Hello everyone! I’m Francis Gideon and I’m touring for my new release Hopeless Romantic, a trans rom-com of sorts. Follow along this week as I talk about all thinks romantic comedy, trans identity, and being pretty in pink! I’m looking forward to sharing some serious 1980s nostalgia; be sure to comment with your own bit of nostalgia for a $10 giveaway for Riptide publishing.
About Hopeless Romantic
Nick Fraser is a true romantic. He wants the guy instead of the girl, but other than that, he wants everything his favorite rom-coms depict: the courtship, the passionate first kiss, the fairy-tale wedding. But after breaking up with the love of his life, Nick wonders if anything fairy-tale will ever happen for him.
Then he meets Katie, who’s just like a rom-com heroine. She’s sharp, funny, sweet, and as into music and punk culture as Nick is. What’s more, he’s incredibly attracted to her—even though she’s a woman. Nick has never considered that he might be bisexual, but his feelings for Katie are definitely real.
When Katie reveals that she’s transgender, Nick starts to see how much he doesn’t understand about the world, queer identity, and himself. He is hopelessly in love with Katie, but this isn’t a fairy tale, and Nick’s friends and family may not accept his new relationship. If he wants it all, he has to have the courage to make his fantasy a reality.
Now available from Riptide Publishing. http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/hopeless-romantic
About Francis Gideon
Francis Gideon is a nonbinary writer who dabbles in romance, mystery, fantasy, historical, and paranormal genres. Francis credits music, along with being an only child to a single mother, as why they write so much now. Long nights at home were either spent memorizing lyrics to pop-punk bands or reading voraciously. Add a couple of formative experiences in university, a network of weird artist friends, and after years of writing stories Francis never showed to anyone, they now have books to their name.
After receiving an MA in English literature, Francis wanted to do something a bit more fun. They soon found the LGBTQ romance community and fell in love on the spot. Since then, Francis has attempted to balance writing romances with as many different types of couples as possible while also attending school for their PhD. When not writing fiction or teaching university classes, Francis works on scholarly articles on everything from character deaths in the TV show Hannibal, the online archive of Canadian poet and artist P.K. Page, and transgender representation on YouTube. Francis is a middle name, used to keep students from Googling their teacher and asking far too many questions.
Francis lives in Canada with their partner, Travis, where they often spend nights disagreeing about what TV show to watch and making bad puns whenever possible. Travis receives dedications in Francis’s novels because he tolerates Francis’s long hours and listens to random story ideas late into the night. Francis also might be a bit of a hopeless romantic—as if you didn’t already guess.
Connect with Francis:
Website & Blog: francisgideon.wordpress.com
To celebrate the release of Hopeless Romantic, one lucky winner will receive a $10 Riptide credit! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on April 15, 2017. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!
Nick furrowed his brow at the tangled insides of his 2006 Mazda 3. He nervously ran his finger along the propped hood before glancing over to his roommate. Tucker stood in skinny jeans and with one of his long grey cardigans over an un-tucked collared shirt: Tucker’s day-off wear. His dark hair was showered and combed, but not styled, though it was already afternoon. He pushed his glasses up his nose and nervously glanced around, probably to see if any neighbours were watching the display in the open parking lot of their apartment building.
“You look fine, Tucker. No one’s watching us.”
“Perhaps. But you did have a tantrum that I heard from my desk.”
“Ugh. It’s the car. That’s why I’m freaking out. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
With a groan, Nick closed the hood and then slid back into the driver’s-side door. When the car hadn’t started fifteen minutes earlier, Nick had descended into every single swear word combination imaginable as if they’d been a chant to fix his engine. Since Nick and Tucker’s shared fourth-floor apartment looked directly down on Nick’s reserved parking space, it was a matter of time before Tucker found Nick the way he was now: frustrated, panicky, and utterly late for a class meeting. The way Tucker hunched as he watched Nick flail over the car was overwhelming, but Nick had learned to brush it off. Invasive, all-encompassing, and overwhelming is how Tucker always was. When his dark eyes fixated on something — be it a stain on their kitchen floor or an obscure German word in a book he was studying — he didn’t stop staring until he figured it out. If anything, Nick began to feel comforted having him around, even if he probably knew less about cars than Nick did.
“Nobody knows what they’re doing until they try again,” Tucker said. “So try the car again.”
With another sigh, Nick turned the key in the ignition and the car hummed. He was about to celebrate his victory when the engine failed to turn over. The car went silent. “Shit, shit, shit. What does that sound like to you?”
“Sounds like it won’t start.”
“Thanks, Tucker. That’s all I know too. Real insightful.”
“That’s a pretty definitive problem. You don’t really need to know the why of the problem, only that it is.”
Nick stared at Tucker with disdain. Fucking German philosophy PhDs. He loved Tucker with all his heart, but he wanted to hug him at the same time as push him over when he got too esoteric for his own good.
When Nick tried starting the car again, the engine wouldn’t even hum to life. A bright light near his odometer spat out a red symbol that made no sense. He consulted Tucker about it, but all Tucker could do was push his thick-rimmed glasses to the end of his nose and speculate with a wave of his hands. When Tucker folded his arms over his chest and began pacing, his attention now diverted, Nick knew there was no hope left. His car was now officially fried.
“Well, that’s it,” Nick said. “I think I’m done. That’s all I know how to do.”
“Recognizing limitations is a good quality, especially in our modern era.”
When Nick was silent, Tucker continued glancing around at the spring blooms by their walkway and the nice weather outside, as if he hadn’t been beyond their apartment door in days. Which was probably true for both of them, really.
Nick struggled to remember the last time he’d driven his car for any length of time. The grocery store they shopped at was around the corner, so there was no need for driving there and back. He’d finished his course work for his English PhD six months earlier too, so there was only dissertation writing (which could be done at home) and sometimes teaching on campus (which he needed to drive to). For the spring term, he was teaching an online course called Introduction to Business Writing and didn’t need to be present in a classroom. That course did have meetings with his supervisor and a bunch of other PhD students teaching the class, though, and Nick definitely needed to be on campus for that.
The thought of the course material made him want to roll his eyes. But now that his car wouldn’t start and Professor Anatol was probably already taking attendance, teaching business English to a bunch of students through an outdated technical online interface wasn’t even the worst thing that was happening to him.
Nick groaned as his stomach lurched. He hit his steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Well, fuck. I wish I was good at cars. I’ve clearly made the wrong career move.”
“No, you haven’t. And no, you don’t.”
“Okay, I don’t. But I have no idea what to do or how to fix this. It could be as simple as forgetting to change the fucking oil or leaving my lights on and now needing a jump. Or it could be something I don’t even know the name for and now I need a new engine.”
“Huh.” Tucker sighed. “I almost forgot that time you left your lights on all night. You’re really not good with cars. You know, Kant used to walk a lot. Maybe you should walk more?”
“Tucker. Not. Helping.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure: us pedestrians usually take the bus to campus. And there’s a stop just around the corner that probably comes by in ten minutes or so.” Tucker squinted as he looked down through his glasses at his watch. “Or eight minutes. Better hurry and you won’t be late.”
“Fuck.” Nick reached into the backseat of his car for his backpack and tossed his keys into his front pocket. Nick cast a glance over his shoulder as he rounded the corner of their apartment building. “You’ll be here later tonight, right? I need your help with that thing.”
“Yes, that thing. Of course I’ll be here. Where the hell else am I gonna go? You’re welcome, by the way.”
If Nick hadn’t already been running, he probably would have laughed.