is a street parade with music that occurs in many towns across The Bahamas every Boxing Day (December 26), New Year’s Day and, more recently, in the summer on the island of Grand Bahamas. The largest Jankunu parade happens in Nassau, the capital. In the USA, there are also Jankunu parades in Miami, in June, Key West, in October and Knoxville, Tennessee in June.
Similar masquerades / street performance traditions, are found on other islands in the Caribbean.
Masks Get Funkdafied
Shay Lhea – owner and product designer of Oculto Steam Masks, which features a wide array of luxury, wearable disguises she considers to be ‘Alter Egos’ – recently discovered Steamfunk after reading a blog I wrote as a guest of author Pip Ballantine’s and Tee Morris’ Aether Feature, from their excellent Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences website.
Shay found Steamfunk fascinating and has decided to create a Steamfunk line of masks. I am looking forward to seeing what she comes up with. I am sure it will be brilliant, as Shay has years of experience using her extraordinary artistic vision, skill and talent in the creation of unique and innovative Steampunk – and many other – styles of masks.
Her adventure began when she journeyed to New Orleans for Mardis Gras and – on a whim – decided to make masks for her herself and for her best friend. Folks from The Big Easy descended upon Shay like ants at a picnic, demanding to know where she purchased such a beautiful mask and how they could buy one. It was then that she realized a mask shop was in her head and desperately needed to escape into reality and voila! Oculto Masks was born!
Oculto creates both ready-to-wear and custom-made Steampunk and carnival/masquerade-style masks.
Shay says that she especially enjoys creating Steampunk masks because Steampunk allows her to fuse her “love for history, antiques, handmade masks and creative writing all together!”
“I started making masks because witnessing how people felt and acted behind them mesmerized me,” she went on to say.
Shay seeks to use her masks to unmask the human psyche; to “set an artistic platform where truth can be expressed and prevail.” We look forward to her unmasking the psychedelic psyche of the Steamfunkateer.
We will keep you updated as things progress. More funky goodness to come soon!
Please, check out some of the other contributors to the Steamfunk anthology, who will be sharing excerpts and behind-the scenes happenings from their contributions to Steamfunk!
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com andwww.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached ateastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the film, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation.” He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check outhttp://www.geoffreythorne.com/.
March 8, 2013
STEAMFUNK IS A TURKEY DRUMSTICK!
STEAMFUNK IS A TURKEY DRUMSTICK
I recently made a comparison between Steamfunk and bacon and made the bold claim that the Steamfunk anthology is, indeed, tastier.
The BLA – Bacon Lovers of America – was up in arms! Ironically, the Turkey Bacon and Vegetarian Bacon branches of this powerful and imposing organization were the most vehement.
For my safety and the safety of my family – who loves bacon (in case the BLA is monitoring this post), by the way – I have decided, for this post, to reserve my comparisons to turkey.
Not the whole turkey, mind you…just a turkey drumstick.
Recently, it was said to me that “Research isn’t necessary. After all, I am just writing fiction. A simple ‘it happens’ should suffice.” To that, I say that the reader is more sophisticated than you give them credit for.
I would also say that fiction is not the art of just ‘making things up’. Fiction – especially Steamfunk and other forms of Alternate History / Alternate Reality – is a turkey drumstick: It is the bone of reality covered by the meat of creativity. Meaning, at the core of good Steamfunk is reality and then you add layer after layer of creativity around that core.
For me, Steamfunk allows me to explore, question and alter history.
I use history as a source and creative tool in most of my writing. Real world history has heavily influenced my writing since elementary school, since –after English – History was my favorite subject. History has been used as a source of terror in most of my writings, and speculative history is a major part of my Steamfunk and Sword & Soul settings.
Among all spheres of knowledge, History – as a device for storytelling – best rewards our research. It is not the absolute that it is often treated as, however. From the perspective of the present, the past cannot be known with great certainty. Thus, history tells stories of past events, and – like all stories – is told by someone for a purpose.
History can be used to enlighten, educate, entertain, inspire, and influence.
Alternate History
Two history types are very useful for writing fiction: Imaginative History is history that is wholly created. This is the history of most fantasy worlds.
The other type is Speculative History. This includes the “what if” of alternate history, as well as the projection of possible events into the future, which is the history of most science fiction settings.
Both types use historical analysis to generate a plausible set of events. This allows us, as writers, to tap into these created histories to add depth and life to our stories.
By far, the simplest technique is to take a bit of real world history and use it for inspiration. Alter a few things, combine fragments together, and you can create something with depth and character.
Begin with a change point – a historical event that you want to alter. From there, you can move on, creating changes until you end at the point your story begins. There are two theories with regards to change points. On one hand you can choose a major event, such as Germany winning WWII, the African Slave Trade never happening, or Frederick Douglass becoming President. The other theory is to change one small event and write what happens as a result, such as President Obama choosing Hillary Clinton as his Vice President, or Martin Luther King avoiding assassination.
Of course, you can combine these theories and come up with something really unique.
Whatever you decide to write, the next step is to show how and why the change in history occurred. For smaller changes, this is easier. The larger changes often require a summation of smaller changes, which result in the larger change. The earlier the change point, the greater the ‘snowball’ effect of changes. To be believable, you must do your research. Otherwise, you may make a mistake in some detail in setting or dialogue and readers who have done their research – a common phenomenon in science fiction and fantasy – are going to call you out on it. The readers’ suspension of disbelief will fade; they will close your book; and they will tell the world – via all the social media sites – how much your book sucks.
Although you do not need to be an expert, it helps to be well versed in history. I cannot stress enough that, if you are going to write speculative history, you must research…research…research!
Alternate Reality
You sit down to write a new story or novel. You want your story to be alternate history, with strong elements of fantasy and science fiction mixed. In fact, you want your story to be about Harriet Tubman. You want the world she operates in to be of the Steampunk subgenre and you want her – and others in her world – to possess “superpowers” (by the way, this has already been done in a cool and funktastic manner). What you are now writing is Alternate Reality – you are going to have to change not just history, but reality itself.
This means adding magic, anachronistic science based on clockwork mechanics and steam technology, psionics, super powers and the like. As with the altering of history, this will cause cascading effects on the timeline that need to be addressed.
If magic is possible, what does that mean to history? How would aether-based physics effect the development of social and political structures? If people can read minds, what does that do to concepts of privacy? If you have people flying around and throwing horses over houses, what purpose does society put these powers to? These are questions intrinsic to certain genres, but they also apply to the alternate history that introducing changes in reality can bring.
One of the pitfalls of altering reality is that suspension of disbelief becomes an issue. The degree to which you convince the reader these things are possible depends – once again – on the degree of your research and on your level of creativity.
Steamfunk is a turkey drumstick.
A grilled one; which tastes better than a baked one…and way better than a boiled one.
Hmm…is there a Boiled Turkey Lovers of America?
Hope not.
Here’s a list of some of my fellow Steamfunkateers. We’re celebrating the release of Steamfunk, so check out their sites for a funky overdose – which, unlike most overdoses, is a good thing!
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com andwww.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached ateastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the film, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation.” He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check outhttp://www.geoffreythorne.com/.
March 5, 2013
STEAMFUNK IS…
STEAMFUNK IS…
Life lived in a fabricated Age of Steam.
To fabricate means to “invent or create.”
