This is a test run and - if it actually reaches my blog - an apology. For various reasons, I haven't been keeping up with my website and it needs a massive overhaul. BUT, now I can't get into it to do that overhaul. All I can do so far is attempt to post. Hopefully, that will change when I get some expert advice/assistance.
Saturday, 6 August 2022
Saturday, 26 October 2019
It's Been A While...
And it will take take a bit longer to bring this site entirely up to date. There are lots of reasons for the huge gap between posts - a combination of health issues, and simple procrastination [of which I am a past mistress and Olympic Gold Medal material]. Since the health issues aren't going away, nor will they lessen, I'm going to do my damnedest to keep this blog up to date from now on.
I'll start with a shout-out for my last release, The Fall Guy, a short story set in 1920s New York, and London.

In
1920s New York ,
Pinkerton Agent John Brady is assigned to a brutal robbery/kidnapping, an open
and shut case with an obvious culprit - but nothing and no one are what they
seem.
Small-time
crook Cesare Donati has the perfect getaway: a transatlantic cruise ship. When Brady
turns up at his cabin door, Cesare knows he is out of options until they reach England .
Will London be a safe haven or
a place of reckoning?
Excerpt:
“Brady!” The bellow echoed around the
half-empty bullpen and the four of us still scribbling reports winced.
Even the chatter and clatter from the typing
pool paused for a moment, and the new girl about to hand Parrish his copy,
jumped and squeaked like a startled mouse. She wasn’t the only one taken by
surprise. My involuntary jerk left a spreading blot of ink on my half-finished
statement. Hank Hampton ’s
usual short temper had an extra side of rage this morning. I dropped my pen,
spattering more ink, shot out of my chair and strode into his office. It didn’t
pay to be slow in responding to that
kind of shout.
“Yes, Boss?”
His heavy features were redder than I’d seen
for a while, and angrier. He scooped a file off his desk and thrust it at me.
“Our beloved Congressman Monroe had a break-in yesterday evening. His wife was
beaten up, her jewels stolen and her maid kidnapped. The cops aren’t moving
fast enough for him, so he’s roped us in as well.” ‘Us’ being the Pinkerton
Detective Agency. Lucky us. “Do what you gotta do,” Hampton snapped. “Go where you need to go. Monroe ’s breathing down my
neck on this and we can’t afford to mess this up.” His warning glare came close
to incinerating me. “Make it fast. He thinks this is more than a straightforward
robbery-kidnapping, and he’s made it clear that he wants a personal chat with
the bastard.”
“Yes, Boss,” I said and legged it back to my
desk.
Congressman Gerald ‘Bull’ Monroe
pulled a lot of political weight in New
York since Prohibition had been imposed a few years
ago: not all of it the kind that would make his momma proud. Rumor had it he
was a bad man to cross. But I still didn’t understand why Monroe had called us in. Hampton didn’t, either, I guessed, which
explained his more than usual lousy mood.
Okay, it isn't exactly a secret that
the New York Police Department hustled along at the speed of cold molasses:
even so, involving the Pinkertons at this early stage in the investigation seemed
odd to me. I had a sudden gut-feeling that no matter who brought the suspect
in, the guy would very quickly have a serious and almost certainly fatal
accident.
Amazon getbook.at/thefallguy
Saturday, 25 March 2017
Love In Three Moves, and an Excerpt
Many moons ago - 2009 and 2011 respectively - I wrote two
short-short stories for the late Torquere's Sip range, and the rights have long
since returned to me. Recently I re-discovered them on my hard drive, and
decided to do something with them. But what?
The answer was to write another short story featuring my two men
that would detail the beginnings of their friends-to-lovers affair. Then I extensively rewrote
the 2009 one, comprehensively tweaked the 2011 story, and combined them under
the title, Love In Three Moves.
The first two stories are set in Canary Wharf, London, so I
wanted to have the cover reflect that. I found the perfect photo on Pixabay -
Canary Wharf at night.
Buy Links
BLURB
Love in Three Moves -
Three short stories chart a passionate love affair: yet true love so rarely
runs smoothly.
It Takes Two
David Grainger and Ben Tremayne are perfect partners in business
and friendship – and finally they give in to the temptation of taking that
further. Their passionate love has been brewing for a long time, and everything
about their new affair is wonderful - until it isn't.
Breaking Point
Ben hasn’t seen his ex-lover David, for a year. He lives alone
with his remorse for breaking up their affair, overwhelmed by his fear of
commitment rather than his love for David. When, out of the blue, David asks
him for a favour, Ben grudgingly agrees. The simple errand takes a complicated
turn.
