Creative Writing Story

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Teh Brawler
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Creative Writing Story

Post by Teh Brawler »

So, this is a short story I'm writing for my creative writing class, and I wanted to turn it into a full story, so I thought I'd post what I write here. This story is about an alternative history where the steam engine is invented in 1253, rather than 1709. This causes a war that covers all of Western Europe. Feel free to post suggestions and comments. All the french in the story was found through google translator, so if you have a better way to say it, please tell me.

Prologue
------------------------

“It’s steam.”
“What?”
“Steam, Monsieur. I figured it out while you were sleeping. The easily obtainable energy source we’ve been looking for? Il est à vapeur.”
“You’re daft. How could it be that simple?”
“It is that simple. I have a working rig set up in the back. Entrez, s’il vous plaît.”
Carthwright threw the leather flap aside and entered the second room in the small mud cottage. Just as Simmons had stated, a small contraption was whirring on the back table: steam from a bowl of boiling water rose up to cogs whose teeth were fashioned from leather like ships’ sails. The teeth caught the steam, causing the cog to turn which activated the whole system that turned a makeshift fan, which created a breeze that lightly caressed Carthwright’s face.
“My word.” Carthwright stepped back in awe at the revolutionary piece of technology sitting on the table. Simmons walked up beside him, smiling triumphantly at his victory. “You’ll have to forgive me for stealing your cog design, but if it weren’t for the Jean the blacksmith, they would still be just that.”
Carthwright struggled to find the words to express his astonishment. Not only had Simmons found the answer to the question that they had both been asking for years, but the technology he had created to display it was unheard of. “Benji…how on Earth…this is…”
“Incroyable, no?”
“Absolutely! We’ve finally done it! We’ve finally found the energy source we’ve been looking for! We’ve actually done it!”
“We? What is this ‘we’? Imbécile, I’ve done all the work here! If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in Britain, making shoes!” Simmons smiled at his mock anger. “Of course, there is still work to be done. Minimizing energy loss, controlling water and steam input, applicational designs. Things that I might allow you do help with.”
Carthwright smiled back. “If you insist. But, if I may point out a flaw in your explanation: there is no possible way this could have taken a single night to plan, construct, and test.”
“C’est vrai, I have not lied; I completed it while you slept. The matter of what I did while you were awake is, eh, circonstancielle.”
Carthwright chuckled at his partner’s wit. “Well, even so, Jean will be busy making parts for us over the next few months.”
“Oui, Monsieur Jason. But he will be paid well. Even if I must rob my chickens of every egg they lay to make sure it is so.”

