Sometimes it’s really worth checking out backlists. There are some marvellous books out there but with hundreds of new titles every week it can be very hard to find them.
Authors – have you got a title a year or more old that could do with a little love?
Readers – have you got a favourite book that you think deserves some attention? Message or email me and we’ll set something up.


My guest this week is R J Scott and I want to show a little love for her backlist title The Gallows Tree. This is a gentle romance with an American adrift in the green peace of England, an historic house in need of restoration and a creepy paranormal twist. Great fun with a few little chills.


Cody Garret is only just finding his way after an abusive relationship ended with his ex in prison. Coming to England to restore Mill Cottage is his way of running so he has time to heal. His goal is simple-hire a company to help make the mill cottage saleable then go back to the States.

What he doesn’t count on is meeting Sebastian Toulson-Brown, the brother of his contractor and the man who may be able to show him he can stop running.

But first Cody and Sebastian must deal with the ghosts of lost loves and the destinies that are woven into the story of the mill and the sycamore trees that stand on its land, one of which might be the gallows tree.


Lower Ferrers. Please drive carefully.

A big speed sign with a 30 in the middle and another warning for horses sat directly under, and he immediately lifted his foot off the gas until he was driving at more like half what the limit was. He wanted to remember every image of the next few minutes of his life. He had finally arrived at the place his mom’s gran, his own great-gran, had left at the end of the war as a Yankee bride. The long curve of the road ran through dense trees that formed an arch of fall golds and browns over his head, and then suddenly, the village was laid out in front of him.

He couldn’t just drive in. He needed to stop and think about this final step. What if this was all wrong? This could be the worst decision of his life. What the hell did he know about renovation? He indicated and pulled off to the side of the road just past the signs and onto a widening in the narrow road next to a gate into fields. This was the England his great-gran had spoken about.

The village was stunning. Beautiful. Old houses with crooked roof lines staggered drunkenly up the road all built in a soft weathered brown and gray stone. Each had a chimney and seemingly randomly placed windows. Cody counted six of these cottage-style houses and above them the top of twisted chimneys on a far grander building. Great oaks and sycamore trees, now with leaves of fall gold and red, towered over the cottages and the twisting road that followed their path upwards. Cody listed adjectives in his head. This was much better than green. This was an idyllic, picture-postcard place, and it was everything he had ever been told about this English village. On the opposite side of the road was a larger dwelling, and he saw the sign outside that proclaimed it as the Ferrers’ Arms.

The inn with the slate roof was where he was staying with an open-ended booking. He didn’t know how long his stay would be. It could be a month or it could be the full six months. When he moved on depended on so many factors, not least of which was having somewhere to move to. He had a strange feeling inside, and he realized it was a sudden and renewed sense of enthusiasm.

Panic and fear still clung tight in his chest, but his breathing was steady, and the sounds of the village—sheep in the field, horses, birds—and the perfect stillness of the fall sky was utter peace. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. One minute he had been on the highway to hell, and within an hour, he was in the quiet and calm of a village that had been here for centuries. What was it people said? Stepping back in time or something like that. Standing here it certainly felt like he was entering another world.

Was it possible that by his arrival here in the village where his family had roots he was taking a controlled step away from his past rather than running blindly?

The Gallows Tree


My goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, that hint of a happily ever after.

I’ve has been writing since age six, when I was made to stay in at lunchtime for an infraction involving cookies and the mixing bowl. You can’t tell a six year old not to lick the bowl!

I was told to write a story and two sides of paper about a trapped princess later, a lover of writing was born.

As an avid reader myself, I can be found reading anything from thrillers to sci-fi to horror. However, my first real true love will always be the world of romance. I love my cowboys, bodyguards, firemen and billionaires (to name a few) and love to write dramatic and romantic stories of love and passion between these men. (Yum)

With over 90 titles to my name and counting, I am the author of the award winning book, The Christmas Throwaway, which was All Romance Ebooks best selling title of 2010.

I’m also known for the Texas series charting the lives of Riley and Jack, and the Sanctuary series following the work of the Sanctuary Foundation and the people it protects.