Clue Game
Once instrumental in reuniting Ben and David, their friend Barbara
Curtis now needs the couple’s help with her own love-life. Despite being in
Paris on their pre-honeymoon, Ben and David are caught up in the ensuing
puzzle, involving a Paris art gallery, the works of Shakespeare, a devious
crossword, a pair of precious earrings – and satisfaction for Barbara’s heart.
Excerpt
1st Move - It Takes Two
"It's me," David Grainger called as he
opened the front door and walked into the large studio apartment. "Are you
back? Babs has been nagging me again. Did you get the Stravinsky commis - ?"
He stopped in his tracks. Yes, Ben was back from Geneva. The room looked like
Selfridges at the end of a sale day. Cushions, bedcovers, pillows and odd items
of clothing lay scattered over floor and furniture, and the warm air was heavy
with an exotic, expensive perfume. But over all hung the scent of sex.
Who was it this time? David wondered, irritated. Roger,
Melanie, or both? Not that he gave a damn who Ben took to his bed. No, he was
peeved because he'd heard nothing from the man for several days. Phone calls
and texts had all been ignored, and Barbara wasn't the only one pissed off
about it. Important matters hung on the success of Ben's trip to Switzerland. Sometimes
the man was an irresponsible pain in David's arse.
Fastidious as a cat, he picked his way across the
room, nose wrinkling as the assorted aromas assaulted his nostrils, and David
thanked whichever gods looked after dissolute idiots that the used condoms had
ended up in the waste bin and not on the floor.
Ben, the other half of Grainger & Tremayne
Antiques, enjoyed a varied love life. Ten years of friendship, five of which included
a highly successful working partnership, meant they'd shared keys long ago and
had free range of each other's homes in the same Canary Wharf up-market
apartment block. It wouldn't be the first time David had strolled in at the
wrong moment. He was bisexual himself, but his own exploits in the relationship
arena were a lot less adventurous. Or numerous.
"Ben? Are you still alive?"
"No…" The voice came from the other side
of the half open bathroom door. David grinned, despite his exasperation. As
usual, he found it difficult to stay angry at his mercurial but charming
friend.
"Don't tell me they've worn you out after,
what, only two days?"
"And nights." The muted, sleepy grumble
made it easy to imagine Ben's smirk. "And it's she, not they."
Snickering, David strolled to the bathroom and
lounged against the doorframe. Pools slopped all over the tiled floor and Ben
leant forward on the side of the bath, half-kneeling in the foaming water. He'd
obviously been lunging for the towel on the heated rail when David had
announced his arrival. Now he rested his head on his hands and slanted a sultry
blue gaze over his shoulder. Despite his action-packed weekend, Ben still had
the energy to flirt. It was a reflex action, David knew. Ben could no more stop
doing it than he could stop breathing. So, as usual, David paid no attention,
even though the warmth of desire throbbed in his groin. Once again the urge to
take Ben up on his flirtatious invitations heated his blood. But it was only a meaningless
physical response to Ben's overt sensuality. It didn't mean a thing.
~ * ~
Love In Three Moves - 1st edition
2017 Chris Quinton
Containing
It Takes Two - 1st edition 2017
Chris Quinton
Breaking Point - 1st edition 2009:
2nd edition 2017 Chris Quinton
Clue Game - 1st edition 2011: 2nd
edition 2017 Chris Quinton
~ * ~
Monday, 13 February 2017
In The Doghouse - Excerpt

Buy from Amazon
Buy from Smashwords
Jerry Thorne is on the run with a greyhound, and nowhere left to turn for safety but an old one-time friend, Mike Brown. Which could be a huge mistake. Not only did Jerry have a crush on the man back in the day, Mike happens to be a cop and has no wish to take in the two strays…
Chapter One
I'm
a coward. A fully paid up, card-carrying and devoutly fervent coward and I've
never made any secret of it. And I like my kneecaps just the way they are.
Which is why I was heading out of London as fast as the car could take me on a
particularly fogged-in January night. Not only fog, but frost and black ice as
well, I discovered, as we skated round a curve in the Fosse Way. Not all Roman
roads are plumb line straight, and the Fosse can kink with the best of them.
Don't ask me what I was doing on the Fosse Way—I haven't a clue. I'd initially
intended to head north. I have friends in Leeds, and I knew we'd be safe up
there. But with Joe Mullins on my tail, I'd stayed away from the main roads.
So,
since I was taking which ever turnings panic and instinct suggested, while
clutching the steering wheel with the grip of a drowning man on a lifebelt and
my foot as heavy on the accelerator as I dared in the weather conditions, I'd
gone a bit astray. You don't believe me? Listen, I only discovered I was on the
Fosse heading southwest when the road sign loomed out of the murk and informed
me that Cirencester was ten miles away. On the plus side, as far as I could
tell, no one was following us.
