Sep. 1st, 2017

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Afternoon all. And that’s possibly the last coherent remark you’ll get out of me for the next few days as we’re imminently off to Twickenham for a weekend of rugby. Stand up for the Saracens and all that.


I’ve had a few enquiries about formats of Lessons in Loving thy Murderous Neighbour other than the currently available kindle and print formats. At some point all my self published/self re-published repertoire will appear at sites other than Amazon, probably starting with Wild Bells and then In the Spotlight. If you need a non-kindle format for any of these books, please contact me direct.

In a mad moment, and inspired by Nicky’s Slade exhibition of art – including framed books – at the Harbour Lights cinema I have persuaded a few fellow authors to hold an exhibition there next May, with the working title Cover? Art! More news on that once I have it, but here’s an appetite wetter, with a certain author already starting to scheme.

nicky exhib 1

My next new release is Count the Shells. It’s out on October 16th, which suddenly is next month! Here’s an excerpt, with Michael (my leading man) and his sister discussing an old photograph.

Caroline smiled. “Anyway, that picture kept me going all those long days when the family waited for the next letter from you.”
Michael nodded. Many a photograph must have kept families, wives, and sweethearts comforted over the years. “Not just me, I suspect. You always had a soft spot for Thomas, didn’t you?”
“He was rather handsome. We all liked him.”
Did she know how far Michael’s liking had gone? It wasn’t something they could ever have freely discussed, but Caroline was far from stupid. She must have noticed exchanges of glances, overheard whispers or mysterious laughter, wondered why Michael wasn’t quite the same with Thomas as he was with other friends. Or had she simply assumed that was how men were when they had close friendships? Many people lived in blissful ignorance of what really went on between some couples of the same gender who shared a house or habitually holidayed together.
“Michael?” Caroline nudged him. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes. Just lost in memories. I can almost see him here, now. Running along this very lawn with that wretched kite.”
“The one he couldn’t get to fly?” Caroline snorted.
“That’s the one.” They’d have been fifteen, the family holidaying here and Michael introducing Thomas to them for the first time. He’d lived not far away, at a house called Broch, which was apparently some type of ancient Scottish dwelling and had been the brainchild of a previous, Celtic, owner of the property. Thomas had dropped in on the Grays on an almost daily basis, although nobody had complained at the intrusion. As Caroline had pointed out, he had been universally liked. It had been a glorious summer of warmth and light, the two boys teetering on the brink of understanding that their camaraderie was not like that of their schoolmates. “I was glad when that kite broke. I always felt he’d get so enthralled he wouldn’t realise where he was running and he’d go down the path and right over the cliff with it.”
Caroline, sly smile creeping over her face, patted his hand. “I have a terrible confession to make, although I won’t do it until you swear you won’t tell Richard.”
“I swear,” Michael promised, intrigued.
“I was the one who broke that kite. I had exactly the same concern as you did—he was so terribly reckless, so . . .” She shrugged. “I’ve lived with it on my conscience, but it had to be done.”

And finally, it has to be the dressing room at Twickenham. Unoccupied, alas, but I guess a girl can't have everything.



And finally finally, a bit of fun.
RJ Scott's Birthday Treasure Hunt


Clue One - One half of the guys who really like the barn.

Answers to be entered on RJ's blog on September 3.


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