The person who has no desire to go back and change something about the past is truly blessed, or completely oblivious, and very likely has no appreciation for the theme of time travel in fiction. That person may simply subscribe to the notion that since it's impossible they're not going to wish to do it. But the first purpose of fiction is that say, "What if the impossible were possible."
The astounding technological advances of the Victorian era might seem vastly eclipsed by the current digital age, until, that is. someone points out that the computer was the brainchild of Victorian mathematicians Charles Babbage and Ada Byron.
The Victorian period was a time of great scientific expansion, which also made it a time a great challenge to notions such as faith and the supernatural. Many pressed back against the great attack of rational thought by seeking out proof of the unseen realm. They called upon the dead to speak to them, weighed the bodies of the dying to quantify the existence of the departing soul, and even harnessed the power of inventions such as the camera to capture images of the unseen.
Science fiction is the romance of science, which may seem outmoded in today's saturation of technology, but a reminder of the source of all our current accomplishments will restore our hope in the ingenuity of the future.
The E stands for Engelbert, which was my dad’s first name. He didn’t have a middle name, perhaps because because he was born at the onset of the Great Depression and even names were scarce. His next older sibling was George Valentine Koch, quite an eloquent name, I think, but the youngest was simply Engelbert. And so I, also the youngest, as it turned out, was likewise given this name. As it happened, a couple of years later, a singer who had also be named thusly hit the top of the charts. His surname was Humperdinck. This coincidence would prove to be a point of some teasing through my early educations, as Humperdinck is a funny sounding word among English speaking youths, as are bumbershoot and blunderbuss, neither of which I hope have been used in the naming of children.
Like most writers, I had, in my youth, pounded away at an old Smith-Corona typewriter, bringing to life some of my dreams, and so, at length, I returned to my love of writing in about 2002 and commenced a path that would merge with the works of KW Jeter, James Blaylock, and other writers who explore historical science fantasies known as steampunk. But my love of steampunk doesn’t end with the beauty of its written form. On the contrary. I’m a maker too.
My middle name wasn’t the only thing I got from my dad. He was a bricklayer, and per the standards of the day, father passed his craft and trade of masonry on to his sons, with the declaration that if we could learn to do something else, “more power to us.” I was the far younger and scrawnier of his three sons, as well as, by nature, a daydreamer, and so, too often bored at the monotony of a craft that inspired a Pink Floyd song, sought the loftier and presumably more creative ambition of architecture. I finished my Bachelor of Architecture at the University of Arkansas in 1993, with studies that included the superior acoustical performance of ornate old concert halls and and immersive experience of urban design in Rome. The result magnified an innate love of historic architecture and traditional design principles built upon a foundation of passion for building and making and knowing how things work. Not long into the daily grind of drawing bricks in walls, my wandering mind again sought more satisfying expression.
Finally, I must include the basest fact of myself: that I am a dog person. I have a lengthy theory of not two but four distinction of people as dog people or cat people, but this bio isn’t the place for such ponderings. For now, let us move on with the assurance that a dog person I am, and this is my very special friend Parker, whom I found as a puppy, tied to a bench at Bryce Davis Park with a Spider-Man blanket (thus the name)and a bag of puppy chow. We are BBFs: Best Buds Forever! To the person who could not keep this delightful guy, we both say thanks. I strongly believe that a story is forthcoming of Sir Parker Brycebench, who is perhaps a detective among an aristocracy of anthropomorphic dogs, cats, badgers, and the like.
