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Posts Tagged ‘Erin O’Quinn’

I’m posting this for the stalwart followers of Erin O’Quinn’s work and words. Here is a promo I am running on Facebook:

When Burns walks into that good night in THE UNICORN’S SECRET, how will Thomas cope with the rest of his bleak existence? Is there a way these two lost souls can still find each other and save each other?

A tough cop and a reclusive civilian discover that an old crime and a new murder are connected. Worse, the common denominator is one of them.

Thomas Fitzgerald and a “new” lover are in the shadow of a criminal, one who has set his mind on brutal revenge.

The first five Burns! Mysteries tiptoed to the brink of the paranormal and finally teetered over the edge. What will happen in this mystery, as then and now and tomorrow start to merge? The enigma begins with Burns…

Watch for THE BURNS ENIGMA, coming soon to an ebook store near you… And by that, my friends, I mean as soon as I can sell a few copies of that damned unicorn.
~

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Find the first five in the series on one of O’Quinn’s author pages:

#gay #erotic #romance #mystery #paranormal #novellas
Kindle US http://goo.gl/aqc454
Kindle UK https://goo.gl/EvzdLd
ARe/OmniLit https://goo.gl/m3lUf4 (pdf and epub formats)
Smashwords https://goo.gl/80Tw3v (epub)
BURNS TOO DEEP / THE DUNDEE LAW / RED, RED ROSE / THE DEVIL IN FALKIRK / THE UNICORN’S SECRET
The Burns! Box Set (mysteries 1-4) saves 62%

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The next novel in The Gaslight Mysteries series finally arrives. The links are ready. I’ve advertised a Friday release, but what the hey. Early is good!

I started this one immediately after I wrote THIN AS SMOKE, a year ago, and then it got pushed aside by two other novels and four novellas. But Michael is a patient sort of bloke, in spite of  what Simon seems to think. I actually wrote the bulk of it in last November’s NaNoWriMo, the same writing impetus that produced Heart to Hart, Thin as Smoke, and Nevada Highlander.

skinny samBecause it’s set the day following TAS action, Dashiell is still sitting with his bottle of whiskey at the gentlemen’s club, waiting to be taken dockside.  It just seemed natural that he’d stick around for a while, so here he  is, fedora and all. (The image is just a tease, from a revised cover of TAS, to be re-released soon.)

One huge difference in this book is the publisher. This time around, with the original publisher’s doors soon to close, this one is  my own New Dawn Press. You’ll recognize Michael’s newspaper name—perfect for a book about Ireland.

Another difference, also a welcome one, is the cover. Not just this novel, but the others I’ll revise and the others I may  write, will be illustrated by the hugely talented artist/illustrator/author Alex A. Akira (alexaakira.org).

Look for re-issues of the first four books sometime after March 31.  You’ll see that Alex  is striving for a twenties “pulp fiction” look on the covers. As to the writing…I’ve revised the format just a tad, adding  chapter titles as my own way of remembering what’s in the books. A few mistakes have crept into the published ones, and I hope I’ve caught most of those too.

So without further ado, here are your links to my vintage gay erotic romance mystery!

MASTERS OF CANE-GLM5-EOQ -4X6Amazon:
US  http://amzn.to/1PHoxk0
UK  http://amzn.to/20hkeDD

ARe/OmniLit (epub and pdf formats)
http://bit.ly/1Szw5LQ

Smashwords (epub format)
http://bit.ly/1ZOKxEe

Again, if you like Alex’s art, he is adept at covers, banners, box sets…just about anything  you and he can dream up for your next masterpiece.

alexaakira.org

 

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Merry Christmas, Utah: Peace on earth, man …from Erin O’Quinn

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A Paiute man named Utah awakens on Christmas Eve to find the handsome long-haired stranger Kris, who had healed and befriended him, has vanished without a trace. He sets out to find him in the dark, in a snowstorm, while the children of the world wait for Santa …

The short story MERRY CHRISTMAS, UTAH pairs a young native American with Kris Kringle himself, in the guise of a 60s hippie. When they smoke that herb together … peace on earth, man.