I’m always so thrilled to hear from readers, bloggers and other writers. Please contact via the following links below:

Email RJ (rj@rjscott.co.uk) | Goodreads Page | RJ’s Blog | RJ on Twitter | Facebook
Library Thing Page | Tumblr (some NSFW (not safe for work) photos) | Pinterest

Sometimes it’s really worth checking out backlists. There are some marvellous books out there but with hundreds of new titles every week it can be very hard to find them.
Authors – have you got a title a year or more old that could do with a little love?
Readers – have you got a favourite book that you think deserves some attention? Message or email me and we’ll set something up.


My choice this week is the terrific magical steam punk novel, Mongrel by K Z Snow. It has everything – a well realised yet eerie world peopled with characters of surpassing oddness and plot, so much plot. Even the most sympathetic inhabitants of this world have flaws, even the most unpleasant have hidden depths. And the language – oh wow. I loved it to bits and, best of all, it’s the first of a series that are now being issued as a bundle. Really worth a go.


Hunzinger’s Mechanical Circus, a rollicking seaside carnival where imagination meets machinery, shines as the only bright spot in the dreary city of Purinton. A shadow is cast there one day when a tall, cloaked figure approaches the stand of Will Marchman, a young patent-medicine salesman. Fanule Perfidor, commonly known as the Dog King, isn’t welcome at the Circus. No resident of Taintwell is; they’re all Branded Mongrels, officially shunned. But Will is beguiled by the stunning, mysterious Perfidor. Their mutual wariness soon gives way to desire, and a bond forms.Soon the naive but plucky pitchman becomes embroiled in a dangerous quest. Fanule suspects Alphonse Hunzinger and Purinton’s civic leaders are responsible for the disappearance or incarceration of countless Branded Mongrels. But why? As Will’s passion and regard for his tormented lover grow, he’s determined to help Fanule get answers and prevent any further persecution… or worse. They just have to stay together-and stay alive long enough-to see their plan through.


CLOUDS the color of soiled wool and urine threaded past a gibbous moon. The atmosphere may have produced them but the city had tinted them.

For Fanule Perfidor, the city was too close. Lying just to the west, that packed jumble of flaking bricks, weathered clapboards, and belching chimneys was a gritty distraction. Fanule sensed the pulse of life there. When the mania seized him, as it had tonight, he craved the city’s humid crush of bodies, the revelry that made them sweat and steam.

Wind slithered in from the sea and caught Fanule’s cloak, turning it, he imagined, into a black sail fluttering on a sturdy mast. He was a ghost ship plying moonlit seas and portending doom. He was at the mercy of the wind yet he was one with the wind.

He was a freak of nature and a force of nature. Perfidor, the Dog King. The epithet and the image it conjured made him laugh aloud.

The air’s agitation suited his mood. He strode rather than strolled down the boardwalk, his boot heels thudding with satisfying aggression on the planks. The crowd had thinned, but the remaining visitors made a wide berth around Fanule. Their aversion both amused and annoyed him. He considered sucking the light from the white globes atop the lampposts, just to see the silly humans’ reactions.

No, no, no. Can’t play. Must stay on task. Gods, look at that man’s legs; they could bind a body better than tarred rope! And then… no, must stay on task. But where to start? Where, where, where?

Fanule’s gaze darted along the overdone facades of the buildings he passed, all strung together like a lineup of gaudy, aging whores. Colorful pennants snapped above their roofs. How absurd to have elaborate cornices and quatrefoil windows, little gargoyles and square cupolas on structures so squat, so grayed by the hammering salt of sea spray. But, he supposed, fancy was the stuff of Hunzinger’s Mechanical Circus, the permanent carnival that stretched along and beyond the boardwalk and included whatever attractions were tucked behind those fancy fronts.

Look at the signs; look past the blazing and burnt-out bulbs and read the signs.

You can find the bundle here. K Z Snow can be followed on Twitter and Facebook.


comfy chairMy guest today is Hans Hirschi who has very kindly agreed to answer a few questions about his latest release Jonathan’s Promise. Don’t forget to scroll down for the rest of the blog tour schedule, excerpts and a link to a very generous Rafflecopter giveaway! But first the interview.

Welcome Hans.

