Steve J. Wright
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stevejwright.bsky.social
Steve J. Wright
@stevejwright.bsky.social
250 followers 230 following 2.1K posts
Arts and sciences person, very unprofessional SFF writer and reviewer, blogs at stevejwright.com. Mastodon @[email protected]
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stevejwright.bsky.social
Sorry, but I kept thinking about Trump's overall "strategy" for the whole Venezuela thing, and this image formed irresistably in my mind.
Screencap from "Withnail & I": Withnail (Richard E. Grant) and Marwood (Paul McGann) standing in the pouring rain. It's the moment where Withnail is saying "We've gone on holiday by mistake", only the added text reads "We've invaded Venezuela by mistake!"
January 4, 2026 at 4:53 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
... points for trying?
Me (fat bloke with glasses) with a pen stuck up my nose.
December 27, 2025 at 1:35 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
The woolly hat is nice, but it is not as good as the one I already have, which lights up.
Me, with more of my face visible (there's always a down side), wearing a woolly hat with a LED lamp, the glare from which is basically obscuring the upper half of my head.
December 26, 2025 at 12:33 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
My dear sister has sent me woolly things, including one of those neck gaiter affairs, so I can cosplay as a cuddly ICE agent.
Picture of me, muffled in woolly hat and neck gaiter, with only a pair of staring eyes behind my glasses visible.
December 26, 2025 at 12:29 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
If you see this, I IMPLORE you to post a picture from whatever device you're using without explanation.
An office. In the foreground, the top of a computer monitor, surmounted by a black and white picture of a badger. As requested, no explanation is herewith provided.
November 29, 2025 at 11:41 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
"Are you sitting two-square comfortybold on your botty? Then I'll begin."
Keir Starmer, looking serious as befits the Prime Minister, making an Official Announcement at a podium. Closed captions in front of him read "there's a famous slogan in the United Kingdom" (Also considered: "Skegness is so bracing" and "Santos Uncle Joe's Mint Balls Keep You All Aglow")
November 28, 2025 at 11:53 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Ah, brings back fond memories of my Economy Laptop.
Palm IIIx with clip-on folding keyboard, and yes, I actually wrote stuff on it.
November 28, 2025 at 9:21 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Hey, "Institute for Family Studies"? FTFY.
Institute for Family Studies article headline, amended to read "Men Are In Trouble. Maybe Not Paying Attention To Complete Pillocks Is A Solution."
November 24, 2025 at 6:21 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Don't think I can do a movie - how about an episode of "Hammer House of Horror", though? Specifically, the "Carpathian Eagle" one.
Screenshot from "Carpathian Eagle" where Suzanne Danielle is about to lure a very young Pierce Brosnan away for some involuntary cardiectomy. (Blonde woman in pink dress and white belt, and rather obviously braless, standing next to a hunky dark-haired guy in a blue sweater, sitting on a swing in a park.) That swing is long gone now, but they're in Lowndes Park, you can see Skottowe's Pond and what was then the Waitrose car park behind them. About ten-fifteen minutes' walk from where I'm sat right now.
November 23, 2025 at 9:23 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Convincing you to read my novel with the first sentence. Share yours if you want.

(Start of "Felons in the Eyes of God".)
Header line: Felons in the Eyes of God by Stephen James Wright Page 1 of 214 CHAPTER ONE Laura I'm reasonably sure this guy isn't actually human, and I am dead certain that he's creeping me out. Still. I need this deal, so I'm keeping the creepy feelings well under control. I hope.
November 11, 2025 at 1:19 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Something I wrote a while back, here:https://stevejwright.com/2023/02/16/now-is-the-winter-of-our-ai-content/
Books are not fungible. But AI content is. You can order it by the yard, or by the bucketful, or whatever metaphor appeals to you. It’s bean-counter heaven – you can get as much “consistent reading experience” as you like, any time you like, at the click of a switch.
November 10, 2025 at 1:12 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
People have been posting consoling cat pictures. I would follow suit, but am handicapped by not having a cat. So, I invite you to enjoy this picture of the absence of a cat.
Snow, with the rather cartoonish imprint of a cat's paws (specifically, next door's cat, just after it jumped off our windowsill.)
October 24, 2025 at 5:02 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
*sigh* Once again, I hate being right.

