Thursday, 21 January 2016

Hope House Serialised at Rainbow Reads

 Stories from the Hope House universe, serialised and updated 2016.

ONE - Group Therapy or Communal Madness?
A new resident at Hope House meets his housemates for the first time. 

Free on Smashwords and at Lulu - link below

PDF Download


To quote the words of a song by the late Kirsty MacColl: “there’s a guy works down the chip shop swears he’s Elvis.’ That being the case, then chances are he’s on day release from Hope House, a last stop refuge for some of the misfits of this world – those who the psychiatric profession have washed their hands of and the rest of the world would rather forget.

Some come and some go, some stay and some don’t know when or if they want to leave Hope House. A refuge can be permanent or temporary, depending on need and who’s to judge what the need should be for each individual?

This is a work of fiction set in a fantasy universe where anything can happen. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely intentional, no, really, I mean co-incidental. ;-)

Gordon Trapp and Nathaniel Andrews, as introduced in prequel ‘Out of Tune’ unconventionally run Hope House.

The years have flowed by since the events of ‘Out of Tune.’ Gordon and Nat have created a family of a kind. Like most families they have their problems.

Hope House
One - Group Therapy or Communal Madness?
New resident Chris meets his fellow housemates for the first time

“Come on, Chris, don’t hang back now.” Gordon smiled encouragingly at the dark haired young man, who had finally been persuaded to leave his room for the first time since arriving at Hope House the day before. “Let’s get this over with. You have to meet your housemates sooner or later. You might as well do it while everyone is in one place.”
“Why?” Chris Emett scowled at the door, which had a sign reading ‘meeting in progress’ hanging on it. He thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his shabby jeans. “I’d rather go back to my cell.”
“Room, Chris, not a cell, this isn’t a prison.”
“Can I leave any time I want to, like right now?”
“You know the answer to that question, but I’ll give it again, just so you’re clear. When you’ve proven you’re ready and willing to resume control of your life in a responsible and acceptable way, then you can leave.”
“In other words I’m a prisoner here until YOU say I can leave.” Pulling his hands from his pockets Chris turned away from the door and strode back up the generous hall, aiming for the stairs, only Gordon got there before him, as if practiced in overtaking reluctant house guests.
“Enough. You have to get to know us sometime and this is as good a time as any. We always have an informal meeting at this time of day, so we can talk about anything that might have upset or worried us during the course of the day.”
“I don’t need group therapy.”
“It isn’t group therapy as such. It’s a chance for you to get to know people.”
“I don’t want to get to know people. I hate people.”
“I know this is daunting for you, Christopher, all new experiences are, but the sooner you embrace them the easier they become.”
“I don’t want to embrace anything in this dump.”
“Hope House isn’t a dump.”
“Well it isn’t exactly a luxury hotel.”
“Neither is prison, Chris. You made the choice to come here.”
“I can change my mind.”
“Too late.” Gordon examined the boy, not without sympathy. “The decision was made and you will abide by it. We can help you here, if you let us.”
“Maybe I don’t want help.”
“Tough.” Gordon lost patience. Taking a firm hold of Chris’s arm, and ignoring his protests, he steered the boy back down the hall towards the meeting room. Thrusting the door open he pushed Chris inside and closed the door behind them. “Take a seat. Make yourself at home.”
Chris considered trying to shove the big man aside, but catching a look from his ice blue eyes, decided against it. There was something forbidding about Gordon Trapp. He dropped his gaze and turned away from the door, facing into the room, which was furnished with an eclectic range of chairs. Christ. He flinched, as four pairs of eyes inspected him with interest.



Sunday, 29 November 2015

Christmas Kisses - Out Now


M/M romance fiction with a festive flavour.

Introducing 'The Silver Coffee Lounge & Book Exchange.'

Meet James, Josh and Bea.

Does romance have a cut off point? James, coffee shop owner, reckons so. At forty he considers himself too old for such frivolity. His friend Bea disagrees.

Josh is dating the man of his dreams, but dreams can soon turn into nightmares. Will he wake up before it's too late?

Thursday, 24 September 2015

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Kindle EBook Theft!

