Gay Men Don't Just Survive. They Investigate.

Most crime fiction gives queer characters one of two roles: victim or cautionary tale. They’re the body in chapter one, or they’re the subplot that exists to add texture to somebody else’s story. For a long time, if you wanted LGBTQ crime fiction with a strong gay lead — a lead who’s smart, morally complicated, professionally capable, and living an actual life — you had to squint and imagine it.

I stopped squinting.

My work is built around gay men who move through the world the way any good crime fiction protagonist does: with intelligence, flawed judgment, professional obsession, and the occasional spectacularly bad decision. The universe spans multiple series — Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide — and the characters connect across cases, across cities, across each other’s lives. Some of them are cops. Some aren’t. None of them are defined by suffering.

The writing is lean. Dialogue does the work dialogue should do. The prose doesn’t explain itself. The genre is crime — hard-edged, procedurally grounded — and the LGBTQ identity of the leads is simply part of who they are, the same way it is for real people: present, textured, occasionally central to the case, never the tragedy.

That gap in the market existed for a reason. This is the work that fills it.