The first time I interviewed you was in 2013 just before the release of your first published novel. Has your writing process changed much since then?

First, thank you Elin, for hosting me again. The most accurate answer would probably be a cautious yes. When I wrote Family Ties, quickly followed by Jonathan’s Hope, all in the space of five weeks, I had no idea what I was doing, what the whole writing process in the literary space was like. I had only written non-fiction prior to that date. So from a “crafts” process, I’ve learned a lot, from my editors, my publisher.

My writing process, in terms of the artistic aspects is still largely the same. Yes, I may plot a little bit more from a conscious point of view, e.g. knowing from the get go how Jonathan’s Promise would end. However, I still begin with an image in my mind and let the characters run with it, and I’m still the first reader seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes, with all that entails in terms of laughter, sorrow and the odd surprise I wasn’t prepared for.

How do you sustain the same tone for a character from book to book, especially when taking time off between to write other stories?

I hadn’t even considered this, honestly. First of all, I don’t write series, so Jonathan’s Promise was never even on the radar. When the boys came back, and I finally gave in and began to write, I was challenged with a timing question: when do I return? Do I return to a time after Jonathan’s father’s funeral (the end of the story), or do I return to the end of the book, after the epilogue, which is sixty years later. In the end, I did the latter, and the Jonathan’s Promise picks up around the time of the epilogue, so Jonathan is an old man, no longer an eighteen year old. So, to finally answer your question, it wasn’t a big thing, old men don’t really speak like their young selves, but to make sure I used the same terms of endearment within the couple’s conversations etc. I made sure to re-read Jonathan’s Hope. Turns out, my subconscious has a much better memory than my conscious mind does.

Now you are established in the genre do you have any advice for new writers? Is there any thing you wish that someone had told you?

There are a lot of things I wish I had known back then. I write gay fiction with a genre I’d call LGBT fiction, where the vast majority of people write gay romance. I usually feel like something the cat’s dragged in. However, even as someone who doesn’t write romance novels, I’ve been very warmly accepted by my peers, and I’m really grateful for that reception. I would’ve loved to have known about all those conventions back in 2013. I didn’t learn “that” lesson until a year later, and I missed out, because I’ve come to understand that much of a writer’s success in the industry lies in old-fashioned mouth-to-mouth propaganda, recommendations. And the readers who we meet at cons, the ones we form relationships with and with whom we communicate on social media in between the cons, they have huge networks and influence many people around them. I lost a good year there. Then again, I didn’t know what animal I was, and I had no real clue about what was out there, even though I had read a lot of books. I just didn’t connect the dots. Talking to colleagues has helped. So that would be my tip: talk to colleagues in the industry. It’s been my experience that authors are extremely helpful creatures!:)

What are you working on now? Can you tell us a bit about it?

I don’t have a WIP right now. I just sent a manuscript to one of my editors, a collection of LGBT shorts, very literary. We’ll see how I use those stories. The next project are my cons. After every book release, there’s lots of marketing work, and Jonathan’s Promise will be followed by Jonathan’s Legacy in the fall, the final piece in this unexpected trilogy. Once my publisher sends me back the edits, my work starts again, going through those and cleaning it up for publication. I have no writing plans right now, which is “odd”, but I tick differently than most others. I need to clean my head from an ongoing project before I can focus on something else. Once an image pops up, I’ll know if it holds up for a novel…

Can we have an excerpt please?

Sure. This scene shows us a glimpse of Jonathan’s “morning routine”. It doesn’t give away too much of the plot. After all, I want you to read it!😉

“Jonathan woke up early the next morning. Outside, the night had not yet given up its daily rule, clinging on for all it had, growing stronger with the approaching winter solstice. Jonathan looked at his watch. Six a.m.? If only I could sleep a little longer. He got up and went through to the large en suite bathroom to relieve himself. He had to smile inwardly as he thought about how his body was falling apart for every year he got older. Even peeing was becoming a bit of a challenge, and he had to get up more than once during the night, feeling as if he’d drunk a couple of pints of beer. It’s just not fair.

But it was what it was, and there was nothing he could do. At least he didn’t have prostate troubles the way Dan had. Thankful for small mercies, eh? He looked up at the ceiling, shaking the last drops from his dick before flushing the toilet and washing his hands. He put on a robe and walked slowly downstairs to the kitchen. Coffee! I need coffee.”

