I write in various places: coffee-shops, my living room, my back garden, but most commonly in my study. It’s a south-facing room that overlooks the hills, with a comfy green leather chair and ottoman, lots of horror books, an old writing desk my father found for me in an antiques shop, a collection of pens and quills, various skull prints on the walls and esoteric objects on the shelves including a phrenology head, a skeleton candle-holder, a Gubu doll, a Tibetan demon mask, jade figurines and a typewriter with a skeletal hand attached. Did I mention I like skeletons? Good. I was afraid I might forget to say that.

When I’m writing, I like best to listen to music with lyrics I don’t understand, so words don’t distract me. Sigur Ros are my ultimate writing soundtrack. But I’m also fond of atmospheric music. I listened a lot to Villagers’ ‘Becoming A Jackal’ when I was writing New Music For Old Rituals because it’s Irish, creepy and contemporary – the mood I was aiming for.

I couldn’t claim to have anything like a routine. But I try to get up early and write for an hour or so before work claims my soul. It gives me a sense of self before the ‘real’ day begins, and it’s my most productive time. I find I write most coherently either early in the morning or late at night. I wish I had the discipline to have a writing method, but it mostly consists of scribbling, pacing, typing, making cups of tea and looking vacantly around. I write scraps and ephemera when inspired, and when I’m feeling workmanlike I’ll start shoehorning them into an actual form. I find it useful to break up writing if I’m uninspired – I’ll take my dog for a walk, or draw, or take photographs of ruins or make prints. Sometimes moving about and thinking in non-verbal ways will suddenly present me with a new way in to what I’ve been worrying at.

Silence outside and warmth inside are essential for writing. I need my series of ink-stained kimonos a.k.a. writing clothes. I also need a notebook and my special pens which are hybrids; Uniball eye micro pens with a Staedler stick cap to make them feel longer in my hand. It’s a thing. If I were being truthful, at one point I would have said I needed anxiety to write; I write a lot about fear, and anxiety informs that. But that’s not healthy, so I try not to write from that place, but from a place of wanting to tell a story.

I’m working – very slowly – on a collection titled I Spit Myself Out. The title is a quote from Julia Kristeva’s The Powers of Horror which deals with (among other subjects) the idea of the body and the abject – that which the body casts off. In this collection I’m interested in interrogating terrors that arise from simply being ourselves; exploring the divisions between what-is-us and what-is-not-us, and what happens when these boundaries are perforated and transgressed. So it’s dealing with illness, dysfunction, skin, blood, contagion – writing the body.

When I’m in the wrong mood EVERYTHING distracts me from writing. Social media is bad – leaving Facebook was a good step, although I have yet to block my ears to the siren song of Twitter. Noise is the worst distraction, and I’m eternally grateful that my room faces the back of the house and not the front where my little neighbours play. They’re sweet kids, but nothing fans my rage when I’m trying to concentrate like the dulcet tones of happy children at play. Yes, I use headphones or ear-plugs, but I prefer not to have to. If I hit The Flow, everything disappears; tea cools, time is forgotten, words suddenly fit and sequence and dance. Magic stuff.

Tracy Fahey is an Irish writer of Gothic fiction. Her latest collection, NEW MUSIC FOR OLD RITUALS, is published by Black Shuck books. You can find her website here. .

dinosaurs and distress-biscuits

My author copies of This House of Wounds arrived this week, and they look amazing! I didn’t expect that getting copies of my book would be so emotional, but there is something very moving about holding your own book in your own hands. It’s not just the gorgeousness of the cover and design, or the fact that having a book like this has been my ambition ALL MY LIFE (and I am very old). It’s also the kindness and generosity shown by so many friends, acquaintances, and actual, literal strangers that has been so moving and wonderful to experience.

I’m so ridiculously grateful to everyone who has pre-ordered This House of Wounds from Amazon, bought it from Undertow, downloaded the e-book, requested an ARC, or marked it as ‘to read’ on Goodreads. I’m super grateful to everyone who has posted, tweeted, shared, liked, or commented about the book on social media. I’ve always known writers to be a kind and generous bunch, but the support I’ve received has been unreal. You are all so nice. Have ten million dinosaurs 🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕

It’s early days yet for reviews, but words like “intense,” “haunting,” and “disturbing” are flying around. One reader claims that it gave her nightmares, for which I am very sorry (and also a little proud). My suggestion to alleviate reader distress by taping complimentary biscuits to every copy sold is apparently “a bit impractical” but I still think it’s a good idea. If they are dinosaur-shaped distress-biscuits, so much the better!


