It’s been two weeks since I wrapped up the mess of a manuscript I’m calling Automaton. The absence of a writing routine has left me feeling a bit out of sorts, having open blocks of time after work. I’ve considered getting to all of those household projects I put off while I devoted my evenings to writing, or avoiding writing, but the motivation for fixing up my house has mysteriously evaporated. Strange.
What’s Automaton about, you ask? In broad strokes, it’s a story about a man who wakes up one day to discover he’s been enslaved. The servant to rich people who think he’s nothing more than an amazing mechanical curiosity, he does what any reasonable man-in-a-metal-body would do: he freaks out and runs.
Set in the twilight of the Roaring Twenties, it has elements of the steam-punk science fiction sub-genre, an “Undertown” below the city of St. Louis, gangsters and Irish coppers in the city above, a driven lady reporter, revenge plots, mad science… Wow, that kind of sounds like a good book!
This is what I will pick up as my first attempt at making a horrendously unreadable rough draft into a readable, and hopefully entertaining novel. It’s many months away from being ready to hand to the first-readers who impulsively (some might say foolishly) offered to critique for me. Until I start on that though, I’m kind of at a loss for what to do.
I guess I should build a fence or something.