The
reason why I was haring around the country like a panicked greyhound was—a
greyhound. Spot, aka Edie's Lightning, all ridiculously long legs, ditto
tongue, and soulful eyes, patrolled my Renault's back seat, shedding brindle
and white hair on my upholstery as he went from one window to the next.
Normally
I worked at the Customer Information Desk in my local branch of Lloyds Bank. In
my spare time I was a member of Brayswood Harriers, an amateur cycling club.
Not exactly Tour de France material, any of us, but we did okay at the
inter-county level. I'd taken a week off from the Evil Day Job and my training
schedule to stand in for Uncle George in his hardware shop while he and Aunt
Edie prepared Spot for his upcoming race. They both were greyhound fanatics,
and had two or three around the house for as long as I could remember. Usually
it was a couple of older dogs kept as beloved pets when their racing days were
over, and a young dog in training. Uncle always named their dogs for Aunt Edie;
Edie's Charm, Edie's Surprise, Edie's Gift, Edie's—well, you get the idea. Each
dog was as much a family member as a racer, and were great characters in that
laidback greyhound kind of way. The current three were Gift, Surprise, and
Lightning.
Anyhow,
all was well, until things started to go pear-shaped. First, Uncle George's old
van failed its MOT and the garage had to order in a part, so I was making
deliveries in my Renault. Then he dropped an oilcan, slipped in the resulting
mess and buggered up his left wrist. These things come in threes, so I wasn't
entirely surprised when he'd come to the shop late this afternoon. His worried
expression had been warning enough that things weren't about to improve.
"Do
me a favour, Jer, my lad," he'd said. "Take Spot to the vet for me
and get her to do a blood test on the quiet. He's as jumpy as a cat on a
griddle today, and that's not right. I think he's been nobbled."
I'd
scoffed, of course. I mean, the race was tomorrow night, and so far Spot was
the odds on favourite. Uncle George loved the skinny streak of greased
lightning as much as he did his own kids, and it would no more occur to him to
give Spot performance enhancing anything than to shove steroids down the
rugby-playing twins' throats. Besides, the local track had drug-testing down to
a fine art. He wouldn't get away with it.
But
if the dog had been dosed with something and it showed up in the post-race
tests, both he and Uncle would be blacklisted, banned, fined, and generally be
neck-deep in the manure. Zero tolerance was the watchword for the Brayswood
Greyhound Racetrack.
I
took a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. The road behind us was clear. In
the foreground was Spot, tongue lolling, still going back and forth like a
canine metronome. Which was odd. He was normally a pretty laidback kind of
character, and even I knew this was excessive. He probably should have been
travelling in his crate in the Renault's boot, rather than the back seat, but I
hadn't paused to fiddle around with catches and locks. I'd bunged him in the
back and taken off like Vettel in pole position at Monaco, and moments later
the black BMW was hot on our tail.
~ * ~
Wednesday, 1 February 2017
Release Day for Manifold Press
February 1st, and Manifold Press has three titles out of the starting gate today. Once again, this small Press punches so far above its weight, Manifold should be in a Marvel movie, scripted by Josh Whedon. In no particular order they are:
Harbinger Island by Dorian Dawes
Every community has a dark
side, a sordid past that’s kept to hushed whispers and out of the ears of
prying tourists – and Harbinger Island has the darkest shades of them all.
Professor Bartleby Prouse is obsessed with the secrets and occult conspiracies
surrounding the island’s myriad of unsolved murders and mysteries. He’ll have
to use every bit of magic and cunning at his disposal if he is to protect his
students after they unwittingly draw the attention of one of the island’s most
insidious cults.
Harbinger Island is a
collection of character-driven stories which combine dark fantasy and horror
elements within a modern setting. The diverse cast of LGBT+ individuals come
from various backgrounds, and the stories examine the prejudices they experience
in their day-to-day lives along with the supernatural horrors they face.
Ardent by Heloise West
In the village of Torrenta,
master painter Morello has created a color that mimics the most expensive
pigment of all, the crimson red. Master Zeno, from strife-ridden Medici
Florence, tells him the color gives him a competitive advantage – but Morello
must be careful. Fraud is ever-present in the dye and pigment markets.
As they work together in
Torrenta, Morello falls hard for Zeno’s assistant, Benedetto Tagliaferro, a
young man of uncommon beauty and intelligence. Benedetto is still fixed on his
old lover, the master painter Leo Guisculo, and cannot return Morello’s
affections.