This wisp of a story is a piece of my soul, a fragment of my own history, an echo of my own youth in the foothills of Wheeler Peak in Eastern Nevada.

 

 

 

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This GoogleEarth photo shows the actual dot on the map called Hogum, a place named after my own forebear, where Utah lives in my story. I’ve been there, done that.

 

I’ve walked through that huddle of tiny trailers, looked over the side of the canyon on Connors Summit, felt some of Utah’s wonder and joy. I hope you also will find a part of yourself in these brief pages. The title is one I can repeat every month of the year, not just at Christmas—a sincere wish for happiness and love with no hangups on sexual orientation.

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS, UTAH was selected as 2013 #1 Top Pick by reviewer Orion on the heralded former review site jessewave dot com. Calling it “a wonderful mashup of Western and Christmas tales,” and “a true pleasure,” the critic praises this short story for the writing, which “has a playful, almost lyrical feel, conveying a world of information and emotion in a minimum of words.”

Ironically, I wrote and published this story before Utah lifted its ban on same-sex marriage in December of 2013. I feel like I had something to do … on a cosmic level …  with that historical decision.

 

 

 

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Today I celebrate the release of the fourth Burns-Fitzgerald romance/mystery.

The title is A Kilted Christmas. This one is a little different from the others.

First, it’s a short story (13K words), instead of the novella-length ones you’ve hopefully already read.

Second, it takes both the detective Thomas and his lover Burns away from their turf, to a part of Scotland that lies about halfway between Edinburgh and Glasgow. The city is Falkirk, rich in history and set in the gateway to the Highlands.

And third, this one is an attempt to come full circle and to bring closure to a couple of oddly-matched men. Only readers will decide whether the direction of this story is logical and fulfilling too.

When  you read the story, you may be curious about the giant horses of Falkirk called The Kelpies. Here is a photo, which to me shows both the immensity and the power of those beasts. I have to admit that I have always linked this sculpture in my mind to an event which took place about the same time it opened to the public: the Scottish Parliament’s passing of the same-sex marriage act.

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Two raging beasts … an expression of freedom and power … a fitting tribute to GLBT marriage.

More about the story later. For now, I hope you’ll enjoy two unusual lovers as they put a climax to their passionate story.

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The links are:

🎄A KILTED CHRISTMAS 🎄
Amazon http://amzn.to/1RjtNyV
Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1HDgO9a
OmniLit http://bit.ly/1jw7GaD
Smashwords http://bit.ly/1StcaLz

 

 

 

 

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I realized today that many of my books are full of horses and ponies. All the early stuff, for sure—the YA series, and the Dawn of Ireland romances. The Iron Warriors. The cranky bachelor Flann O’Conall.

By the time I get to contemporary times, the men have pickups instead of ponies, sports cars instead of stallions.

I thought today I’d introduce you to a  young man named Wynn Talfryn, one of my Iron Warriors, by way of a spirited stallion.

To set the scene, from Book 2, Warrior, Stand Tall: Wynn is a 20-year-old Welshman, the lover of a 40-something former Roman soldier named Gristle. The men are on their way to Tara, the sacred home of the High King of Éire, so that Wynn can find some kind of retribution for what a couple of nasty-minded Druids have done to him in the first book. Once a trainer of ponies, Wynn finds that his lover may see him now through different eyes…

~oOo~

wynn horse 360Wynn was enjoying the sensation of a new stallion between his legs. It was the handsome, star-marked horse that Bleddyn had purchased when he arrived in Éire so that he could ride to Derry…

The stallion was a bay, a deep chestnut-brown with a mane and tail so black that they seemed to glint blue in the sunlight. A few inches above his dangerous tawny eyes there rode a white star that shone bright-white against the velvet-russet forehead. He had decided this morning to call him Seren, his own native word for “star.”