For the last five years my ‘writing space’ has been a laptop placed anywhere with enough room. I spent a long time living in a room at my in-laws so space was a luxury. When I finally moved into my own place we talked about converting the small bedroom into an office space so I could finally have a place of my own in which to write. That finally happened late last year. So, in my writing space, there is a desk, which is usually quite messy and covered in weird trinkets, half-read books, unfinished sewing projects and sketchbooks. There are bookshelves behind me, but apparently not enough of them, or perhaps I just need to KonMari my book collection. There is a cushion for my cats to sit and judge me, and a notice board which I fill with postcards from friends and small pieces of art I’ve picked up here and there. There is a window in front of me to gaze out of, especially when it’s raining. And there is a cardboard cut out of Joy Division’s Ian Curtis, just because.

I aspire to being the kind of writer who has a routine, but I’m largely quite chaotic when it comes to writing. I’m so busy a lot of the time that routine basically means carving out chunks of time between work/commuting/freelancing/uni/life admin which isn’t always easy. So it’s all very ad-hoc, which isn’t ideal, but I’ve never been very good at setting and sticking to routines – though I would like to be! Maybe I need a life coach. I do try to make sure I have a cup of tea, though.

Music can help or hinder my writing. It very much depends. Sometimes I end up responding so strongly to the music that it’s almost impossible to focus on the writing. One thing I do always have on is a background noise generator. I use which has a range of sounds from rain, waves and forest sounds to tonal drones such as chanting, white noise, or even randomly generated piano sounds. It’s also super good for anxiety. Unsurprisingly, my favourite setting is Japanese Garden. If I do listen to music, I try to pick soundtracks or orchestral stuff which I won’t be tempted to sing along to.

Chatter and conversation, if they’re close by, distract me from writing. But also total silence can be distracting because my brain fills the void and that’s never advisable. Some kind of unintrusive sound is necessary, even if that’s background chatter in the office at lunchtime, or in a coffee shop. Otherwise, I’m pretty adaptable. I wonder if that will change as I get used to working at a desk?

I am slowly getting over my weird OCD superstition which tells me that if I talk about a work in progress my brain will shut down and I will be completely unable to ever finish it. (I still can’t give my stories titles until they’re finished, though, due to the same irrational fear!) So, the quick answer to what I’m working on is: TOO MANY THINGS. The longer answer is: finishing a short story which riffs off Alice in Wonderland, set in an abandoned Japanese Inari shrine populated by yokai (folkloric monsters and demons). Then I need to start work on another short story, which has something to do with number stations (look them up, it’s a weird and fascinating rabbithole to fall down.) And finally, I’ve got the beginnings of what might be a novel or novella to go back to, which seems to be heading down a distinctly SF route…

One more thing. Please could someone come round and teach me how to create and stick to a routine. I will pay you in hot beverages and possibly money if I can find any. I have so much stuff to do. You are my only hope.

Laura Mauro’s short story LOOKING FOR LAIKA won the British Fantasy Award for Best Short Fiction in 2018. Her debut collection, SING YOUR SADNESS DEEP, is forthcoming from Undertow Books. Her blog can be found here.

fresh monster soup

Thanks to my excellent brother, Matthew, I have finally got an updated and working website. Matt designed the creepy haunted house theme for me some years ago and I am sad to see it go (and will hope to resurrect it in some form) – but it’s lovely to have the very striking cover art from THIS HOUSE OF WOUNDS on the header now. Catrin Welz-Stein is the artist and her work is well worth checking out. I’ve also got some AMAZING content on the way, starting this weekend with the first of the Escape Room interviews.

My debut collection is now available for pre-order, so I am being very un-me-like and attempting to flog it to all and sundry. Pre-order on Amazon UK, if that suits you. Other Amazons are also available, and USians can pick it up at Barnes and Noble. The very wonderful Undertow can sell you a copy, and will offer you a tasty subscription deal with their other 2019 story collections – Laura Mauro’s debut SING YOUR SADNESS DEEP and Michael Kelly’s ALL THE THINGS WE NEVER SEE – both of which are going to be unmissable.

there are no clowns

We would like to make it clear that the clown problem has been effectively neutralised. Clowns have been eradicated from our towns, cities, and countryside.

Should you see a clown, please report to the authorities immediately, in order that you can be inoculated against further sightings.

In the event that you repeatedly see clowns that are legally disallowed from your vision, a minor medical procedure shall be undertaken which will effectively resolve the fault.

Law-abiding citizens will not see the clowns.

There are no clowns.