Excerpt From: Hans M Hirschi. “Jonathan’s Promise.” iBooks.


jonathans promise
TITLE: Jonathan’s Promise 

Trilogy: Book Two

Hans M. Hirschi

Track Publishing

Natasha Snow

214 Pages

March 31, 2016

Jonathan made Dan a promise – a promise that will affect the remainder of his
life. But what does he have left to live for?

When their grandson
Parker and his fiancé Cody move in with him, the three of them embark on a
journey to shed light on Dan’s roots.

A heart-warming sequel
to Jonathan’s Hope, Jonathan’s Promise deals with aging and the ultimate
consequences of wedding vows. Are we entitled to a second shot at happiness?
When is ‘for worse’ too much to handle?

this trilogy:

Jonathan’s Hope (Book
Jonathan’s Promise
(Book 2)

Jonathan’s Legacy (Book 3) 




“Yes, Hon, what is it?”

“I’m tired.”

“I know. Just rest. You
need your strength for tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I want to…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just not sure it’s
worth it, Jon…” Dan started to cough. Jonathan rose from his chair at his
husband’s bedside to offer him some water, gently lifting and holding Dan’s
head while he took down the cool, soothing liquid.

When the coughing
eased, Dan patted Jonathan’s hand. He waited until Jonathan was seated before
he spoke further. “Thanks. I’m old, hon. And I’m tired. I’ve lived a long and
rich life, and you know what the doctor said. There’s only a very small chance
the surgery will help. The tumor’s already metastasized, and even with chemo
I’ll die sooner rather than later. Maybe it’s better to just get it over with.”

Jonathan began to cry,
tumbling forward in his despair. His head came to a rest on his husband’s
chest. They’d been a couple for so many years―six decades. How would he go on without
Dan’s strength? How could he survive without the man who’d saved his life?

“Hon, don’t worry about
me. I need you now, probably more than ever. I need to know you’ll stay strong
for the kids. They need you.”

Dan’s words began to
slur and his eyes closed. Even talking took so much effort. When he was sure
Dan was asleep, Jonathan left their bedroom and went downstairs, out to the back
patio, where he left the crisp, fresh fall air to dry the tears on his face. He
was tired, too. Dan’s cancer had come back. They’d thought he’d beaten it, but
the last screening showed the dark shadows in his bones and his lungs. After
three years of clear results, it had come completely out of the blue, and the doctor
said that it had also spread to other areas of the body.

That was just a few days
ago, and Dan had accepted the news with equanimity. He had made peace with
himself and the world around him when the cancer had first been diagnosed in his
prostate. Back then, there was still a sparkle in Dan’s eyes, a determination
to fight this, a will to survive. But at ninety years of age, Dan was tired,
and Jonathan knew―or rather he felt―that his husband was done. And he
understood, but that did not diminish the pain, the despair. Yes, he’d be
strong for the kids, the grandkids, but who’d look after him? Who’d make sure
he survived?





I’m an author. I write books. I write about things that are important to me: family, parenting, children, our environment, our world. Contemporary, fresh fiction with happy endings. It’s what I like to read myself. I write because I don’t have a choice. There are so many stories in my head, constantly forming, constantly trying to get out. Feel free to have a look on the other pages to learn more, listen to me narrate from those stories, and – if you like what you see or hear – follow the links to buy the books. I’d greatly appreciate that, as this is how I try to make my living.

I’m an author. But I’m also a forty something male who clings to the illusion of still being twenty-seven, despite my body’s daily reminders to the contrary. I’m married to the most amazing man, and together we have a beautiful son, Sascha. I consider myself a citizen of the world, having lived on two continents and traveled extensively through another three. I have friends all over the world. When I’m not writing, I like to do public speaking or training (where I have my professional background) to actually earn some real bill-paying money. Not sure this author thing is ever going to get me there…


$50 Amazon GC

Runner Up Prize: 5 e-copies of Jonathan’s
Promise (Book 2) / Jonathan’s Hope (Book 1) – Winner’s Choice

Sometimes it’s really worth checking out backlists. There are some marvellous books out there but with hundreds of new titles every week it can be very hard to find them.
Authors – have you got a title a year or more old that could do with a little love?
Readers – have you got a favourite book that you think deserves some attention? Message or email me and we’ll set something up.