Thus, Steamfunk, at its root, is the invention or creation of a story set in the “Age of Steam”. For the authors of Steamfunk, this Age is not limited to the Victorian Era (1837 – 1901). A Steamfunk story can take place in the past, present or future, as long as steam technology is the dominant technology in that story’s world.
My story, The Hand of Sa-Seti is set in 12th Century Kamit (A nation akin to ancient Egypt), while Black Caesar: The Stone Ship Rises is a Steamfunk tale set in the Caribbean of the 18th Century and Nandi is set in 1973 California.
All are Steamfunk; all are very different from one another.
As far as the “blackness” in the stories goes, co-editor and publisher, Milton Davis says “In some of the stories, the main character happened to be Black; but, in others, the main character had to be Black.”
One story in which the main character had to be Black is Benjamin’s Freedom Magic by Ronald Jones. Benjamin’s Freedom Magic is based on the amazing life of the very real Benjamin Montgomery, an enslaved genius who was also one of the greatest inventors in modern history.
Born in Virginia in 1819, Benjamin was owned by Joseph E. Davis, older brother of future Confederate president, Jefferson Davis. Benjamin was a mechanic who used his skill to invent a propeller that allowed steamboats to maneuver through shallow water with greater ease and safety. In the late 1850s, he attempted to get a patent for his invention. According to author, Ronald Jones “Not surprisingly, the U.S. Attorney General’s office refused to grant a patent to a slave. When the Davis brothers tried to patent Benjamin’s invention, they were denied as well, due to neither being the true inventor; how ironic that, when Jefferson Davis became president of the Confederacy, he enacted a law making it possible for slaves to patent their inventions.”
Upon the end of the Civil War, Joseph Davis sold his plantation and other properties to Benjamin and Benjamin’s son, Isaiah. The sale was made based on a long-term loan in the amount of $300,000.00. Benjamin and Isaiah decided to pursue a dream of using the property to establish a community of freed slaves.
Like Benjamin Montgomery, Ronald Jones – one of the greatest Military Science Fiction writers in modern history – used his skill and genius to fabricate a story from a man’s amazing life that is even more amazing; one filled with intrigue, action and wondrous gadgets.
Steamfunk is… Life lived in a fabricated Age of Steam.
And the heroes and heroines in every story in the Steamfunk anthology live those lives with great pain, weariness, vigor, ambition or zest.
Steamfunk is a life, or, for some of our more zealous Steamfunkateers, Steamfunk is life; however, it is somehow larger than life; more wondrous; more…funky.
And, for the record, the life that is Steamfunk is not “Black Steampunk”; no more than Steampunk is, well, White Steampunk. Steamfunk offers a look at Steampunk through a different set of goggles. Goggles with colorful lenses.
But, alas, I wax poetic. If you really want a great definition of Steamfunk, pick up the Steamfunk anthology. It can provide a much clearer definition than I ever could…and you’ll have the time of your life reading it, too.
Please, check out some of the incredibly talented and skilled contributors to the Steamfunk anthology:
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com and www.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached at eastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the film, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation.” He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check out http://www.geoffreythorne.com/.
March 3, 2013
MAKE MY FUNK THE STEAMFUNK, I WANT MY FUNK UNCUT: Steamfunk as Social Commentary
MAKE MY FUNK THE STEAMFUNK, I WANT MY FUNK UNCUT: Steamfunk as Social Commentary
Steampunk is a magnificent movement that is, at once, a community, a visual aesthetic, and a subgenre of fiction.
While much of Steampunk fiction seems frivolous and glorifies colonialism and classism while denying the horrors and injustices of the Age of Steam, there is a wealth of texts that deal seriously with a variety of complex, contemporary social issues, some of which have obvious tie-ins to technology. Science, mathematics, psychology, sociology, economics and yes, even computer technology – and how mankind’s use of these spheres of knowledge can lead to the best and worst of creations – are possible topics of discussion.
While the stories in the Steamfunk anthology are enjoyable reads – full of action, adventure, thrills and chills – they also pose important questions about the nature and the future of science, society, and commerce and issues of race, gender and class.
Most readers of Steamfunk will simply enjoy the courageous heroes and heroines, the bone-crushing battle scenes and the wondrous airships, aether weapons and mechanical monsters. Others, however, will consider the greatest virtue of Steamfunk to be its power as social commentary – which speaks, sometimes subtly and sometimes quite loudly, of the relation of technology to man, of what it means to be truly free and the ways in which industrialization affects how we relate to one another.
I knew, from the initial planning of Steamfunk to its release, that this book would be history making and world shaking; that the stories would be highly entertaining and deliver strong social commentary.
Why?
Because it’s in the pedigree.
Steamfunk is a subgenre of Steampunk, which is a child of Cyberpunk – a subgenre of science fiction in which the future is one in which society is largely controlled by computers, at the expense of freedom, peace and social order.
In 1982, in his Science Fiction short story, Burning Chrome, William Gibson – the father of Cyberpunk – coined the word “cyberspace”. At the time, few people had a concept of what such a term could come to truly mean. And yet, thanks to Gibson’s use of it, especially in his epochal cyberpunk novel Neuromancer, “cyberspace” gradually gained enough cultural credence to become the de facto name for the emerging World Wide Web.
Today, we unthinkingly use the word to refer to an everyday experience that didn’t even exist when Neuromancer was penned – but one which is arguably similar to Gibson’s vision of a “consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators.”
Science Fiction has always played an essential role in the dissemination and popularization of science’s most nascent and speculative concepts. In the 1980s, when we were introduced to a fictional “cyberspace,” we digested the idea until it became commonplace – a household word – and in the process, unwittingly prepared ourselves for massive cultural and technological change.
Since the Age of Steam and the scientific visions of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, Science Fiction has been a future-changing medium. Although its role is not necessarily to be prophetic, it often fulfills its own predictions in surprising ways.
We literally live Science Fiction.
Ideas that seemed ludicrous in Science Fiction’s “golden age” of the 1950s have long since become reality – geosynchronous communications satellites, famously dreamed up by Arthur C. Clarke; Karel Capek’s “robots,” first concocted in 1920; or cloning and neuro-enhancing pharmaceuticals, the subject of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, penned in1931.
Science Fiction allows us to envision new realities; to feel invested in science even if we do not understand it. By seeing a version of the future in Science Fiction, we can begin to appreciate the myriad possibilities of science and also explore the potential negatives of its unintended consequences.
Imagining our future changes our perspective. As such, Science Fiction has long provided its writers remarkable leverage for political and social commentary, touching on practically every major sociopolitical theme throughout the history of man. When the writers Star Trek created conflicts between the crew of the Enterprise and alien life, they were using Science Fiction to deal with issues of race, Cold-War fears, and American imperialism. What kind of long-term effect this had on the political consciousness of its watchers is difficult to judge, but such engagement with complicated social issues is not a rarity in the genre; it’s the norm.
True to its Science Fiction roots, Steamfunk takes our fears, hopes, and anxieties and frames them in a form that provides long-lasting meaning and value.
Famed Science Fiction author, Isaac Asimov observed that, “science-fiction writers and readers didn’t put a man on the Moon all by themselves, but they created a climate in which the goal of putting a man on the Moon became acceptable.”
