Thursday, October 27, 2011



Hello! I am no longer here at all, I'm afraid.


Please follow me to my brand new, swishy website:




See you there!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Breaking new ground


7936 / 90000 words. 9% done!

Yup. Working. The more I work the less I blog. The less you see me here, the better!

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Steamlust ahoy!

Not long now!

Have you read the lovely review at Publisher's Weekly?

Wright’s anthology of sizzling steampunk romance is a sensual, passionate, and humorous collection of alternate histories, fantastical worlds, and time travel romps. The heroines are strong-willed, intelligent, technologically savvy, and elegant in their fashionable corsets. Some are attracted to men who are half-machine, as in Sylvia Day’s “Iron Hard,” Christine d’Abo’s “The Undeciphered Heart,” and Nikki Magennis’s “Make Your Own Miracles.” Others are seduced by the wonders of flying airships and robots in Saskia Walker’s “Heart of the Daedalus” and Sacchi Green’s “Fog, Flight and Moonlight.” There are same-sex affairs aplenty; the best is Anya Richards’s powerful “Rescue My Heart.” Not content to titillate, these passionate vignettes will also satisfy steampunk fans intellectually with nuanced discussions of self-sufficient women and the roles that machines play in our lives.

And have you watched the trailer lately?



750 views, and so far only one person's called it 'a bit weird'!

Preorder the book  here.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

A couple of good things

~ A new small stone:

~ A new book from an old friend: Beneath Sea and Sky by Shanna Germain - now available on Kindle, (or a Kindle app which you can put on your pc, who knew?!)

~ Ideas bubbling up like a squirt of washing up liquid added to a fountain. (It's probably bad in lots of ways, but oh wow, it's pretty:

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Reading for the Terrified

This is long because I want to record it for my own posterity. Skip from asterisk to end if you're as bored with my neuroses as I am.



On Tuesday I had the terrifying privilege of doing a public reading of my poetry for the first time ever.*



The fear started when I went in the building and was told the venue was on the 8th floor. Did I mention I am scared of heights? And lifts. So - stairs. No problem - only THE STAIRS WERE SEE THROUGH. Can I repeat that? THE STAIRS WERE fucking SEE THROUGH and Escher-style, extending over acres of empty space.

Dear architects. If someone is taking the stairs up high it is often because they suffer from vertiginous fears and generally neurotic tendencies that mean they can't take lifts. Especially see through lifts. Whoever designed this building, you basically created my own personal worst nightmare. That's amazing! How did you know?

(I have checked with boyf, who is an architect, and he has confirmed that when designing buildings like this very little - in fact practically none - thought is given to those with over-sensitive phobic glands.)

Anyway, I made it up the stairs - after stopping for a bucket glass of wine and squawking lots - and into the venue. On my own, as babe was sleeping in the car while boyf sat with him. I sat down and looked at the bright lights and microphone and reading stand and rows of chairs and my thoughts raced. I think I ran through about all the self hatred-want-to-run-away-can't scripts around forty times, while wondering how red my throbbing face was and how shaky my hands were and how frizzy my hair was. I wondered whether I would pass out before or after I'd thrown up, and hoped that if the latter someone would be kind enough to make sure my hair didn't go in it.

I'm taking the piss only slightly. I reallly am that fucking chicken. In fact, more so.

I'd like to take a moment to thank the stranger behind me who leaned forward to tell me I looked 'really nervous'. Thanks.

Anyway, through the preamble and a first, lovely introductory reading, I mostly sat and tried not to shake. I did a lot of arguing with myself about running away and forbidding self to do so. I thought about the reasons I could give myself for leaving that wouldn't make me hate myself. There weren't any. I tried not to dwell on the silent screamy voice that was saying 'you're an agoraphobe, you can barely leave the house what the fuck are you doing here?' - because that voice is a bit out of date. These days, I am no longer an official housebound agoraphobe, which is thankfuckery wonderful, but does remove the excuse and expose just common or garden cowardice in a rather unpleasant light.

A kerfuffle at the back of the hall interrupted my tortuous imaginary struggles  - it turned out to be a teary-eyed babe clutching ginger stuffed cat, and boyf, looking grim. Luckily babe wasn't looking for boob, but a hug, so shoogled in and sat and I buried my face his hair for a bit. I had vague qualms about being the freaky one with the screamy babe, but he didn't so I swallowed those qualms and got back to the ones about getting up in front of people and reading. It's hard when an unexpected diversionary terror stops you from concentrating on the main terror of the evening.

It's funny, too, how sometimes the smallest things give you courage. I only got through my driving test by staring at the cat hair on my jumper that reminded me of Petra.

Then they started with the poems. I was called up first. And actually relieved, because ho-ho, how sodslaw knewit typical, and also much longer sitting there waiting to do it and I would have started taking the chairs apart in order to self harm.

Then I went and read. It was okay. I walked up like a human being and didn't fall over. I had only mild out of body experience. I felt the cold metal of the podium and I hid a bit behind the microphone, and I managed (I think) not to go too fast. Because you're not allowed to say you're nervous and must look professional, I didn't make any jokes about shitting myself, but I did put my hand on my heart like to still it which boyf said afterwards was as bad.

So I blew the professionalism. Plus ca change.

I did two poems. Halfway through the second I realised it was far too long (a page), so sorry to the audience for that.

But fuck it, I did it. And although you're not supposed to say or feel proud of yourself, I think sometimes nobody else can know quite how much it takes one to do these things that terrify us, so I am bloody well going to. I also got to listen to some wonderful poems and meet some other poets, which was great.

I'm also interested that the night after I woke up from horrible nightmares about territory and accents. I realised that I have a lot of fears to do with being a foreigner, an incomer, to do with the hostility I experienced in my childhood. I realised that I have never felt at home in Scotland, but that I have lived here so long and got so used to being an outsider I never shall feel at home anywhere. I realised something about the audience, how it fascinates and terrifies me, and how we create our own head-audience from fears and ghosts.

*I am going to work on some (short) poems on fear and Otherness now.

Cheers, universe!

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Small stones

Somehow my calendar alert failed to alert me when my first small stone went live. So I'm late, but here it is, and do have a look at this lovely site.

Wednesday, September 07, 2011