From my long piece (stevejwright.com/2025/01/30/t...) about AI and its failings:
There is, I suppose, one actual, valid, use case. If you want something with a predictable format, and one for which fact-checking is completely irrelevant – well, you could certainly get a chatbot to turn out any number of newspaper opinion columns, at least from some opinion-column writers. No, “Generative AI” cannot replace genuine human expertise. No, it cannot replace genuine human creativity. But I am not the only person to observe that it can, in fact, replace Boris Johnson14. Since I think Boris Johnson could be more usefully replaced by an empty space, I don’t think this is much of a win for AI. 14. It would not surprise me in the least if Boris Johnson was already using ChatGPT or similar to produce his columns. After all, actually writing all that stuff would seriously cut into his drinking and shagging time, wouldn’t it?
October 16, 2025 at 10:17 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
It's still ticking upwards. I don't think this is going to go down in history as one of Keir Starmer's greatest ideas.
Screenshot of UK government petitions website, the salient details being the title: "Do not introduce Digital ID cards" and the number of signatures: 2,360,393.
September 28, 2025 at 8:58 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
A little piece of Hookland has arrived!
"The Latchless Door: Rhymes & Songs of Hookland", seen here lying on a dusty carpet with the shadow of a dead orchid encroaching on the bottom right.
September 5, 2025 at 10:41 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Fellow UK peeps, please spread this one around (if you haven't already.)
Graphic from the European Movement: Leaving the ECHR won't fix migration. But it will: - Destroy our relationship with Europe. - Destabilise the UK. - Put us in Putin's camp. - Take away protection for our human rights.
August 26, 2025 at 5:57 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
Haven't read "Deathless" yet, though with a recommendation like that, well, I must give it a look. I was introduced to Valente through "Radiance", which I remember reviewing on my blog.
(Sample of my critical acumen appended.)
Radiance, by Catherynne M. Valente. Possibly the year’s most significant novel in the field of retrofuturistic cinematic epistolary dieselpunk surrealism. Admittedly, it’s not an overcrowded sub-genre, that. Actually, I don’t know quite how you would classify this one, if you worry a lot over sub-genres. The author herself describes it as a decopunk alt-history Hollywood space opera mystery thriller with space whales, and, really, that’s fair enough. (I think decopunk is like dieselpunk, only without the stains.) Perhaps the best way to deal with this one is to slot it into the category of SF that Brian Aldiss helpfully named the Widescreen Baroque. (And, as the old adage has it, if it ain’t Baroque, don’t fix it.)
August 24, 2025 at 2:17 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
From one of my blog's long screeds:
I’ve read a certain amount of the TESCREAL mob’s output (for my sins), and entirely too much of it is along the lines of “here are all the cool things we will do with nanotechnology/AI/aneutronic fusion/whatever, just as soon as those science peons in the laboratories get round to inventing it.”
August 9, 2025 at 11:29 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
"Oh dear. The Myrka."
The Myrka, from the Peter Davison era story "Warriors of the Deep". A not terribly convincing pantomime dinosaur.
July 27, 2025 at 4:03 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
#WIPSnips A room with a view.
Frythe sucked in air through set teeth. “Yes, well,” he said. “I think I may have to outfit this particular room as a private library, or laboratory, or something of that kind. I don’t think that my prospective patients would be terribly enthused by the prospect of what awaits them should my efforts fail.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “That spire, there – is that the steeple of -?” “St. Symeon’s, yes,” said Norris, as he stepped forward to join Frythe at the window. The view, when Norris was in a more fantastical frame of mind, always reminded him of a stormy sea – the rolling waves capped with white foam. But these waves did not move; they were the rolling shapes of hills, stretching away towards the horizon. And the foam caps were equally solid – the white of marble, of monuments; tombs and gravestones in irregular lines, many of them stained with lichen or partly overgrown by bushes or long grass. “The cemetery of St. Symeon’s,” said Frythe, “or, more popularly, the Shamington Necropolis.”
July 4, 2025 at 11:43 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
#WIPSnips N'se-the-knife gets a foreboding.
“Something is different.” There was a change, somewhere, in her surroundings – something she had failed to noticed, in the outpouring of her grief and the responses of the powers. Something mundane…. She turned from side to side, her fingers clawing at the air, trying to drag the errant sensation to the forefront of her mind…. “There,” she said, and hissed, and pointed. “The old house?” “It has stood empty for some years now, but there is a change, a change in its, its aura. Life. Life is returning to it. As if it wakens from a deep stupor. Nothing is there yet, but the change is coming.” “What should we do, Mistress?” “Nothing. The house has been occupied before. So long as we remain reasonably discreet, we need not be concerned by it. Go back to the others, Jared. Tell them I will return shortly.” “Yes, Mistress.” Jared turned to hurry back to the mausoleum. N’se-the-knife remained standing there for a few minutes more, her face thoughtful, her amber eyes turned in the direction of Hitherbridge House.