The handsome bay had been waiting for them in the byre when they had finished their supper the night before. Gristle had said nothing about him but had curried the stallion along with his own before they sought their room together. And then this morning, before their trek to Tara began, he and Gristle were standing in the unsteady light of a torch in the rough covered enclosure attached to the tavern.

“What do you think of Bledd’s horse?”

“I think he could stare down most men.”

Gristle’s mouth had risen subtly. “Meaning you like him?”

Ie. But he may be a one-man horse only.”

“I agree, Wynn. And that is why I hand you the reins.”

Wynn was dumbfounded. Bledd had given this handsome creature to his friend Gristle. And now Griss was clearly awarding the stallion to him.

He accepted the reins from Gristle and stood in front of the restive dark horse. Only a few shades lighter than Gristle’s own horse, Shadow, this beast was the same height—close to seventeen hands—and its eyes were even more shaded with peril, like those of his trainer.

“Griss, I, um, I cannot…”

w & spear-pizap.com13973170689905Gristle stepped closer to him and looked deep into his eyes.

“Take him, damn it, Wynn. You have shown your mettle. You have proved that no stallion is a match for you. Take the damn creature, and let us find the road north.”

Gristle had turned from him then and lifted his saddle onto Shadow’s back. Wynn found the stallion’s saddle and blanket and stood near its flank, caressing and talking. “Beauty, beauty. What is your name? Will your star guide me to Tara? Seren…star.”

He felt the ripple of powerful muscles in the flanks and withers, and then he stroked the long sensitive nose. Seren’s head dipped and tossed, his eyes showing white.

Wynn decided that he liked this creature very much. The stallion had a certain controlled fury, a hooded menace that reminded him strongly of his lover. Was Gristle telling him something deeply personal? If so, Wynn would find out soon enough. He dressed the stallion with Bledd’s discarded blanket and saddle.

Now, close to midday on the well-marked road to Tara, Wynn reached out and stroked Seren’s powerful neck. His fingers felt the tremor of finely-toned muscles that somehow accepted his touch. His thighs felt the new sensation of a wide, strong back, and he felt his cock stir a little with the unaccustomed contact.

Later that night, in their rude tent … As Gristle often did to him, he lay on his lover’s back and sucked and bit a spot near his shoulder, where no casual eye would see it. He tasted the salty zest of blood …

“How do you feel, Wynn?”

“Like a stallion,” Wynn whispered into his flesh. And then again in his ear, “Like a goddamned fucking stallion.”

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The Iron Warrior Series
Warrior, Ride Hard http://amzn.to/P2eRDO
In U.K. http://amzn.to/YxRtqv
Warrior, Stand Tall http://amzn.to/WoDkGS
In U.K. http://amzn.to/13WTTNF
On SirenBookStrand http://bit.ly/O7b5us

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Even though Thin as Smoke was released February 1, it’s just now reaching a wider audience on Amazon dot com, dot uk and other dots near you! Hang in there with me, and I’ll post the links after these short excerpts from the novel.

~oOo~

A gay pub somewhere in Ireland. The day is Beltane, Lover’s Day. May 1, 1924.

Those of you who’ve read the first three mysteries know Simon by now: closeted, uptight, surly. Angry at himself, at his flat-mate Michael, and perhaps at the world. And by now you know the somewhat complicated reasons for his attitude.

michael lyingAs the novel opens, Michael McCree is working up to a celebration—the day one year ago he first met the brooding, drop-dead-gorgeous PI Simon Hart. His memories go back to the handsome stranger standing in his newspaper’s anteroom, come to turn in an obituary notice and an advert for a new roomer…

Michael closed his eyes and let an image dance on the inside of his lids. His own practiced fingers fitting slugs into the linotype, pushing in time with the rain pummeling the large front window of the New Dawn. A rumpled, unshaven man of about twenty-five whose eyes were uncharted stormy seas…almost as tall as he, broad of shoulder and stubbled of chin, dominating the newspaper’s outer office, not bothering to temper either his snotty tone or the surly twist of his lips.