The authors of Steamfunk continue to create such climates. What will the next “cyberspace” be, or the next Moon landing, and who will invent it? Will “Steamfunk”, “funktastic”, or “Steamfunkateer” become household words in the next ten or twenty years?
Science Fiction writers in the year 2050 will be imagining the year 3000, and beyond, and so on. It is a living, breathing tradition that informs the very world it critiques, inventing new myths, words, worlds and realities.
In addition to Steamfunk’s powerful expression as Science Fiction, just as powerful is its manifestation as Fantasy.
Fantasy, like Science Fiction, is a powerful tool for social commentary.
Loyalty, faith and identity may seem abstract to many, but in Fantasy, we do not experience these concepts in the abstract. They are, after all, real to the hero, in ways that evoke intense emotion in him or her and in the reader.
Our need to see the hero torn between loyalties, faiths and identities arises from a need to be torn ourselves – to do what we must; to believe as we do; to be who we are.
Fantasy stories, are fables of identity, set in a world where the demands of loyalty and faith are often absolute.
We writers are, indeed, some deep folks, ain’t we?
So, yes, dear Steamfunkateers, as you peruse the pages of Steamfunk and lose yourself in all that funktasticality…realize that what you hold in your hands just might be the window to your future, or the keys that unlock the mysteries of your past.
So keep your goggles shined and your top-hats at the ready Steamfunkateers. The airship Sweet Chariot has landed and it’s delivering uncut (Steam)funk!
Please, check out the rest of the hearty crew of the airship Sweet Chariot:
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com andwww.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached ateastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the film, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation.” He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check outhttp://www.geoffreythorne.com/.
February 28, 2013
AFROFUTURISM-PRESENTISM-PASTISM: Catching up with time in Black Science Fiction!
AFROFUTURISM-PRESENTISM-PASTISM: Catching up with time in Black Science Fiction!
What if you could travel back into your past and alter something that would change you in the present? Would you do it?
Or what if you could travel forward into your future and alter your present? Would you?
Most Westerners speak of time travel in science fiction in terms of forward in time or backward in time. In the Western view, an event is a component of time – that time exists as an entity in itself, and it moves. The movement of time is forward, coming from behind us. As time moves, you must use it or lose it. If you do not use it, it is gone.
In the traditional African view of time, one might say that time flows backwards. It flows toward you from the future, and the more or faster the activity, the faster time flows. Time is created, in a sense.
Time is not something in itself. Life is made up of events, defined by relationships. Time is a component of the event.
In the African view, your activity really determines the amount of time that passes. Thus the faster you work, the more time you use. Time is not actually passing; it is simply waiting for you to catch up.
In the traditional Asian view of time, it is believed that what we call the past, present and future are mere illusions – fabrics of space and time, in which all exist seamlessly together. In this view, the future and the past are not any different.
Recent research suggests that, in fact, the present can change the past and the future can change the present. This is known as retrocausality.
Retrocausality has powerful and interesting implications for your life. The opportunity to change something about your present life that was originally set in motion in your past – or, the ability to use the future, even though it hasn’t “happened” yet, from your time-frame, to change something in the present – is a powerful thing. In effect, the results of your choice can be seen before you’ve even made it.
Seeing time, however, from the perspective of retrocausality is helpful with many people in need of psychotherapy and with those who feel “stuck” and unable to change or grow.
If it is, indeed, true that what we label past, present and future are all one, an event in either the past or the future could alter the one we call “the present.” Suppose, then, that you could shift something that occurred in your past, which created your future – which is now the present. Similarly, if you saw your future, based upon what you’re doing right now, and altered that, could it also transform your present?
These topics have been explored, in depth, in many movies, including the Back to the Future trilogy, the four Terminator films and in the hilarious Hot Tub Time Machine.
Time and time travel have also been explored in science fiction and fantasy.
In my latest novel, Redeemer, the hero, Ezekiel Cross is – as author D.K. Gaston described him – “literally a man running out of time”.
Sent nearly thirty years into the past as an unwilling subject in a time travel experiment, he must save his younger self from the deadly path that forged him into the ruthless killer he now is.
Described as an Urban Fantasy thriller, Redeemer is both gangster saga and science fiction epic.
Retrocausality…explored and experienced on the mean streets of the past, present and future.
Ezekiel uses retrocausality in attempt to change his condition in both the past and the future. Let’s hop into Ezekiel’s shoes for a bit and experience a bit of retrocausality ourselves.
How?
Here are some suggestions:
1. Identify a meaningful turning point or event in your life in which you made a decision or were moved by circumstances to go in one direction vs. another, and that you know forged a path in your life that you wish it hadn’t. It might have concerned a feature of your personality that became reinforced through your behavior, associations, or personal values. Perhaps particular interests that grew or an educational choice you made. Or a relationship you began or committed to.
2. Write down what you wish you had known then and how you would have liked to act differently, in that turning point. Then, envision inhabiting the person you were at that earlier time. Show your earlier self what he/she needs to know or do, right now, in order to shift direction or change in some way. Do this exercise during meditation or a period of quite reflection.
3. Now, envision that you have actually become the person who could have emerged from that earlier shift. Imagine incorporating the emotions, state of mind and capacities that would have resulted. Envision that you are that person you might have been. Reflect on how you can integrate the results of the past you have “changed” into your life in the present. What new intentions or emotions arise within you and what can you do with them? Remember, your experience of reality is constructed within your head, your consciousness. That experience can change by “changing” your past.
4. Next flip this around: Teleport yourself into the future that you desire. Use your imagination to envision the person you would like to be in your future; the person who is already there. From within that person, speak to who you are right now. Tell your present self what you need to alter, change or develop from this immediate moment forward, in order to be pulled to that future version of yourself that you want to become. Doing this reminds you of the vast power – and importance – of having an ideal: a positive vision of something that constantly beckons you and keeps pulling you along the path towards it, as it tells you that it’s already there – or could be.
Upon your return from this jaunt, studies have shown that, to avoid “time-lag”, you should pick up your copy of Redeemer and treat yourself to a great read!
Happy travelling!
February 26, 2013
BECAUSE IT’S TASTIER THAN BACON AND THICKER THAN THREE-DAY OLD GRITS!
BECAUSE IT’S TASTIER THAN BACON AND THICKER THAN THREE-DAY OLD GRITS!
That’s “Why should you read Steamfunk?” for a thousand dollars, Alex!
While some might argue that nothing is tastier than bacon – Steamfunk is certainly tastier than turkey bacon and, without a doubt, is thicker than three-day old grits.
See?
Now, I would argue that Steamfunk is much tastier than bacon. Whether you agree or not, however, you must agree that Steamfunk and bacon share some uncanny similarities.
Let’s explore the worldwide love affair with bacon and how it is indicative of the success of Steamfunk:
Why do we love bacon?
According to a recent scientific study, it is due to the Maillard Reaction, a form of nonenzymatic browning, which results from a chemical reaction between an amino acid and a reducing sugar. This reaction produces a wide range of molecules that vary in flavor and smell and is what gives us the flavor of toasted bread, roasted coffee, chocolate, caramel and – of course – bacon.
Bacon is made of mostly protein, water and fat. The protein is made up of the building blocks we call amino acids. The fat contains reducing sugars. Get that bacon really hot and the Maillard Reaction starts. And the smell of that sizzling bacon is enough to tempt even the staunchest of vegetarians.