My guest this week is Sue Roebuck and I’m going to be showing a bit of love for her absorbing story Perfect Score. Starting in the 1960s and spanning over 20 years, the story of spoiled rich kid Alex and his connection to working guy Sam is complex and absorbing, with many challenges to face including marriage, separation and sickness, before they achieve their happy ending.


Feckless, exasperating Alex Finch is a rich, handsome and talented singer/songwriter who longs for two things: a career as a professional rock singer, and to have his love for Sam Barrowdale reciprocated. But drifter Sam’s two aims are simply to earn enough money to pay his sister’s medical bills and to hide from the world his reading/writing and speech disability. At this time the word “dyslexia” is generally unknown so to most people he’s just a “retard.” From the severe knocks life’s dealt him, Sam’s developed a tough outer coating and he has no time for a spoilt, selfish guitar player. Despite his defects, Alex’s love for Sam never wavers and when Sam unexpectedly disappears, Alex begins a somewhat bungling quest to find him, only to discover that Sam has a fearful enemy: Alex’s powerful and influential yet sociopathic uncle. As Alex spirals downwards towards alcoholism, many questions need answering. Just why did Alex’s evil uncle adopt him at age eleven yet deny him any affection? And what’s the mystery behind Alex’s father’s death? Both seem to face unbeatable odds. Are they doomed to follow separate paths forever?

Buy Links:

Amazon UK | Amazon US | Mundania Press

Sue in Sue’s own words

Born and raised in the UK, but now living in Portugal, I’m a published author who is also addicted to reading beautiful books. My mind’s always a-bubble with ideas for new books.

Website | Twitter | Facebook

As usual I asked Sue to recommend a book that she had found particularly memorable:

“I would like to recommend Alex Beecroft’s Shining in the Sun. I loved her contrasting main characters (a bit DH Lawrence…ish) with the upper class toff who hasn’t “come out” and the lovely golden-haired surfer who couldn’t come out any further if he tried. They were such memorable characters.”

Damn it, a man shouldn’t always have to be afraid-

Alec Goodchilde has everything a man could want-except the freedom to be himself. Once a year, he motors down to an exclusive yacht club on the Cornish coast and takes the summer off from the trap that is his life.

When his car breaks down, leaving him stranded on the beach, he’s transfixed by the sight of a surfer dancing on the waves. The man is summer made flesh. Freedom wrapped up in one lithe package, dripping wet from the sea.

Once a year, Darren Stokes takes a break from his life of grinding overwork and appalling relatives, financing his holiday by picking up the first rich man to show an interest. This year, though, he’s cautious-last summer’s meal ticket turned out to be more pain than pleasure.

Even though Alec is so deep in the closet he doesn’t even admit he’s gay, Darren finds himself falling hard-until their idyllic night together is shattered by the blinding light of reality.

Shining in the Sun

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Book Description:

When V’s life crumbles around her, she has two options: let it take her down with it or dive straight in

Virginia “V” Dunn is alone when her dog is hit by a car. Lucky’s back leg is shattered, and when she comforts him, his blood is wet on her hands. Suddenly, the monotony of V’s suburban life dissolves: Lucky is in a cast; her best friend, Eileen, is avoiding her; her mother’s drinking is getting worse; and her father is sick with a mysterious illness. Although V is surrounded by family, she is the loneliest girl in town.

As V begins to question everything—death, friendship, family, betrayal—she finds there are few easy answers. The people she thought she knew are strangers, and life’s meaning eludes her. Into this mystery walks the captivating Jane, and V soon realizes that the only way forward seems to break every rule, and go beyond all limitations.


Sometimes the night never ends; it just breaks into light and we pretend. I am alive, though I tend to forget that when I’m pretending, and I’m fifteen. I have sweeping dark hair and hazel eyes that turn green when I cry. Sometimes I rub my hands together, maybe just to see if it’s really me. I wear the glasses I’m supposed to wear when I’m in the mood and when- ever I remember my sunglasses because the day hurts my eyes. Maybe the pretending has torn the edges of who I am, so the result is a frayed and sensitive me.