He’d insisted on posting a funeral notice in that very day’s edition. And an advert for a flat-mate. Had this wild-eyed loony bumped off his roomer and now needed a paying substitute? Michael had decided on the spot this outrageously handsome, darkly tousled stranger needed two commodities right away—a sodding good lay and a flat-mate named Michael McCree.

bum:angstFor his part, Simon remembers the day, rightly enough. But for him, the anniversary is hardly one to celebrate.
The story was a long one. And yet he could start a scant day ago. He’d awakened yesterday with the instant knowledge it was Beltane eve. An anniversary of sorts. A date his new partner had obliquely referred to several times as though it called for some kind of romantic celebration…their first meeting, in the newspaper shop.

Simon still had a hard time piecing together those fevered days one year ago after he’d discovered the murdered body of his business partner. Try as he might, he could not remember even dressing on that long-ago morning, much less composing an obit notice and an advert for a new flat-mate. Had he perhaps slept in his suit and greatcoat? It was possible. What he did remember was the rain. After weeks of unnatural drought, the deluge seemed to be wreaking punishment on saint and sinner alike.

Has it really been one entire year?

He remembered taking his Bushmills bottle to bed each night for several days after he found Sargent sprawled across the surface of their old mahogany desk. He’d avoided both their PI office and the flat they’d shared, seeking the knotted bedding at his gentleman’s club where his old friend’s ghost was a little dimmer. He later remembered the cheeky fellow in the New Dawn anteroom because the bastard had extorted a prince’s ransom for his newspaper’s services and had the gall to pound on his door a few days later to extract even more.

For Simon, Beltane eve was the day he’d tried to soak the blood of his foxhole friend from a desk blotter. And Beltane was not the day he’d met Michael McCree. It was the day he’d set down another man’s death in indelible India ink.

~oOo~

man:smoke lg copy 2And now, out of the haze of cigarette smoke and the sea of clustered dancers, steps a very thin man. A gaunt man, with shuttered eyes betraying both sickness and a world of emotional hurt. Dashiell Hammett has come to Dun Linden on a covert assignment, and he meets his old friend Michael after seven years.

Hammett’s astonished. Michael seems delighted. But Simon, refusing to admit how much he’s drawn to his handsome partner, is stricken by the sudden appearance of the man drawing Michael’s attention…

So the day Dashiell Hammett walks out of the smoke of Paddy’s gay pub, he walks into the lives of two deeply conflicted men.

One reviewer, Suzana Wylie, perceptively points out:

“Each is trapped inside the snare of his emotions, straining to find a means of escape, not from each other, but toward each other.”

Hamett’s mere presence sets in motion events which threaten to end the edgy relationship of Michael McCree and Simon Hart.

TAS thin:gun-pizap.com14243083089952

Your amazon links:
Amazon dot com:  http://amzn.to/17gOVCi 

Amazon dot uk:  http://bit.ly/1JqzYzb will send you back to the dot com, because the publisher cannot deal with the VAT conversions any longer.

Don’t forget, this is the latest of four mysteries. The others are:

HEART TO HART … SPARRING WITH SHADOWS … TO THE BONE

All are on my Amazon author pages: http://amzn.to/1w8PVgI and the UK site: http://bit.ly/1JqzYzb
And here at AReOmniLit: http://bit.ly/1vKA4fa
where you can select Mobipocket (.prc) to download to your Kindle.
They’re also here, on my pub site: http://www.amberquill.com/store/m/223-Erin-O-Quinn.aspx

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A forty-year-old veteran Roman soldier. A twenty-year-old Welsh pony trainer. The story of their meeting, their coupling, their loss and re-discovery of each other, are told in The Iron Warrior series of historical M/M romances Warrior, Ride Hard and Warrior, Stand Tall.