And somehow you know, dear vegetarians…there is something deeper going on inside that sizzling meat. There’s some complex chemistry going on.
Well, the funky goodness that is Steamfunk occurs just like that bacon.
Scientists refer to the phenomenon as the Davis-Ojetade Reaction, a form of creativity and determination born out of a desire to see great Steampunk stories told from an African and African-American perspective (that includes both North and South America, by the way).
After a conversation with other authors online, in which we decided to tell our stories in this fascinating subgenre of science fiction and fantasy called Steampunk and to call such stories Steamfunk, Milton Davis decided to produce an anthology of Steamfunk stories. I came to Milton and offered my services as Co-Editor, extolling my knowledge of Steampunk, my Steamfunk / Steampunk blog and my Steamfunk book. After about five minutes of contemplation, Milton sighed “Okay, you can be Co-Editor.” And followed this with a barely whispered “Damn!”
I think that “Damn!” Was Milton’s way of saying “Oh, happy day,” or something to that effect.
We then posted a call for submissions and received a surprising twenty-one – we didn’t know so many people were interested in telling Steamfunk stories. While all of the stories were incredible, we picked the twelve most funktastic ones and Milton and this author added a story each to this Blacknificent mix.
Marcellus Shane Jackson created some hot artwork and voila…Steamfunk was born.
And somehow you know, dear reader…there is something deeper going on inside that sizzling cover. With such a diverse and talented group of authors, there is some complex chemistry going on.
And the funk created by this thrilling anthology is enough to tempt the staunchest Steampunk and the most reluctant of readers.
But taste for yourself. Pick up a paperback copy of Steamfunk, or grab one for your Kindle or Nook.
You can thank me for all that funky goodness later.
You can also thank some of the other authors – who have graciously joined the blog tour of the anthology – while you’re at it. They are:
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com andwww.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached at eastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the film, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation.” He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check out http://www.geoffreythorne.com/.
February 25, 2013
The Scythe – A Two-Fisted Dieselfunk Tale!
The Scythe
A Two-Fisted Dieselfunk Tale!
Dr. A.C. Jackson dashed into Examination Room Four. His assistant of three years, nurse Rita McCray, crouched by the window. Her face was a mask of fear and shock. “What is it, Rita? What’s wrong?”
“Those rubes have Reverend Mason surrounded in the street!” Nurse McCray cried.
“What?” Dr. Jackson gasped as he ran to the window.
He knelt beside Rita and peered over the window sill.
Four white men – their clothes and boots spotted with dirt and splashes of blood – surrounded a pudgy black man whom Dr. Jackson quickly recognized as Reverend Malcolm Mason, pastor of Third Baptist Church.
“I’m going out there,” Dr. Jackson said, leaping to his feet.
Rita grabbed his wrist and held his hand to her chest. “Dr. Jackson, don’t! You’ll just get yourself killed.”
“I have to do something,” Dr. Jackson said.
“Look out there,” Rita said, thrusting her finger toward the window. “The movie theater…my brother’s grocery store…the hospital…all on fire! Those devils have brought Hell to Greenwood. The best we can do now is lay low until this all blows over.”
An agonized scream tore across the blackened sky.
Dr. Jackson looked out the window in time to see Reverend Mason fall to the ground, blood pouring from a gaping wound in the side of his head.
Dr. Jackson slid down the wall and collapsed onto his haunches. “Damn, too late. Reverend Mason is…”
“I know,” Rita sobbed. “Reverend Mason was a good…”
A loud knock on the front door startled them.
Dr. Mason slowly rose to his feet. “Who?”
“Don’t go to the door,” Rita whispered.
“I have to,” Dr. Jackson replied. “Someone might need my help.”
He sauntered toward the door.
Another knock – this one stronger than the first – shook the mahogany door.
“Who is it?” Dr. Jackson called.
“My friend here is hurt and needs some medicine,” a nasal voice replied.
“You don’t sound like a negro,” Dr. Jackson said.
“You don’t either, boy,” the man on the other side of the door snickered.
“Please, go away,” Dr. Jackson shouted.
“Look, just give us some bandages and some medicine to stop pain and we’ll leave you and your place untouched,” the man replied. “We ain’t gonna hurt you, boy. Now open up!”
“Hold on,” Dr. Jackson said as he ran to a metal cabinet at the rear of the lobby of his practice. He yanked the cabinet door open and then withdrew two rolls of cloth bandages and a small jar filled with an amber cream.
Rita crept out of the examination room.
Dr. Jackson waved his hand toward the examination room as he shook his head. “Hide!”
Rita scurried back into Examination Room Four.
Dr. Jackson unlocked the front door and then opened it. He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Standing before the doctor were two men. One, he recognized from the Tulsa Star newspaper as Earl May, owner of May’s Masks, who was exonerated of the rape of a nine year old black girl. The other man, while dressed in soiled overalls and reeking of alcohol and sweat like his partner, seemed out of place. His brunette hair was immaculately groomed, his teeth were perfectly straight and there was not one blemish on his tan skin.
Neither man appeared to be injured at all.
Dr. Jackson extended the medical supplies toward Earl May. “Here you go. The salve is my own concoction; a mixture of arnica, camphor and brandy.”
“Now, that’s a shine for you,” the well-groomed man chuckled. “Smart and stupid all at the same time.”
“What? What do you mean?” Dr. Jackson asked.
Earl May leered at Dr. Jackson in a way that made the doctor feel like a rabbit that had just burrowed into a den of foxes.
“You should have stayed inside, boy,” Earl May said.
Dr. Jackson tossed the bandages and salve into Earl May’s face and then spun on his heels and darted toward the door.
A loud boom rent the air.
A searing pain clawed its way through the doctor’s calf.
Dr. Jackson collapsed onto one knee.
A second shot struck Dr. Jackson’s lower back. He collapsed onto his side.
The doctor rolled onto his back, desperately grasping at consciousness yet feeling it slip between his fingers.
Dr. Jackson scooted toward the door, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
The well-groomed man stomped the heel of his boot down into Dr. Jackson’s chest. “Do shines go to the same Hell as the white man? Why don’t you write me and let me know.”
Fire erupted from the muzzle of the well-groomed man’s revolver.
Waves of darkness and silence swept over the good doctor. His vision faded…his heart fluttered…and he was gone – taken by the waves to the land of Forever-Night.
Two
A.C. Jackson awakened in moist blackness and blistering heat. A small light, the size of the head of a pin, floated in the darkness, flitting about like a bee in a field of roses.
“Is this…Heaven?” Dr. Jackson whispered.
“No, it is not.”
The voice was soft, yet strong, like a brass dinner bell. It did not, however, ring in his ears, but in the depths of his mind.
Dr. Jackson swallowed hard. “Hell, then?”
A soothing chime rang in his head. The rhythm and tone of the chime gave Dr. Jackson the feeling that it was giggling.
“Not Hell, either,” the chiming voice sang. “You are at the crossroad between the realm of the quick and that of the dead.”
“And where are you?” Dr. Jackson said. “Please, show yourself.”
“Do you not see me?” The voice inquired. “Here, let me come a bit closer.”
The miniscule point of light flew toward Dr. Jackson until he could finally make out its shape.
“You’re a…a…”
“A scythe,” the voice chimed. “The scythe, actually. My name is Ikukulu.
