Thank you for allowing me to be here today, RJ. Shall we begin with your questions? I think—yes. –grinning-


What are the major themes of your work. What genre do you write in?
I write primarily M/M, although I will have at least one M/F coming out at the beginning of next year. In general, my stories revolve around mysteries and/or PIs or police detectives. They are almost always romances with HEA or HFN endings.

What genre of books do you like to read? Do you limit yourself to only the genre that you write yourself?
I’m a voracious reader of mysteries and detective stories at the moment. It used to be fantasy stories, urban and high fantasy, but I seem to have moved away from them at this point. All told though, I’ll read just about anything that catches my fancy, be it fiction or non-fiction. A good blub does wonders for making me want to pick up a book.

In your opinion, what are the most important attributes to remaining sane as a writer?
I think you have to follow your heart when you write if you’re going to remain sane. Write because you love it, not to meet a deadline or because someone has told you that you have to write such-and-such type of story even though it’s not within your comfort zone. On the other hand, don’t be afraid to try something new, but don’t get discouraged if you find it doesn’t work for you. Put it aside instead of forcing yourself work on it, and perhaps, someday, go back and give it another try. You might be surprised what happens when you do. 

How much research do you put into your writing?
A great deal when it involves technical details. If I’m going to make a crime and its resolution viable it had better sound real from the get-go. That’s the reason I have a bookshelf of crime and forensics reference books and enough spots bookmarked on the internet that Homeland Security might get a bit worried if they checked me out. –laughing-

If you could collaborate with another author who would it be?
To be quite honest, I’ve written with other people in the past and have found out I work much better alone. I am a seat-of-the-pants writer which would probably drive most other authors up the wall if I collaborated with them. That said, if Jonathan Kellerman came knocking on my door, for damned sure I wouldn’t turn him down.

How do you feel about being interviewed?
I rather like it actually. The questions make me think about why I became a writer in the first place.


I’m also holding two contests as part of my ‘Weekends’ blog hop which is part and parcel of my being July’s Featured Author at Silver Publishing. One is on my blog –

The other one shows up on the blogs of those wonderful people who are hosting my blog hop tour. Today, obviously, that person is RJ.

My newest release ‘Weekends’, is a story which takes place over several holiday weekends. What is your favorite holiday, and why? On each one of the blogs, one commenter will be chosen at random to win an ARC of ‘Weekends’. Please be certain to leave an email address so you can be contacted if you win.

The list of hop addresses where you can find me:
Monday, July 9th – Lily Sawyer –
Wed. July 11th – Cheri Noel –
Thurs, July 12th – Cheyenne Meadows –
Friday, July 13th – AJ Jarrett –
Sunday July 15th – RJ Scott –
Tues. July 17th – Angel Martinez –
Wed. July 18th – Freddy MacKay –
Thurs. July 19th – Amara’s Place (Cheri Noel) –


Coming, July 21st.

Excerpt of ‘Weekends'
Marcus Hampton is a staid forty-year-old bookkeeper and a confirmed bachelor. When Demitri Costas, a young photographer, asks if he can take some pictures of Marcus, the older man is surprised but reluctantly agrees.

Demitri becomes infatuated with Marcus, despite the fact he believes the man is straight and married.

Slowly they become friends until each realizes the other is gay, at which point Marcus begins to pull away, certain he is too old for Demitri.

It will take everything within Demitri's power to convince Marcus he's wrong. If he can, and he is determined he will, one way or another, they just might find a future together.
The Weekend Before Thanksgiving

Marcus stretched, checking the time before getting back to what he was doing. His fingers flew across the keyboard, his eyes following the scrolling information on the screen in front of him. It was all rote. Add this, subtract that, make certain part one equaled part two when he'd finished. He was sometimes tempted to move some of it to his own account just to see if he'd get away with it, but he was too honest to even try.

Honest as the day is long, and today seems very long.

He checked the time again.

Why the hell do I care? It's not like I've got anywhere to go other than home.