But when Leo dies in a
terrible accident, it’s to Morello that Zeno and Benedetto turn for help. And
Morello soon finds that in Florence, every surface hides layers of intrigue.
75,600 words / 292 pages
$6.95
BUY LINKS
$6.95
BUY LINKS
Last, but by no means least, is
a new Espresso Shot from Rainbow Award winner Jay Lewis Taylor (The Espresso
Shots imprint is designed for shorter works, with a more informal
publishing schedule than for Manifold's ‘regular’ works.). This story follows
on from his successful recent novel Across Your Dreams:
Break of Another Day by Jay Lewis Taylor
The Great War is over. Jack
Townsend, no longer a hospital orderly, is back at work in his photographer’s
shop in Lewisham. But there is no peace yet; his blackmailer is still in
business, and Celia Vavasour seems determined to manage his life. All his life;
even his love-life …
Meanwhile in Sussex, David
Lewry, former army officer, is still holding off from a closer relationship
with Alan Kershaw, once in the Navy and now the village’s GP. Lew knows how
much Alan wants him, but this last step is one he cannot take – not yet, unless
something changes …
16,200 words / 66 pages
$1.99
BUY LINKS
$1.99
BUY LINKS
Thursday, 1 September 2016
THROWBACK THURSDAY - Ghosts, Curses and Psychics...
"I curse you and your children's children, that you shall all live out your allotted years, and that those years shall be filled with grief and loss and betrayal, even as you have betrayed and bereaved me."
But in this case, the caster was vindictive enough to tantalise his victims with a spark of hope. In the best fairytale tradition, if certain conditions were fulfilled, the curse would be broken:
"When the one who reads the earth joins with he who sees beyond, when the warrior and the healer stand to swear a sacred bond, when the one who seeks in danger is sworn to the landless lord, then shall my curse be lifted and all the lands restored."

I sort of fell in love with my two men - Mark Renfrew, closeted psychic and openly gay, and Jack Faulkner, archaeologist. So under the overall label of The Renfrew Files, I've written two standalone stories.
It should have been a bit of a break for Mark Renfrew, attending an archaeological conference with his lover, Jack Faulkner. No ghosts, no drama beyond the academic. But it didn't work out that way. The modern Five Star hotel held a dark secret, and Mark knew he had to uncover it before more people were hurt.
Mark Renfrew is a researcher for a paranormal reality TV show, but no one involved with the show knows he is the real deal—a genuine psychic. When a cameraman encounters a ghost and needs his help, he has to come out of that particular closet. Along with his archaeologist lover, Jack Faulkner, Mark must find a way to break the ghostly cycle of injury and death on a haunted road, but things don't go according to plan. Mark discovers a new aspect to his psychic talent, and with another ghost to contend with, he is entering dangerous and uncharted waters.
Both titles are available across Amazon as well as ARe
Saturday, 21 May 2016
RAINBOW SNIPPETS - Mat 21-22
For more tantalising snippets from a whole host of authors, see
the Rainbow Snippets
Facebook group, you won't regret it. There are Snippets to suit every
reader.
Life is back to being hectic this
weekend, which means my Snip will be posted on auto-pilot, as it were. We're on Chapter Four of Coins Not Accepted, and
it’s far more than six sentences, I’m afraid. Apologies, but this is about as far
as I have got with this WiP, so I thought I’d leave you with a longer teaser, and
move onto another story next time...
"In the meantime we need to get Allan to safety. Somewhere
far from here where they won't think to look for him and he can recover from
his injuries." His stern gaze fell on Miles. "Take him home with you
and keep him hidden."
"What? No, I can't. The twins are in and out of my place
like a horde of Visigoths on bungee cords."
"All the more reason for him to be there. Business as usual,
my boy; that is all the enemy will see if they should follow or find you."
"Seriously? How do you expect me to explain him?"
"How do you think?" his grandfather replied,
exasperation in his voice. "He's your lover, of course."
"Oh, of course. Stupid me," Miles said over Allan's
startled, "What?"
"Allan, like you, my grandson is also strange. At least, I
assume you are and the rumours I've heard about you have some basis in
truth."
"I'm not--" Miles began, affronted. This, from a man
who took alternate dimensions in his stride? Then he noticed his patient had a
mutinous set to his mouth and his face was even more scarlet, as much in embarrassment
as fever.
"Strange is the same as gay," Miles Senior replied
crisply, "and Logrean society is not as accepting as ours. Hence the
scandals that have followed Allan around for most of his adult life."
~ * ~
I've also doing Throwback Thursday, featuring a longer excerpt
from a novel from my backlist, so if you'd like to read a few more than six
lines of my fiction, check the excerpt from DARK WATERS in the previous post.
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