“The scythe?” Dr. Jackson asked.
“Of Death,” Ikukulu answered.
“And you talk?”
“If not, you’re insane; you are holding a conversation with me, after all,” Ikukulu replied.
“True,” Dr. Jackson said, nodding in agreement. “So, am I dead?”
“Very,” Ikukulu answered. “However, I brought you here to offer you a second chance at life.”
“How? Why?” Dr. Jackson asked.
“When I venture out with my master to gather the dead, I am always amazed – and somewhat puzzled, I must admit – by the struggle you mortals put up to stay alive,” Ikukulu replied. “Life and Death are merely phases of existence, yet you cling to Life as if it is the most precious thing in creation. I want to experience Life in the way you do in hopes that I might one day understand.”
“And just what do you need me for?”
“I want to become one with your Ori Inu – your subconscious mind,” Ikukulu replied. “Doing so will allow me to feel what you feel; do what you do; be who you are. In exchange, I will grant you life…and a portion of my power, so you can avenge your death and the deaths of all those people in the Greenwood neighborhood of Tulsa, Oklahoma.”
“How?”
“Just agree and I will return you to the realm of the quick posthaste.”
“I…I agree,” Dr. Jackson whispered.
“Excellent!” Ikukulu sang.
The tiny scythe flew into the gaping gunshot wound in Dr. Jackson’s skull.
A cold, white light fell over Dr. Jackson like a blanket. He felt himself moving through something thick and gummy and dank.
A moment later, he was on his knees in the doorway of the torched remains of his practice.
Dr. Jackson pulled himself to his feet and perused his surroundings. Most of the shops, churches and schools were burned to the ground. The sky was black with smoke and great craters dotted the streets. Not one living soul – besides the doctor – was anywhere to be seen.
Dr. Jackson sprinted across the street toward where West’s Funeral Home used to sit. He stopped at a chocolate-colored hearse that was parked in the driveway and peeked through the driver’s window. The key was in the ignition, where old man West always left it.
Dr. Jackson opened the driver’s door. He caught a quick glimpse of his reflection in the lantern mounted on the side of the hearse. He snapped his head toward the lantern and stared – in shock – at his reflection. The bullet wound in his forehead was closed and not even a scar was evident. He appeared to be fifteen years younger than his forty-six years of age and his salt-and-pepper hair was now jet-black.
He rubbed his fingers across his smooth cheeks, shaking his head in disbelief. “A second chance at life, indeed.”
Dr. Jackson slid into the driver’s seat of the hearse and turned the key. The car coughed and spat in protest and then came to life.
Dr. Jackson hit the accelerator and the hearse sped off, leaving behind his beloved ‘Negro Wall Street.’
***
Dr. Jackson brought the hearse to a stop across the street from May’s Masks.
The street was quiet. The smell of baked bread, engine oil and iron assaulted his nostrils.
He crept toward the dimly lit mask shop. When he was within a foot of the door, he felt a slight tug on his insides, as if his internal organs were being pulled by lines of fishing wire. He did not resist the pull as it grew stronger, the pull becoming a hard yank.
And then, he vanished in a cloud of dirt, which reeked of decay, mildew and muck.
A moment later, he reappeared inside of Earl May’s shop.
The corners of Dr. Jackson’s mouth curled upward into a smile. Thanks to Ikukulu – the Scythe – he now had power and he was eager to show Earl May just how much.
A low, clanking noise issued from the back room.
Dr. Jackson crept toward the sound until before him sat Earl May, pounding away at a Death’s-head mask formed of tin.
Lost in his work and with his back to Dr. Jackson, May took no notice as the doctor sauntered toward him.
“Nice work,” Dr. Jackson whispered.
May leapt to his feet and turned to face Dr. Jackson with his hammer raised high above his head. “Who the hell?”
May’s eyes widened in shock as he recognized the man standing before him, his suit caked in blood and reeking of death. “No…it can’t be! We killed you!”
Earl May brought the hammer down.
Doctor Jackson raised his arm to block the blow.
The hammer slammed into the doctor’s forearm with a loud crack.
The head of the hammer flew across the room as the hammer’s haft shattered.
To Dr. Jackson, the strike felt no more bothersome than a blow from a rolled up newspaper.
The doctor countered with a strike of his own, his fist flying into Earl May’s chest like a cannonball.
The mask maker slid backward, coming to an abrupt stop when his back collided with the wall behind him.
May collapsed onto his knees, clutching at his chest as he struggled to suck in quick, erratic breaths between his slack and drooling lips.
“Can’t breathe, eh?” Dr. Jackson said as he crept toward Earl May. “Your sternum is fractured. Tell me the name of the man who shot me in the head and I’ll fix you right up.”
May lowered his gaze. A line of spittle fell onto his lap.
Dr. Jackson drove his knee into May’s bicep.
May screamed in agony as the bones in his upper arm shattered from the pulverizing force of the blow.
“I will break every bone in your boorish body if you don’t tell me the man’s name right now.”
“Okay, okay!” May cried. “He’s my cousin…lives in Atlanta, Georgia…”
“His name!” Dr. Jackson hissed.
“Woodruff,” Earl May gasped. “Ernest Woodruff.”
Three
“Now ain’t this a kick in the head?”
A beautiful woman, with cinnamon skin and a strut like a lioness on the hunt, stormed into A.C. Jackson’s office.
“What’s wrong, Marie?” The doctor asked.
“That Scythe cat hit another Coca-Cola truck, Dr. Cygnet,” she replied, calling him by the name he had worn since relocating to Atlanta a little over a year ago.
“Scythe?” the doctor inquired, feigning ignorance.
“That’s what all the newspapers are calling him,” Marie replied. “He keeps sabotaging Coca-Cola shipments, setting the trucks on fire…terrorizing the drivers. Deliveries to pharmacies are late as hell. I ordered a crate a week ago and still haven’t gotten it.”
Marie’s curly, brown hair danced upon her shoulders as she shook her head. “I can’t run a pharmacy without Coca-Cola! Applesauce!”
“Negroes need to get together and we make our own fountain drink,” Dr. ‘Cygnet’ said.
“Earl Woodruff would burn Auburn Avenue to the ground if we tried that,” Marie said. “There wouldn’t be a…applesauce! I am so sorry, Dr. Cygnet.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Cygnet replied.
“No, it’s not,” Marie sighed, lowering her gaze. “After all you went through in Tulsa…I should have been more sensitive to that.”
“If you didn’t speak your mind, you wouldn’t be you, Marie,” Dr. Cygnet said, gently raising her chin with the tips of his fingers. “Don’t change that; it’s one of the things everyone loves about you.”
The doctor kissed Marie on the forehead.
Marie’s cheeks reddened. “Well, ain’t you the bee’s knees?!”
“And the cat’s meow,” Dr. Cygnet said, walking toward the door. “And for the hundredth time, call me Jerry…we’re partners.”
“Negro doctors don’t get the recognition they deserve,” Marie said. “So, I want the world to give you your due. Besides, one day, you’re gonna be my husband, so I wanna show you off.”
“Your husband?” Dr. Cygnet chuckled. “We haven’t even gone out to dinner yet.”
“I guess we’d better do something about that, then,” Marie said.
“How about this Friday? Dr. Cygnet asked. “At the Municipal Market?”