In WARRIOR, STAND TALL the older man has been held captive beneath a dolmen, a kind of megalithic tomb near holy Tara in ancient Ireland. Going back there with his lover Wynn, he remembers his captivity.

~oOo~

dolmen 500As soon as they had walked into the chamber of stone, Gristle felt an echoing stillness. This is where he had lain, almost accepting death. Here is where the sky, a massive lintel stone, had pressed into his chest and weighed on his mind, bringing him close to the calm of oblivion.

He felt again the mote of his inner strength that had escaped his weak flesh. He saw it again in the eye of his mind, watched it waft on the moving air of his own breath. Some remnant of memory persisted as he looked at the cracks and shafts of light overhead. He had risen to one of those fissures. He had clearly seen through to the sward and the trees beyond, into, and past the bruising rain.

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Again he felt the keen joy of liberation, remembered hearing his own hoarse voice shout through the widening crack in the stone. “Fuck you! Fuck Fortuna!”

blond warriorHe turned to Wynn, the golden man who stood in a fawn-gold robe at his side. The red fox-fur trim at the neck picked up the brindled russet-and-blond of his flowing hair.

For a moment he was still speechless, as though crying to the implacable goddess had robbed him of his ability to speak, ever again. Finally, his voice escaped her grip.

“Wynn. This is perfect.”

Wynn had seen to it that this sepulcher became a warm, sheltering room. Their blankets, a source of light, his precious whetstone—all he really wanted were laid out as though in a wedding chamber, waiting for them to join in a new partnership.

Much later, when Wynn’s head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, Gristle marveled at how much this young man had brought him, in such a short period of time. Except for the scant eleven months with Tristus, he had spent forty years of his life in an empty room. It had been a room devoid of windows, harsh of floor, built of sharp angles and unyielding as flint.

He had known Wynn about six months. And out of that six months, he and Wynn had been physically together less than half that time. And yet even from the first hours after they had lain together, his world had begun to swell from the tiny, dark enclosure to this—this sun-raptured cosmos he called “love.”

… Wynn stirred in his arms.

“Griss.”

“I am here.”

“I need to take ye.”

Gristle’s throat erupted in a strange sound he barely recognized as a cough-like laugh. “You have already taken me. To a far, marvelous place. A place I never want to leave.”

“Nay. To take your alabaster ass.”

Before Gristle could react, Wynn became a maelstrom of flashing legs and strong, muscular arms, and Gristle found himself lying on his stomach on the tarred cloth. To his shame, he was breathing hard, while Wynn seemed fresh. Gristle inwardly cursed his recent wound.warriors crop to p

He felt Wynn’s new, cobweb-soft beard on the curves of his ass, and then the wet velvet of his tongue sliding up and down the crack. “Damn it, Wynn! Stop!” But even as he said it, his prick swelled and hammered against the cloth underneath. He spread his legs then, giving in to the unaccustomed jolts of pleasure that traveled up his ass and into his very gut.

Soon he was moaning and arcing his ass high, seeking Wynn’s questing tongue, relishing the sensation of his lover’s mouth sucking on his anus. He was in danger of climaxing, he knew. “Fuck me!” His voice sounded strangled, thick with need.
As if in instant response to his pleas, he felt the broad dagger that was Wynn’s ready cock slide into his ass. It was a shock, and it was a hot-cool craving that took his breath again. How could he let this—this stripling, this inexperienced lad—take him as though he were a yielding maiden? He fought against it, he struggled, he loved every moment of Wynn’s adamant prick taking him, thrusting into a place so deep he lost all sense of time and place.

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The two Iron Warrior novels are here:

Warrior, Ride Hard http://amzn.to/P2eRDO
In U.K. http://amzn.to/YxRtqv
Warrior, Stand Tall http://amzn.to/WoDkGS
In U.K. http://amzn.to/13WTTNF
On SirenBookStrand http://bit.ly/O7b5us

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