Before starting a new project, I often jot down a list of things I want to put in it. Tropes would probably be the best catch-all description, but it can be a bit more amorphous than that.

When I started working on what would become Serotonin Overload, I looked at the history of cyberpunk and thought about what the genre means to me. What story elements are simply must have for this book?

The first two are obvious, springing immediately to mind along with the old motto “high tech, low life.”

As for technology: we’ve come a long way IRL since the days of Neuromancer or Hackers. Hey, anybody remember the TV version of TekWar? Anyway, the tech in my story isn’t dial-up. There’s no modem noises, no bizarre rushing forward along primitive CG representations of digital pathways. I won’t say that nobody ever proclaims “I’m in,” but I did not set out to write retro-futurist cyberpunk.

Body modification, though, now that’s a big one. Implants and other modifications are entrenched in the genre, and I’ve made liberal use of them. Any cyberpunk worth their salt has a cool, futuristic bike, right? And of course the rich people have all fled to orbital habitats, yeah? Leaving for the rest of us some horrifically sprawling urban sqaulor, naturally. And you simply must, must, must soak everything in at least three shades of neon at all times.

The girl leaned against her motorbike, arms crossed over her stomach, flicking the feeds with her optic. There was no moon, and the distant lights of the E-Ring glittered high in the southern sky. Ordinarily she never saw them. The city was too bright.

opening lines of Serotonin Overload

I’ve mostly stayed away from ideas of technology making us less human. Because I think the dystopia of cyberpunk has nothing to do with the tech, and everything to do with the people.

Because my “low life” protagonist needs a reason for us to like her, to root for her, she has to have something to oppose. And that’s the System, I guess, but in any final analysis “the System” is just people. Or, at least, some people built it.

(See also my perennial rant that anyone who says “that’s just the way the world works” can fuck off into the sun.)

The dystopia, then, was the second essential. Cyberpunk dystopias often make use of unchecked corporate power, contrasting the protagonist’s impoverished scraping with some unbelievably wealthy and seemingly untouchable villains. And yeah, I definitely wanted that.

Because I’m not doing “hey, cool future!” and this book isn’t about how it’d be kick-ass to have mantis blades or a little laser gun that folds out of your wrist. For me, what makes cyberpunk is mostly the punk half. Damn the man, fight the system, etc.

And that seems, to me, as apropos to our current times as it ever was.

So yeah, we have unchecked corporate power. Wealth and connections. Bigwigs squeezing the little guy. And I think I distilled the whole thing best in one single, tiny detail of worldbuilding: political enfranchisement is tied to employment. If you don’t have a job, you can’t vote. Get into your evil overlord mindset for a second and just think of the possibilities there.

“What’s the point? It’s a joke. What good is it to cast a vote when it’s been chosen for you by some C-suite board? What difference does it make?”

“None at all.” Skye laughed. “Government’s bought and paid for. The CEOs own it all. But there are many who find the illusion comforting.”

Serotonin Overload, chapter 12; in which our hero meets notorious terrorist Sapphire Skye

There are, of course, many more dystopian elements. Advanced automation, robots that TAKE OUR JERBS (but far more importantly, CEOs who choose cheap automation over expensive human labor especially when that makes for fewer humans who might vote against their bought-and-paid-for political stooges); massive, monopolistic mega-corporations whose owners live in orbital habitats while the peasants are stuck on a poisoned Earth… Oh yeah, is that the stuff or what?

We can’t forget about all the other people, going about their lives. All the ones stuck in the machine who haven’t opted out for whatever reason. Lack of courage, or merely lack of imagination. Sera calls them Strivers, punching the clock (app) and striving for their (unattainable) piece of the pie…

Cardigan was twenty-eight but could have passed for forty. He wore his hair in one of the four corporate-approved styles, trimmed to nanometer specification by one of the bot stylists in the 91st floor autosalon.

He had a job with Cross Industries. If he kept living frugal and skipping extravagant self-indulgences like real coffee, he’d be able to move out into the unrivaled luxury of a paid rental in less than five years. He was insufferably smug about it.

Serotonin Overload, chapter 3; in which our hero interacts with her neighbors.

Our hero’s got no time for that soul-depleting drudgery. She knows the truth: the game is rigged. Millions of people, giving over their lives for corporate profits. She’s not alone, of course.

Cyberpunk protagonists are often powerless, even to the extent of lacking agency in their stories. I like the ones who start out powerless but discover their worth and find their power. Even better when they connect with their fellow outcasts, and through this found family explore the options of collective action.

Then again, not every cyberpunk on these neon-drenched streets is in it for the greater good… It turns out there are many breeds of Striver.

She’d been a fool. He stood now revealed to her sight, ugly and repulsive. He was no noble rogue, not some high tech Robin Hood of the latter age. He was just another prisoner of the system of the world who wanted to procure for himself a more luxurious cage.

Serotonin Overload, chapter 8; in which the plot gets twisty.

I’ll talk about the next essential element, music, in another post soon.