July 3, 2025 at 8:02 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
#WI{Snips Despite Berkeley's best efforts, the removals men keep finding things to worry about in Meredith's furniture.
The rest of the day went smoothly enough – not perfectly smoothly, of course; there were hold-ups and misunderstandings and a certain amount of strong language used. Berkeley was helping Mr. Thacker carry some boxes into the ground floor reception room when there came a shriek from above of “Mind that cucurbit! – oh, Hell’s bells!” followed by a crash of breaking glass. “That sounded expensive,” said Mr. Thacker. Berkeley shrugged. “We knew there’d be some casualties, so to speak. Never mind, Mr. Thacker, no point in docking anyone’s wages. Truth is, you’ve done a lot better than I was expecting, in the matter of breakages. You’ve got some good lads, there, Mr. Thacker, and no mistake.” “Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Berkeley. Although….” Mr. Thacker shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What’s the matter?” asked Berkeley. “Well,” said Mr. Thacker, “I’ve born in mind all that you said, about doctoring and it involving some nasty looking things, and I’m quite sure you’re right, but this box here -” he nudged it with his foot “- well, I’m blessed if I can see any use for the contents, medical or no.” “Let’s have a look, then.” Berkeley lifted up the top of the box.
June 30, 2025 at 1:00 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
#WIPSnips It's not always easy, being den mother to a pack of ghouls.
“About flowers, and pretty things? – No matter. Well.” She glared at Horace, and at Big Peter. “It seems both of you think you are in the right, and I have no means to determine what actually happened. So the best I can do is this.” She extended one leg, and swept her foot across the game board, scattering the pieces at random. “That game cannot proceed; it is over, finished, done. Start afresh with a new one, if you will. Or not. Do as you please. But you will do it fairly and with courtesy to each other, or I will know the reason why.” Horace sank down on his haunches, wrapping his arms around himself and keening softly. Big Peter just stood there, blinking in confusion at the game board. “Mistress.” It was Luke’s voice. “Garland and I were not talking about flowers.” “Do I need to know what you were talking about?” “Yes, Mistress.” Luke took a step towards her. He was the biggest of all of them, half a head taller than Big Peter, even. “I think – we think – it is important.” N’se-the-knife massaged her temples with her fingertips. I am dead, she thought. Why should I have headaches? Death should have delivered me from such things, surely? “Speak, then.”
June 29, 2025 at 11:54 AM
stevejwright.bsky.social
#WIPSnips Meredith does not have a clean desk policy.
The windows were shuttered and the curtains drawn, but the room was not in darkness – it was brilliantly illuminated by the moaning glare of a carbon arc lamp. The harsh white light exposed a scene which did, indeed, look like the lair of a sorcerer, although it also looked like a warehouse after some sort of cataclysm. Shelves and boxes lined two of the walls; a third was hidden behind a veritable jungle of glassware, tubes and flasks and pipes through which translucent fluids moved, taking their impetus from spirit burners underneath. Beside the door was a desk and a swivel chair, and next to that, ranks of lead-acid batteries to power the doctor’s electrical devices. The space was already cluttered with half-dismantled contraptions of brass and iron and glass, and in the middle of the floor stood a work table, beside which Meredith stood, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she applied a long-handled screwdriver to the inner workings of another device. She was in her shirtsleeves, her collar loosened and her bow tie nowhere to be seen, but she still wore her beard and moustaches. “Oh. Berkeley. Is that coffee? Good man. Put it – err -” She looked from side to side, trying to spot a place for the tray. “P’raps if I could move some of those papers on the desk -” Berkeley began.
June 27, 2025 at 12:34 PM
stevejwright.bsky.social
40+ appreciation post, reskeet with a pic if you're on the right side of 40.

I remember being 40. It seems so long ago. Because it *is*
Screenshot of me - 62 year old fat bloke with glasses and hair apparently borrowed from Professor Branestawm for the day, sat in front of computer with a silly grin on my face.
June 24, 2025 at 8:26 PM