If asked, most people would agree that it is indeed wrong to steal money from someone. So, that said, when it comes to kindle ebooks, why do so many people think it’s okay to steal? For a long time now indie authors and publishers have been complaining about Amazons’ return policy on ebooks.  It allows kindle owners to buy, download, read and probably copy an ebook and then return it for a refund. Greedy readers abuse this policy time and time again. Effectively, such readers are thieves. Do they imagine that every time they claim a refund for an ebook that the refund comes from the pocket of Jeff Bezos, Amazons’ multi-millionaire owner? It doesn’t. It’s taken directly from non-millionaire authors. Amazon seriously needs to address this problem by at least reducing the time period that an ebook can be returned within. Indie authors and publishers have helped build the success of the KDP platform and we deserve better treatment.

Most book blurbs give a pretty good description of the subject matter of a book and that along with the ability to dip into a book before buying is surely enough information for a reader to decide whether they want to buy? In that regard, returns based on ‘bought by mistake’ are mostly suspect? Very few returns will be down to technical problems so that just leaves readers who want a book, but don’t want to pay for it. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t like it as much as you thought you would. That’s just tough. I buy a ton of paperbacks and some I like more than others and some I never finish, but I have never felt I have the right to claim a refund. I made the decision to buy based on the blurb and from flicking through the pages.

As an author I don’t make a living from my books, not even close to it. The modest money I make helps me pay a few bills and buy a few extras. So, to the person who recently bought, downloaded and then returned six, yes SIX, of my titles, I say this: thank you for making it so much harder for me to make ends meet in the coming months. I hope you sleep well. It’s not as if I ask a huge amount to begin with. Most of my titles cost less than the price of a cup of coffee and a cookie.

Most indie authors have been led to believe that they should give away their work for free or almost free, it’s a lingering aspect of the stigma still attached to self-publishers. It shouldn’t be the case. It has encouraged readers to believe they are entitled to free books. We work damned hard on our stories and books and we deserve some return, rather than our work being returned, so some greedy person can enjoy a free read at our expense. 

Amazon needs to re-think its return and refund policy on kindle ebooks, it owes it to the writers and publishers who have contributed, no matter how modestly, to the KDP empire.

Sunday, 12 July 2015

Decapitating Santa

I've posted a new extract from work in progress, 'Stardust Tales.'  You can read it on my website here.  
 I hope you enjoy it. :-) It's set in January, so might prove a cooling antidote to the hot July weather. ;-)

On a personal level, I've had another dip in health and well-being, so thing have slowed again on the writing front as I try to recover. Hopefully I will get on top of it and feel better soon. 

Don't forget that the Smashwords Summer/Winter event is in progress until the end of July. There are lots of bargains to be had.

Tuesday, 7 July 2015

Sweet Reasoning - A Jack and Danny Short Story

A fun short story for Jack and Danny fans. This story contains consensual spanking and domestic discipline scenes.

Jack and Danny are the stars of Top/brat comedy ‘The Jack and Danny Chronicles.’

In this tongue-in-cheek story Danny has an eye on forbidden fruits. Will his Top, Jack, give in and allow him to have what he lusts after?


Forsooth, what magic was this? I could scarce believe my eyes. I stared in wonder, moved almost to tears at sight of such beatific sweetness. Love, nay, lust stirred deep within me. I must have possession of them or surely go insane with desire. I looked about me, seeking to locate he who could grant my wishes and make gift of these marvellous jewels unto me. My eyes raked the plebeian market crowd and at last came to rest upon the tall noble figure of my beloved lord, who was deep in thoughtful counsel, considering the merits of one kind of merchandise against that of another. He would I knew choose wisely. I discreetly sought to turn his attentions from the merchandise in his hands to my small, but perfectly proportioned person.


My discreet attention seeking seemed to have a startling affect on my beloved. (I really rather worried about his nerves sometimes.) The tins of cat food he’d been deliberating over dropped from his hands, bouncing across the supermarket floor, jamming themselves under the trolley wheels of a woman who was speed shopping, thus bringing her to a sudden and abrupt halt. Consequently she shot over the handlebar of the trolley, bowling into a display of canned dog food and sending them flying like ninepins.

Jesus! I blushed furiously. Much as I love Jack he does seem to attract disaster sometimes. It was getting to the point where I was afraid to go out with him. I watched as with typical old world courtesy, he helped the bemused lady to her feet and with much apology parked her safely behind her laden trolley once more. She steered a rather erratic course towards the checkouts.