Running a hand over his short, graying blond hair, he sighed.

I'm a creature of habit and boring as hell, the stereotypical bookkeeper.

An hour later he jumped when someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, you planning on spending the weekend here?” one of his coworkers asked.

“Not if I can help it,” Marcus told him with a small smile. He closed out the spreadsheet he'd been working on, shut down the file, and logged off. Grabbing his coat from the hook on one wall of his cubicle, he made it to the elevator just in time for the doors to close in his face.

He shook his head, pressed the ‘down' button and waited, thinking, The perfect end to a perfect day, week, month, lifetime, then snorted softly. Not.

* * * *

Marcus arrived at his small house on the outskirts of the city to be greeted by a very petulant “Meow” from Daisy. She looked up at him and, her full fluffy tail standing straight up, stalked to the kitchen. When he joined her, she looked disdainfully at her empty food bowl then glared at him.

“Okay, sorry,” he told her. Opening the cupboard he took out a can of her favorite cat food, popped the top off and spooned it into her bowl.

“Now for my supper,” he muttered, checking the refrigerator to see what was available, if anything.

Leftover lasagna or second-day stew, decisions, decisions.

The stew won out so he dumped it into a pan, set it on the stove to heat, and grabbed a beer before going to turn on the TV. The news was wrapping up, the weather report said it would be cold and snowy for the next few days, and his favorite team had just lost their best player to an injury.

So much for making the end of my day any better than the rest of it.

The smell of something burning had him rushing back to the kitchen. The stew was boiling over, the hot liquid hitting the burner. He rescued it, dumped the stew into a bowl and set the pan in the sink to soak with the hope he'd be able to scrape the burned residue off the bottom eventually.

As he sat down to eat he felt something soft brush his leg and seconds later Daisy had jumped up onto the other chair. She watched him avidly; meowing piteously as if she hadn't just eaten a whole bowl of her own food.

“I'm such a sucker for a pair of golden eyes,” he grumbled, setting a small sliver of meat in front of her. She batted at it, sniffed it and then delicately ate it before looking at him beseechingly.

The game continued through the rest of his meal. When the bowl was empty he got up to take it to the sink, at which point Daisy knew she'd had all she was going to get and jumped down, walking sedately into the living room.

Marcus got there a few minutes later to find her curled up in her corner of the sofa grooming herself. He sat down at the other end, picked up the remote and flicked through the TV channels until he found something which might be worth watching.

* * * *

Halfway across the city Demitri Costas slammed his book shut, startling his roommate.

“Problems?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, no, I have no clue, which is actually the problem,” Demitri replied. “I'm never going to understand this.”

“Then drop the class. You still can, you know.”

“And face the wrath of my father? Umm, no.”

“Damn it, Mitri, you're twenty-three. It's time you got out from under his thumb.”

“He's footing the bill.”

“Do you really want to be an engineer?”

Demitri shot him a disgusted look. “What do you think?”

“I know you don't, so drop the class. Hell, drop out of school completely. You're too talented to spend your life slaving away for him.” Jack pointed to the photos which lined one wall of their living room. “Any one of those, sold to a gallery, could pay half the rent and then some and you know it.”

Demitri scrubbed a hand through his dark, curly hair. “You keep saying that but…” He shook his head.

“But nothing. So help me if you don't do it, I will. Lacey knows several gallery owners, she can steer us to the right one.”

A glance at the book he'd been studying made Demitri wonder if Jack had a point. “All right, I guess I can at least try. Find out from her which one would be the best and I'll see what happens.”

Jack grinned. “They'll love them, you'll become rich and famous, and I'll be able to say ‘I knew him when'.”

“That or ‘Yeah, he's the fool who though he could make it' as you and your friends pass by me while I'm panhandling on a street corner,” Demitri replied with a laugh.

“Not going to happen, Mitri. So, when do you want to do this?”

“As soon as possible before I lose my nerve.”

“I'll call her and we'll go tomorrow.”






Again, thank you very much for having me here. – E.