Chapter One
----------------------------

The year was 1253; the month, October; and the date, the twelfth. Exactly seven months had passed since the Brit Jason Carthwright and his French partner, Benji Simmons, had unveiled their “steam engine”, as they called it, to the Blacksmith’s Guild for development, and to the nobility. Since then, the entirety of Western Europe had exploded with technological advancements that were beyond everyone’s imaginations a year earlier. The cannon, a weapon invented only fifty years ago, was now completely updated with steam power, making it even more deadly. Horses, while still used in some cases, had been partly replaced by an intercountry tram system that connected all the major cities. Many professions now also had new tools to make their trades easier. Even those technologies that couldn’t have steam incorporated into them were affected by the new developments in metalworking caused by Carthwright and Simmons: the small cylinder created to be a piston was lengthened into a new gun barrel, barricades were insulated with iron plates that held together much easier, and bridges were given a metal skeleton that made them harder to burn.
Carthwright was strolling down a Parisian sidewalk, marveling at all of the apparent technological advancements visible from his viewpoint. Paris was a moderately-sized city, but its residents swore it would become one of the largest cities in France before too long. He smiled at the thought of the laughable oath, and caressed his new suit to once again feel the soft material, and to remind himself that it actually existed. Both Carthwright and Simmons had become very wealthy off of the profits from the steam engine, the schematics of which had been kept very private to ensure no one could steal their design. The plans to create cogs, pistons, and other necessary parts were also kept hidden, as this ensured that even those who could take the engine apart wouldn’t have access to the knowledge of how to build a duplicate. After the release, millions of clients had come to both buy a steam engine, and to have the two inventors incorporate some form of their new technology in their area of specialization, all of whom were willing to pay very well to ensure it. In a matter of months, the two had done the impossible by changing their social status with the money they acquired. Carthwright had just used the money to buy himself a new suit, and was showing it off to no one in particular by walking with it on. He laughed as the suit proved its tangibility, and continued on.
Suddenly, as if called to existence by Carthwright’s laugh, a short, stout man came around the corner. He was stereotypically dressed for the time period: a large suit that was comparable to that of the pope’s was accompanied by a larger hat of the same style. He had a staff with him, most likely for affect, and had a dignified air to him. As he noticed Carthwright, he laughed boisterously, and briskly walked to the young inventor.
“Why, Mr. Carthwright, how good to see you here in Paris. I trust that your success has continued on from its start seven months ago?”
“Aye, Monsieur Japeau, both Mr. Simmons and I continue to make profit from our invention. And may I say,” he added coyly, “You’re French accent sounds very English.”
“That may be true, Jason, but I could say that your English accent sounds very French.”
Carthwright laughed. “Touché, Monsieur. But the only reason that that is true is because I’ve spent the last three years in this country. And I’d rather have a French accent than a Prussian accent.”
“Very true, very true,” the Frenchman acknowledged. “But come, this isn’t the place to be chatting. Come with me to my house, where we can discuss matters in a more comfortable setting.”
Monsieur Henri Japeau was a rather influential man in Paris, owning most of the surrounding farming land. As such, he was rather wealthy, but didn’t express the fact drastically. His mansion wasn’t lavish, but relatively humble in stature, having only ten rooms, two of which were bedrooms. Decorations were modest, and the food was simple but still flavorful.
Monsieur Japeau took pride in his humility, and worked hard to stand out by keeping to the shadows. It was difficult, but those who loved him did so with more respect than usual, and those who hated him did so all the more fervently. And he enjoyed both sentiments.
As the two strolled up the path, Japeau started a new conversation: “So, any more inventions on the way?”
“I don’t think so, at least, not at the moment. We both think we should let the chaos from the steam engine subside before we start on anything else.”
“Very good, very good. One must always plan accordingly,” the Frenchman mused. “This world is full of idiots who are just waiting to satisfy their greed through the greed of the people. Take for example, the knights in your country. They flaunt their ideas of chivalry and romanticism, but for what? Only for their own gain, whether it be wealth, property, or a ’fair maiden’.” Japeau paused, thinking over what he just said, and quickly interjected, “I meant that in the best way, mind you. Your country is a wonderful one.”
Suddenly, a horse galloped up and abruptly stopped by the two gentlemen. The rider practically jumped off and began vomiting his message. “Monsieur Japeau, you must hurry! The Spaniards, they have declared war on France, and are attempting to take over the entire country little by little! His Highness has named you as one of the army’s temporary tacticians, so you must hurry to the border, now!” and with that, he rode off as quickly as he had arrived.
The two men stopped at the sudden news. Crying out to the messenger for clarification was pointless, as the messenger was too far now. So instead, they just stood there, absorbing the news they just heard. Then, without warning, Japeau cried out in shock. “Agh, mon parole! What is this world coming to? I must go now! There’s no time to waste! I have to get to the border, or His Majesty will have my head!” He began to run to the stable, where his carriage was, but suddenly braked and turned around quickly. “Carthwright! You must accompany me! We need a brain like yours in this matter!” He then ran back to the British inventor, and grabbed him by the arm.
“What? I-” But before he could protest, Carthwright was dragged to the stable, thrown into the carriage, and was on his way to the border.
Several hours later, the two men found themselves on a potential battlefield right by Andora la Vella. Shoddily constructed tents dotted the French landscape, while barricades and horses accented solid tents which stood on the Spanish side. It was obvious that Spain had been planning this, and were prepared. Within one of the French tents, several of France’s newly promoted leaders of the French army, including Japeau, conversed about the situation, while Carthwright and Simmons stood to the side. Simmons had been visiting his uncle, a duke who was now head of the French Cavalry, when he had received the news. He had been at this field for a week now, and his mood had deteriorated with the passing time.
Carthwright, on the other hand, had only been aware of the impending battle for half a day. His nerves were quickly waning, and the thought of war was causing him to panic. “Oh, if only I were still in Paris,” Carthwright moaned quietly. “Then the danger of death would be just a thought.”
“Ah, you Brits complain too much, and your pathetic fear of death is despicable,” Simmons retorted. “We French will willingly die for our country, no matter what. So why don‘t you laissez vos raisins à goutte, and accept the fact that you might die today.”
Last edited by Teh Brawler on Fri Feb 12, 2010 12:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
DOH HO HO WELL THEN
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Icharus
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by Icharus »

Looks like the start of something quite interesting. I'll keep reading it. ;)
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Anthroguy101
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by Anthroguy101 »

I see a potential novel of sorts. Don't forget to place religion in for dramatic effect.
(Wonder what 2010 would be like if that actually happened?)
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RaptorAnton
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by RaptorAnton »

Impressive...
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I'm from Russia, so please, don't pay attention to my terrible accent ;)
See me on DeviantArt.
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Teh Brawler
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by Teh Brawler »

More added. Not a lot, but more.
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Ebly
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by Ebly »

I smell steampunk
I was going to make a joke but then I did.
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Teh Brawler
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Re: Creative Writing Story

Post by Teh Brawler »

Ebly wrote:I smell steampunk
Such stellar olfactory senses! :lol:
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