“It’s a date,” Marie replied.
Dr. Cygnet nodded, tossed his fedora onto his head and stepped a foot out of the door. “I have a house-call; if it runs long, I will see you in the morning.”
“Be safe, Doc’,” Marie said.
“Always,” Dr. Cygnet replied as he left the office. “Safer than Citizen’s Trust.”
***
The night air was muggy; warm. But the heart of the man sitting at the wheel of the chocolate-colored hearse was cold; as cold as the grave.
The tin Death’s-head mask he had taken from Earl May’s shop – now tarnished a dull grey – turned each exhalation from his nostrils into an eerie, metallic hiss.
The mask, his mahogany, leather vest, mahogany denim trousers, dark brown boots and worn leather gaiters gave him the appearance of a militant Papa Ghede – the Haitian Vodoun spirit of the grave. A fitting image for the Scythe of Death.
A flash of red and white whizzed by the hearse.
The Scythe whipped the hearse onto Peachtree Street and he took off behind the speeding truck.
He slammed the heel of his combat boot down onto the accelerator as his gloved hand shifted the hearse into high gear.
The vehicle flew down Peachtree Street like a bullet fired from a carbine, quickly closing on the Coca-Cola truck.
The Scythe cut the wheel hard as the hearse came upon the truck’s left flank.
The hearse slammed into the side of the truck.
The truck swerved to the right, squealing as its driver tried to right the vehicle.
The Scythe slammed the hearse into the truck’s flank once more.
The smell of burnt rubber filled the air as the truck’s brakes and wheels struggled against the hearse’s onslaught.
The truck came to a crashing halt, its right side bending around the thick trunk of an old oak tree.
The Scythe parked the hearse a few feet behind the truck and then hopped out onto the dark street.
He vanished in a putrid cloud of dirt and then appeared a moment later at the driver’s side door of the Coca-Cola truck. He dug his fingers into the door and then ripped it off its frame.
With a snap of his wiry arms, the door somersaulted through the air, crashing to the ground several yards away.
The Scythe reached into the truck, wrapping his fingers around the dazed driver’s neck.
“No, please,” the driver cried.
The Scythe yanked the driver out of the truck and tossed him onto the pavement.
He waved his hand across the driver’s face. A second later, the driver went pale and he began to thrust his palms before and above him, as if he was trying to escape from an invisible box.
“No! Let me out of here!” The driver shouted. “The walls…closing in…can’t…breathe…can’t…”
The Scythe of Death stepped around to the back of the truck. He studied the large padlock that secured the sliding door. With one stomp, the lock snapped and fell to the ground. He pushed the door upward and inspected its contents. Inside were forty wooden crates, all marked with the Coca-Cola logo.
The Scythe stacked three of the crates on top of each other and then carried them to the back of the hearse, where he loaded them in.
He then withdrew a stick of dynamite and a match from the hearse. He struck the match on the palm of his glove and used it to light the stick of dynamite.
He tossed the explosive into the back of the Coca-Cola truck and then leapt into the hearse and sped off.
He peered at his side mirror and watched the Coca-Cola truck erupt into a ball of fire.
A metallic laugh hissed from the mask as The Scythe sped away into the night.
Four
“I want this Scythe palooka’s noodle!”
Ernest Woodruff pounded his fist onto his redwood desk. “Find him; give him the Broderick and then bring his battered body to me so I can lay eyes on that hatchet man’s mug before I bash it in!”
“No disrespect, but that won’t be easy, boss,” the driver from the previous night’s attack by the Scythe of Death said.
“What?” Woodruff spat.
“Like I said, no disrespect meant, Mr. Woodruff,” the driver said, his blistered face leaking pus onto the collar of his uniform shirt. “But the Scythe…he ain’t no ordinary lug. The way he moves…the things he can do…it’s like he’s magic or somethin’.”
“Magic, huh?” Woodruff said. “Well, if he is magic, he will be brought down by the best magician money can buy.”
“Harry Houdini?” The driver asked.
“No, Houdini is an escape artist…a prestidigitator,” Woodruff replied. “I’m talking about real magic…and a real magician…Dai Vernon.”
***
Dr. Jerry Cygnet stepped into the lobby of his practice. Marie rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and then planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Someone is in a good mood,” Dr. Cygnet said.
“When I got here, I found not one crate of Coca-Cola at our door, but three!” Marie said. “Ain’t that the bee’s knees?!”
“It certainly is,” Dr. Cygnet replied. “How did this minor miracle happen?”
“I don’t know,” Marie said. “I’m just grateful that…”
The door flew open, interrupting them. Two men entered – one, dressed in a tailored, navy-blue silk suit and a navy blue Hamburg hat. The other, dressed in a Coca-Cola uniform – and approached Marie and the doctor.
Doctor Cygnet recognized the man in uniform as the driver of the Coca-Cola truck he attacked the previous night.
“How can we help you, gentlemen?” Dr. Cygnet asked.
“The shine…umm…shoeshine man who works in the lobby of our place of employment told us the pharmacist here sells an over-the-counter salve that works wonders on burns and for pain,” the man in the suit replied. “As you can see, my friend here is in need.”
“Well, then, follow me,” Marie said, walking toward her section of the practice.
The men followed closely behind Marie, admiring her curvy body as she glided behind her glass display case.
Inside the case were several bottles of medicine, jars of salve and bottles of Coca-Cola.
“I see you work for Coca-Cola,” Marie said, nodding toward the driver’s shirt.
“Yes, I do,” the driver said. “We both do. My name’s Mr. Wallace and this here’s Mr. Wilson.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Marie said. “I’m Marie; Marie Lefleur. Thank Mr. Woodruff for me, won’t you?”
“Thank him for what?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“For the two extra crates of Coca-Cola that was shipped to me,” Marie answered. “I figure the company did it to make up for the late shipment. Nice touch.”
Mr. Wallace and Mr. Wilson exchanged glances.
“Well, here you go,” Marie said, placing a jar of white cream on top of the display case. “That’ll be two dollars.”
Mr. Wilson slid a five dollar note across the counter toward Marie and then picked up the jar of salve. “Keep the change.”
Marie plucked the note from the counter and slipped it into the pocket of her frock.
The men turned and headed toward the door.
“See you around,” Mr. Wallace said over his shoulder.
“You’d better hope not,” Dr. Cygnet said, stepping out of the shadows in the lobby.
“What’s that?” Mr. Wilson inquired, leering at Dr. Cygnet.
“If you see us again, that would mean you suffered some sort of trauma…some sort of calamity,” Dr. Cygnet replied.
“I suppose so,” Mr. Wilson said, opening the door. “Have a great day.”
“You, too,” Dr. Cygnet said.
The men left the office, allowing the door to slam behind them.
***
Marie removed her frock and tossed it onto the coat rack. She straightened her sequined, silver dress, running her hands along each smooth curve.
The door creaked open.
Marie snapped her head toward the door. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”
Mr. Wilson – and two more equally well-dressed men – sauntered into the office.
“Doctor Lefleur, right?” Mr. Wilson said. “These are my colleagues – Mr. Pratt and Mr. Turner.
“It’s Miss Lefleur,” Marie said. “I have a Doctorate degree in Pharmacy, so technically, yes; however, I am not a medical doctor and – not to be rude – but as I said before, we’re closed for the evening, so if you’ll please follow me…”
“What’s the rush?” Wilson asked. “Got a hot date?”
