Yeah, this could be a boring one. Not really! Triple Mocha Frapaccino from Starbucks and my caffeine and chocolate levels in my blood are coming back to normal. I’d hope to do a shop round today so, this could be somewhat fun.
In regards to writing…
When introducing a world or new land, try and describe as much as possible so future readers don’t get bogged down by too much detail. It also ensures people read from the beginning as smart arses complain you can simply point out that true readers would have begun at the beginning and actually read the thing. I know in Camden’s Follies I never truly described the male admiralty – just what the officers wore to distinguish them from the rank and file.
I did that on purpose as secondary or even primary protagonists don’t always need description as they require being depicted by their evil deeds. Not to mention, the true key villains are taken care of. Also, I like my readers to have to imagine a bit more than most for what the majority of villains appear as.
Yeah, I’m off the wall and different. It’s what makes my stories unique and my style of writing my own. Anyway, just enjoy the story/stories as they come out.
It may be next week or next year… hard to say some times, but I will get work out and to the reading public. Time to put the paradigm shift into top gear, yes?
Okay, perhaps a sampler or teaser… yes?
For Becky with a big hug for the other evil triplets, Charmaine and Kyrstin! To James, Quincy, David, Sam and David, Katherine, Marc, Misty and Karen – my muses from down under. I wish I could list all my friends and extended family, but for now I’ll settle for using your inspiration in the form of characters here in.
From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate
Chapter Index pg 001
Chpt 1 My Journey Begins pg 002
Chpt 2 Next Episode ~ When worlds collide and gentlemen find their mettle pg 009
Chpt 3 Pirates! pg 015
© 2015 Jon Corres Pirate Poet
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Part 1, Chapter 1: From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate
My Journey Begins
The main engine of the Queens Dirigible“Bernoulli” makes a chirruping sound as the propeller squeaks on and off. Forensic Physician Dr. Camden looks bored and frustrated behind his aged typewriter as he attempts to compose his thoughts. A brief flurry of screaming followed by heavy feet running to and fro cause the near middle aged traveller to look up from his palms.
The tall English gentleman sits in a confined space where he’s been trying to type his journal up. Young, relatively, Doctor Camden is dressed in khaki brown with a waist coat while his long coat is draped over his chair. His hair is solid black and the look of a well groomed upper class gentleman. His handlebar moustache seems a bit out of place as it covers his entire mouth. The lines around his eyes make him seem older in the dim lit cabin as he continues to stare at the ceiling, ranting out loud.
“Best to stay inside and not bother the professor… professor?! Hah! Daft old man and an even more dense pair of followers, I’d say. Six weeks and barely land in sight, a flight that was supposed to take half that time. I’m sat on my backside in this cramped cabin, not so much as a flying monkey and it’s far too cold out on deck to even try to take a photograph, decent or otherwise, of the, er seascape. I wonder why the captain even remotely tolerates the barmy old codger? ”
I begin to type again when a familiar odour wafts from beneath my door. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and petrol products forces me to open the window of my cabin, perhaps that’s being too generous. It’s a portal that is as easy to open and close as a whale bone corset! I’m wondering about my decision to trust these people to take me to Africa when I could have simply bucked up my courage and taken a steamship to Egypt before taking up the reigns on a fine Arab charger, something I’m more at home with than modern machinery that I have no idea how to operate and at this rate no desire to learn about.
“ DAMN IT MAN! I SAID SPANNER! NOT GIVE ME THE CAN OF LUBRICANT!!!”
* Sigh * My eyes nearly lock in their sockets as they roll up in disgust.
How many times must this buffoon, Scottish at that, forget that between his accent and his lack of linguistic ledger domain they have a hard time understanding him. Not withstanding the idea his “help” has a limited command of the English language. Blast this old typewriter! And who’s that at my door?
“ Mr. Camden? Doc – tor James Camden?”
I hear in a barely audible tone and in a very thick Portuguese accent.
“ Sir, professor McTavit needs you, sir… in ze engine room, we are, as you say, not sure ’bout what it is he’s asking ’bout … please!”
My frustration is at it’s peak now. First off, I’m a physician in training of sorts, something new called forensic medicine… dissecting the dead and all that to determine cause of death. I was supposed to be in central Africa with a company of soldiers working with their surgeon, a Doctor Hamslick from Kent. He pioneered this idea about five years prior on the behest of the Duke of Edinburgh to help settle a case of poisoning of one of his staff, nasty business.
I throw my long coat on and make my way behind a very frustrated and agitated middle aged man from Portugal who is muttering curses in his native tongue under his breath.
We arrive at the doorway to the engine room, just beneath the centre of the dirigible. It’s blackened and charred from a series of explosions and fires. McTavit won’t tell me one bloody thing about his contraption, suffice it to say the gears and inner workings seem to need to be kept both cool and well lubricated and that’s all I can ascertain from my personal observations and that would be all I know of it.
Well, all right I can tell it’s massive and took a lot of time to put together, but what fuels it and why it needs to be in a state of near bathing in oil… that one is definitively over my head!
I tried holding my nose as I entered but to no avail. My compatriot handed me a set of goggles to put on so, well, I guess my eyes would be protected or less likely to melt out of my head. It smelt like the engine room of a freighter, if it hadn’t been cleaned in about ten years! It felt like stepping into a really bizarre painting, everything seemed to be black and hardly discernible! I knew there was a lot of piping and that the head room was dicey at best. I made my way via the sound of the shouting and the expertise of my guide to have memorised his surroundings. Not too successfully, I must say as I managed to bang my forehead and top of my skull twice, I made it to my destination.
By the looks of it, the two yelling at each other were in the centre of a chamber of some sort. Openings at the top were in rows and lines, three roughly from what I could make out. The odd part was that there were what looked like mirrors or mirrored surfaces all over the walls and even the floor. I noted that there seemed to be some kind of clean – up under way. That’s when I saw the old goat arguing with the other poor prat, er, assistant. McTavit was old, with bushy mutton – chop sideburns and the complexion of a tomato. He looked a burly man gone to seed and was easily as tall as me, if only a tad shorter. His red hair was still visible through the heavy silver gray. He was even dressed in coveralls of a tartan nature, that is, from what was visible beneath the grime.
McTavit was pointing and looking apoplectic at the eastern most wall of reflective surfaces and moving his eyebrows like my old professor at Cambridge. I stood mesmerised till I realised that the wall of mirrors was slightly concave. I looked to their twin to the west and noted they were convex, perhaps they were supposed to be identical? That seemed to be what was getting under the engineers pecks. I shan’t bore you with details, suffice it to say that everything came to a grinding halt once my guide coughed and pointed.
And remember, it’s my copyright as the message above warns so… anyway, enjoy this snippet and let me know! I can probably have an Ebook ready as soon as I can wrangle a cover art piece.
Till Next Time –
~ The Pirate Poet