If the night never ends, who can see? The day boils down to pretending what is and is not there. Because she does not want me to, I do not see the black eye on my mother’s face as the bruise changes, fades a blotchy red to a tattered purple, then spreads to flat green.

Because he assumes nobody does, I do not see the increasingly bloodshot eyes of my brother as he stares past me at dinner. And I do not see the raised eyebrows on Baby Teeth’s face that settle more frequently into surprise as she watches and help-lessly learns this pretending game. I wish I could tell her she doesn’t have to play, though if she’s to survive life in this house, she will.

So I do not notice that on the days that we do not go to the hospital, she spends every afternoon at other people’s houses now. And I especially do not see the absence of my father at dawn when he does not kiss the sleeping Baby Teeth good-bye before he climbs down the stairs in his solid brown shoes and goes to work. And I do not see his absence as I pass his empty chair at night when I walk into the kitchen to feed my dog. The last thing I do not see is my tilting, limping Lucky as he waits by his empty bowl, or the image of the vile green VW that hit him.

So what do I see? That I have learned to pretend so well, I can do it with my eyes open. April has ended, and its cruelty too,   I hope, when we weren’t looking, or were busy pretending, or maybe while we slept.

So it’s May. And what does it bring? April showers bring May flowers. Well, really. I try to remember, uncertainly, if there was a lot of rain last month. No. But please flower anyway, all over me. I’ll keep my eyes open. Maybe it won’t happen all at once, the way change seems to. Now that’s something. Change blooms.


Stacey Donovan is a critically acclaimed author of fiction and nonfiction for adults and young adults. She is the founder of Donovan Edits, and has edited or ghostwritten more than twenty-five books, including three New York Times bestsellers and several nonfiction titles that have become leading works in their respective fields. Donovan lives in New York, where she continues to write and edit.

Author Links
Buy Links
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Rainbow Snippets

rainbow snippets

Happy Saturday, peeps. I hope you too are having mildish, sunnyish non-life threatening weather. It might not be exciting here in Wales but it’s reasonably safe!

It’s time for another round of snippets from a variety of authors writing stories featuring LGBT characters. Some of the bits are published, some are works in progress, some are raunchy and others are more plotty in nature. In short there’s something for everyone. Just click on the link above to be taken to the master list of snippet links.

OKay – back to early 20th c Wales. The Great War is still raging, farmer Nye Harrhy and and his wife Bethan have agreed that the friend of Bethan’s brother can come to help out on the farm. Alwyn has arrived with the stranger and Bethan is concerned that Nye is put out to swear about it:

“Nye Harrhy, language!”
“Yes I know, but you’d hardly credit it – good worker, my arse.”
Nye set the boots aside and stood at the window, which annoyed Bethan still further because it meant she couldn’t see out without squeezing past.
“What has Alwyn done?”
But Nye just shook his head, his lips tight, and turned to lean on the window sill, his shoulders blocking her view.
Bethan glared at the back of his head, then busied herself with warming the pot for tea, laying the table, and applying the bellows to the fire until the kettle purred and spat, lid lifting.


Sorry – i know it’s slow, but six at a time as they come!

This is an absolutely fabulous opportunity for “not yet published” authors to have a bash.

Writing on the Wall (WOW) Festival sounds like a blast.

UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet

The team at UK Meet are always pleased to share news of like-minded events, so today we’re welcoming Tom from Writing on the Wall to tell us all about the event and a very special competition:

There are a swarm of literary events happening over the course of May in the city of Liverpool as part of the Writing on the Wall (Wow) Festival. This festival celebrates not only the written and spoken word, but also diversity within the writing world. We are running an event on the changing definitions of Gender in the 21st Century that is sure to be unmissable. Led by Juno Dawson, formerly James, and The Vivienne, Liverpool’s very own UK Ambassador for RuPaul’s Drag Race, and Abigail Tarttelin author of Golden Boy, we discuss gender identity in the 21st Century and ask the question: Mainstream or Minority?

We understand that…

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