“Actually, I do,” Marie replied. “Now, please, go.”
Mr. Pratt and Mr. Turner lurched forward and grabbed Marie’s arms.
“We’re going,” Mr. Wilson said. “And you’re coming with us.”
“Let me go, damn it!” Marie screamed.
“Shut your mouth, smoke,” Mr. Wilson spat. “Or I’ll skin your black…”
“The lady said let her go.”
Wilson whirled around toward the metallic, hissing voice.
The Scythe stood in the doorway, the setting sun forming an eerie, silver-crimson aura around him.
“And if we don’t?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“Then, I’ll do this…” the Scythe of Death whispered, vanishing in a cloud of dirt.
Half a heartbeat later, he appeared an inch from Mr. Pratt’s back.
The Scythe wrapped his arms around Mr. Pratt’s neck and then vanished with him. The air within the lobby was replaced with foul-smelling dirt, which left Marie, Mr. Wilson and Mr. Turner gagging and unable to see more than an inch in front of their faces.
Mr. Pratt’s tortured screams tore through the putrid cloud. Mr. Turner jumped at the blood-curdling din.
Marie snatched her arm from Mr. Turner’s grasp, dropped to her knees and – using her familiarity with the environment in lieu of her vision – crawled to her counter and took refuge behind it.
Mr. Wilson and Mr. Turner stumbled out of the office and onto Auburn Avenue, coughing the rank dirt out of their lungs and brushing it from their clothes.
The Scythe appeared before them.
“Where’s Pratt?” Mr. Turner spat as he thrust his thick fingers into his suit jacket.
The Scythe exploded forward, driving his elbow into Mr. Turner’s collarbone.
Mr. Turner screamed as his hand slid out of his jacket and fell to his side. His revolver hit the ground with a metallic thud as his arm bounced lifelessly against his thigh.
“That is a fractured clavicle,” Lazarus said, pointing at the bulge in Mr. Turner’s collar. “And this…”
The Scythe thrust the heel of his boot downward into Mr. Turner’s knee.
A sickening din – like the trunk of an old oak snapping under the force of a gale wind – followed.
Mr. Turner collapsed onto his back, screaming in agony.
“…is a torn lateral meniscus.”
“You crazy son-of-a-bitch!” Wilson drew his revolver and squeezed the trigger.
The Scythe vanished just before the bullet met its mark.
He appeared before Wilson, thrusting his arm forward. The tips of his fingers speared Wilson’s throat.
Wilson staggered backward, clutching at his crushed windpipe.
A burning sensation suddenly shot across the back of The Scythe’s upper arm. He stared at it. A trail of blood spiraled down his forearm out of a thin gash in the flesh of his triceps.
He perused the area for his attacker.
A black Rolls Royce Silver Ghost limousine sat in the middle of the street.
A cabin door of the limousine opened. A man, dressed in a black, tailcoat tuxedo, exited the vehicle. In one hand, he held his top-hat, which he slowly slid onto his head. In the other hand, he held a deck of cards, which were spread like a fan.
The man drew a card and – with a flick of his wrist – hurled it at The Scythe.
The Scythe lunged sideways.
The card zipped past him, striking the door of the doctor’s office. One corner of the card embedded itself deep into it.
He looked over his shoulder at the card – the tarot card of Death.
“Good evening, sir,” the man said, bowing with a dramatic tip of his top-hat. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Dai Vernon…magician extraordinaire.”
The Scythe replied with a sweeping wave of his hand.
Mr. Wilson and Mr. Turner forgot their pain as they were ensnared in the crushing grip of fear.
Both men wailed in terror as they struggled to escape the stifling confines of some invisible grave.
Dai Vernon fell to his knees, his breathing shallow; his eyes wide with consternation.
The magician fumbled with his cards. With trembling fingers, he drew one from the deck. He licked the back of the card and then slapped it onto his forehead.
Lazarus peered at the card – an illustration of a broadsword with a golden crown hovering over it – the Ace of Swords.
The card seemed to shift; to liquefy. Its edges melted into Dai Vernon’s forehead, becoming one with the tanned flesh. The sword and the crown oozed into the shape of a closed, vertical eye. The eye blinked several times and then opened wide. Vernon no longer appeared to be afraid.
The magician stood and – with rapid flicks of his wrist – unleashed a volley of tarot cards.
The cards sped toward the Scythe of Death, whistling as they cut through the night air.
The Scythe disappeared in a cloud of dirt.
He reappeared before Dai Vernon and then lunged forward, driving the side of his head into the magician’s nose.
Dai Vernon staggered backward, a web of blood spreading across his face.
The Scythe exploded forward, whipping his left leg in a wide arc. His shin slammed into Vernon’s abdomen.
The magician flew backward, landing, with a thud, on the hood of the limousine. A trickle of blood fell from the corner of his mouth.
“That pain you feel is a ruptured liver,” The Scythe said, appearing over the magician. He raised his fists above his head. “The pain you are about to feel is your face being pulverized into dust.”
The Scythe brought his fists down with frightful force. His fists, however, met only the magician’s tuxedo and top-hat, which Dai Vernon was no longer in.
The hood of the limousine collapsed under the force of The Scythe’s blow. The front tires issued a loud popping sound and then hissed in protest as they fell flat.
He spun toward a rustling sound behind him.
Standing before him was Dai Vernon, now dressed in a white, double-breasted suit, white shoes and a white fedora. A red rose sat in hi lapel.
Vernon held up his fists. Between each finger protruded a tarot card. The cards were fused with the flesh, forming rectangular claws.
The magician smiled and then sprang forward, slashing furiously with his ‘tarot-claws’.
The Scythe parried and evaded the blows with feline grace.
One strike, however, met its mark, rending his glove and opening a deep gash in the back of his hand.
Another strike ripped open the flesh on his chest.
The Scythe grabbed Vernon’s wrist and pulled him forward and off his feet.
Dai Vernon stumbled forward.
The Scythe hammered his fist into the middle of Vernon’s forearm.
The magician’s arm made a loud, snapping noise as it bent upward at an odd angle.
Dai Vernon shrieked in agony.
He twisted Vernon’s wrist and forcefully pushed the magician’s fist toward his own chin. He swiped the magician’s claws across his own neck, slitting Dai Vernon’s throat.
Blood sprayed from the wound in a wide arc and then rained down on the magician’s suit, polka-dotting it with splotches of red.
The Scythe of Death vanished in a cloud of dirt as Dai Vernon fell, lifeless, onto the pavement.
He appeared in the lobby of the doctor’s office. “Ms. Lefleur?”
Marie rose from behind her counter, her fists raised below her chin. “Come on, then. Let’s dance!”
“I mean you no harm, Ms. Lefleur,” he said. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Actually, I do,” Marie replied. “But thanks to you, my dress is all covered in stinky dirt now, so…”
“Go home and change,” The Scythe said. “I am sure he will still be waiting for you when you reach your destination.”
“He?” Marie’s eyes widened with shock. “How do you…”
“As dolled-up as you are…it has to be for a ‘he’,” The Scythe said. “Now, go; and don’t fret, these men won’t darken your door ever again.”
Marie went to the door and peeked outside. “Dang, I guess they won’t. Your handiwork?”