Jack on the other hand steered a very straight course in my direction. Grasping my elbow he manoeuvred me into the only deserted aisle in the shop, the one where all the no fat, low sugar, vegan friendly, healthy option products were shelved. My ears flattened themselves against my head as he assailed them with a scorching lecture about appropriate supermarket etiquette and consideration to other shoppers.
At last he ran out of steam and I was able to insert a small, but sincere, “sorry, Jack.”
He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “What was so important that you felt you had to break the sound barrier to get my attention?”

“You have to see this, Jack, come on.” Grabbing his hand I dragged him over to the display that had so entranced me. “Look.” Reverently picking out a packet from the display dumper I held it up to him, saying in breathily hallowed tones, “isn’t it marvellous?”

Jack blinked. “It’s a packet of chocolate Malteasers, Danny, what’s so marvellous about them?”

Was the man blind?

I shook the bag at him with a seductive air, “not just ordinary Malteasers, Jack. Look at them closely. They’re WHITE chocolate Malteasers. What will they think of next? They’re a miracle of confectionary.”

“Danny my pet,” disappointingly un-seduced, he gently took the bag from my hot little hand and placed it back in the display dumper. “I don’t care if they’re multi coloured and in line for Papal Beautification, you’re still not having a packet, not now, not ever.”

Sarcasm with a religious theme! Lovely. I scowled at him, “that’s not fair, Jack. It’s Saturday and we agreed that Saturday was my let my hair down, forget healthy eating, stuff my face with junk of my choice day.”

“True,” he nodded agreement, “but not Malteasers. Malteasers, as you know only too well, are permanently off limits.”

“Please, Jack, I have to try these.” I gazed at him, trying to emulate the appealing look on the face of the pup that adorned the pack of toilet roll in our shopping trolley…though why they use a puppy to promote toilet roll is something I have never understood. There was another brand that claimed to be kitten soft. The whole concept caused me deep disturbance, seeming to suggest advertising agents had experimentally wiped their arses on a variety of small furry animals before settling on a puppy and kitten as being softest and therefore most likely to successfully sell toilet roll.

Speaking personally I wouldn’t risk wiping my bum with a kitten, not with all those little needle claws they have. You’d end up with a hissing, spitting sporran dangling from your bollocks. The whole thing was a disgrace really. It made you wonder if the RSPCA were doing their job properly, allowing helpless little creatures to be so misused. I’d a good mind to write to my MP about it, whoever he/she is, or maybe even Rolf Harris and the Animal Hospital crew. They could do a special feature on it. I might even get to make a guest appearance: ‘Daniel Macintyre highlights disturbing animal abuse by advertising agencies.’ I could end up with my own Watchdog programme, possibly assisted by Dale Winton and that antiques guy, the one with a face like a beige hush puppy…bugger, I’ve lost my thread, where was I?

Oh yes…my appealing puppy dog looks had little effect on Jack. He was unmoved, heartless swine that he is.

“It’s no good looking at me like that, Danny. I’m not going to change my mind.”

Having failed in the appealing puppy dog look category. I launched straight into another puppy dog trait, whining. “I don’t think you appreciate the momentous nature of this situation, Jack. You’re not being fair. I mean they’re white Malteasers, Malteasers coated in white chocolate, that’s two of my favourite things in one event, white chocolate and Malteasers, together, a marriage of perfection, and look, it says on the display, they’re a limited edition. I may never get the chance to try them again, it would be a tragedy, please, just this once. I’ll never ask for anything else ever again, ever, I promise, not ever, or hardly ever, maybe once a month, but no more than that, not even if I really want to.”

Jack folded his arms, “finished?”

I nodded, feeling I’d stated my case as well as it could be stated at this juncture.

“Good.” Jack smiled. He then swiftly unfolded his arms and leaned towards me with a look of gentle menace in his eyes. “Watch my lips, Danny, the answer is NO, that’s two letters, N and O, together, spelling no, not yes, not maybe, but no, just that, NO, which, as well as being the chemical symbol for nobelium is also a word used, as in this case, to state denial, disagreement or refusal.”

 Sweet Reasoning at All Romance. 

This story is also included in the 'Gay Briefs' anthology.