Victorian Valentine’s Day in Steampunk London
I love to write steampunk because it means I get to mix past, present and future together and make something new. “What If?” is one of my all time favourite questions;). How would a couple in my Victorian London celebrate Valentine’s Day?
- Today we’d exchange emails or text a partner, but in my Victorian London a couple in the beginning stages of courtship would send a flockwork message. A flockwork message is a mechanical bird that records the sender’s words and sings them at the recipient. It would be fun and flirty and something they can share.
- A romantic dinner is the usual fare for modern day couples, but in my London Afternoon Tea at Claridge’s would be the equivalent. Of course the tea will be served by sharply dressed automatons who can outstep any maître d’.
- If we want to do something special we’d visit the theatre and take in a show or catch a great movie at the cinema. My couples will head over to the Globe Theatre and watch Shakespeare’s “The Mechanic of Venice” or “A Midsummer Night’s Steam”.
- If you want to be a little bit naughty your text or email could include a picture or two. In my London a couple would send an image (or two) through the Aether. Throughout the day the Aether terminal will ping when yet another delicious picture arrives. Hopefully the evening will be spent together admiring the real version;).
- A weekend away is definitely a favourite to celebrate Valentine’s Day. My couples will jump on their dirigible and take a leisurely trip across the channel and end up in Paris to admire the city and savour its delicious treats.
What is your favourite way to celebrate Valentine’s Day?
The Downside of a Good Imagination
I sometimes wish my imagination wasn’t quite as good as it happens to be.
I know, not something you expect a writer to say. However, it is still something I think about.
This is the first summer Emma, my cat, and I are spending together. I love my flat. It is beautiful and filled with sunlight. After all the moves and all the buildings I’ve lived in, this particular place has been the closest to being my absolute favourite. I just love coming home to it.
And still I sometimes shiver with worry.
The windows I just mentioned I loved so much because they fill my flat with light and warmth?
My biggest nightmare.
Emma loves to climb, loves to explore and especially loves to hang out on my narrow windowsills. Did I mention I live on the eighth floor?
She loves to look out of the window and I don’t mind her doing so on the window facing the balcony. But the one I have in my office, the one that faces an eight floor drop only covered by a flimsy screen? A screen only good enough to keep insects out?
No, I don’t like her sitting on the sill where she loves to press her nose against the flimsy screen.
It is all right if I can watch her or if I can push the glass part-you know the part I pulled back for that glimmer of a breeze-she’s doing it right now as I write…
I had to close it again and make the part of the screen she can touch less than the part of her whole body.
What if I wasn’t there and kept the window all the way open?
What if she enjoyed the sun and saw fly going past her face?
What if she leaned all her considerable weight against the screen and tried to capture it?
What if that insubstantial piece of material wasn’t enough to hold her back? I don’t know how much it is supposed to hold and my super isn’t particularly helpful.
What if she dropped eight stories and died?
Because in my head I can see all of it happening.
I can picture it and describe it in minute detail as if it was a story.
Let’s close the window nearly all the way and sweat a little more.
Does that ever happen to you? Your writer brain imagines all the possibilities and you do something just to stop the unlikeliest of occurrences from happening?
I find myself doing it. It’s a downside from having a detailed imagination…
Sneak Peek Sunday
Here is my Sneak Peek Sunday. Go here if you would like to see the rest.
Tangled Indulgence is out on March 1st. Here is a glimpse at what Adira and Mal are up to.
Adira’s eyes dropped shut and she tweaked her nipple with more force. She’d never dared to go commando. For a second she imagined herself in a short skirt, no underwear, in a dark alley. Mal pushed her unclad breasts against the rough wall and pulled up her skirt. She was wet. So wet moisture covered the tops of her thighs. His heat covered her back and the hardness of his cock burned her ass.
He rubbed his dick along her wet slit, covering himself in her juices. Then he pulled back and Adira dug her nails into the rough wall.
Her eyes shot open. Her hand fell from her breast at the sight of the man beside her. “Mal,” she croaked. “What are you doing here?” Realizing her other hand still cupped her wet pussy through her trousers she flushed and straightened.
Have a great Sunday!