He nodded.
“Okay, then,” Marie said, stepping out the door.
She poked her head back into the lobby. “Thanks.”
“Go,” The Scythe whispered.
Marie’s head vanished from view. A moment later, the door slammed shut with a loud bang.
“I gotta get that fixed,” The Scythe said, shaking his head.
And then he vanished in a cloud of dirt.
February 24, 2013
SWING DOWN, SWEET CHARIOT, STOP AND LET ME RIDE: A Steamfunk sneak-peek!
SWING DOWN, SWEET CHARIOT, STOP AND LET ME RIDE: A Steamfunk sneak-peek!
Greetings, Steamfunkateers! We are broadcasting live from the airship Sweet Chariot, which is now docked at AnachroCon, where great fun, good food, drink and entertainment and a whole lot of learning is taking place.
Many new recruits to the crew of Sweet Chariot have signed on, given their oath of allegiance to the Funk and have purchased their copy of the Steamfunkateers’ first guide to funktastic – Steamfunk!
Steamfunk is a huge book at 485 pages and every story is a powerful vision of Steamfunk from the perspective of fourteen of the best authors in Fantasy and Science Fiction.
Below, I offer a sampling of just four of those stories and will give more sneak peeks as we continue to tour this Blacknificent anthology.
Enjoy!
Benjamin’s Freedom Magic
By Ronald T. Jones
The Confederate stars and bars waved high above the mansion belonging to the Jensen family. Five airships descended upon the estate in V formation. The lead airship, larger than the others, landed softly on a patch of gray tarmac, its side-mounted turbines shifting horizontally to cushion its descent. Blasts of steam whooshed out of the craft’s side and top vents as its landing struts touched the surface with an impact lighter than a feather’s kiss.
Tough Night in Tommyville
By Melvin Carter
Thomasville had been founded one hundred and twenty-seven years back, and named after an eastern entrepreneur, Benjamin Thomas. Mr. Thomas and his public relations departments, both in house and hired, had webbed a myth that portrayed him as frontier born, bear and buffalo wrestling hellion, who became both a guide and later a scout for General ‘Ham Fist’ Hammond and his elite Eleventh Lancers. An all around American Hero, he was. The reality was that he had only been west of the Lanyard and into the North West Territories twice.
His only true adventure had been an upriver journey to get trading rights with the Chippewa-Sioux. The second, was as an older and wealthier man, dedicating a statue, to “Corny” Cornelius Opopo, a real frontiersman among whose accomplishments were, he had prevented one who had grown so fed up with the whining of Mr. Thomas on the expedition, from splitting his fat skull. Over the decades the bronze statue became that of the 5’6” potbellied businessman, rather than the 6’2” West-Man. Thomasville had become an important trade hub by that time. Not even the tornado of ’67, the occupation by regional separatists in ’73, nor the subsequent pitched battle in the Regulars counteroffensive.
Once A Spider
By Rebecca M. Kyle
A woman’s terrified scream forced Nansi to move with her day-to-night transition incomplete. Off-balance, despite the many years of nightly changes from two legs to eight, she raced through the tangle of alleys along the river toward the sound. Somewhere in the city, a big cat stalked, claiming the lives of citizens nearly every night. Nansi’s goal was to stop the deaths.
Keep to the shadows, her eight-legged mind, bent on survival, tried to assert itself. Hurry, her still-human heart urged. So she sped along on her eight legs, using the smoke from stacks to camouflage her inky form.
If the night sky wasn’t so thick with fog, the moon would be eclipsed by beautifully colored pleasure balloons owned by the wealthiest who enjoyed soaring above the city and looking down upon the silver ribbons of rivers and snow-capped mountains. Dirigibles, both great and small, also flew in more clement weather. These more sturdy crafts served for long-distance travel and the city’s emergency services, including the police and fire brigades.
So far, none of the denizens of this fog-bound city where a wide river met the sea were aware of her dual identity, but that could change any time. The more the cat killed, the more in danger the other shadowy residents of the city were.
The Tunnel at the End of the Light
By Geoffrey Thorne
Ol’ Moby spun slowly in the airtides, creaking and groaning as the pressure pushed it this way and that, giving the false but persistent impression that it was alive.
The giant spokes, interlocking like spider webs, the great corroded drum squatting at the hub, even the enormous bolts protruding from the thing like huge dead eyes, somehow implied the presence of some great beast or skeeter.
Of course it was neither of these things. The nearest anybody had been able to tell was that Ol’ Moby, one of the bigger wrecks floating in the misty aether a few leagues from Breaktown, was that it had been home to some manner of elseworldly persons many, many turns ago.
Those persons were all gone to dust now, leaving no clue about themselves or how they’d found their way into the Other Country.
Nowatimes only the homesteaders and the damned Morikans had any real presence and, of the two, only the homesteaders had been of a mind to take the place for what it was and put down roots.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpts from these funktastic tales dear Steamfunkateers!
Be sure to pick up your copy of the Steamfunk anthology and enjoy all the funky goodness found therein!
Also, please check out the blogs of several authors who contributed stories to Steamfunk. We will give away sneak peeks – and maybe some funky prizes, too – over the next several days. The authors and their pages are:
Milton Davis – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com andwww.wagadu.ning.com .
Ray Dean – Growing up in Hawaii, Ray Dean had the opportunity to enjoy nearly every culture under the sun. The Steamfunk Anthology was an inspiration she couldn’t pass up. Ray can be reached at http://www.raydean.net/.
Malon Edwards – Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Malon Edwards now lives in the Greater Toronto Area. Much of his speculative fiction features people of color and is set in his hometown. Malon can be reached at eastofmars.blogspot.com.
Valjeanne Jeffers – is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls. Her fourth and fifth novels: Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork will be released this spring. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/ .
Rebecca M. Kyle – With a birthday on Friday 13, it’s only natural that the author is fascinated with myths, legends, and oddities of all kinds. Ms. Kyle lives with her husband, four cats, and more rocks and books than she cares to count between the Smokies and Cumberland mountains. Visit her at http://bexboox13.blogspot.com/.
Carole McDonnell – is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson; Jigsaw Nation; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, and The Constant Tower. Her Bible study is called: Seeds of Bible Study. Her website is http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/.
Balogun Ojetade – Author of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steamfunk); “Once Upon A Time in Afrika” (Sword and Soul); “Redeemer” (Urban Fantasy) and the films, “A Single Link” and “Rite of Passage”. Finally, he is Co-Author of “Ki-Khanga: The Anthology” and Co-Editor of “Steamfunk!” Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
Hannibal Tabu – is a writer, a storyteller, and by god, a fan. He has written the novels, “The Crown: Ascenscion” and “Faraway” and the upcoming scifi political thriller “Rogue Nation”. He is currently the co-owner and editor-in-chief of Black geek website Komplicated at the Good Men Project, and uses his Operative Network website (www.operative.net) to publish his poetry, market what he’s doing, rant at the world and emit strangled cries for help.
Geoffrey Thorne – Geoffrey Thorne has written a lot of stuff in a lot of venues and will be writing more in more. It’s his distinct pleasure to take part in another of these groundbreaking anthologies. Thanks for letting me roll with you folks. For more (and God knows why you’d want more) check out http://www.geoffreythorne.com/.










