Hi guys, we have Kris Ripper popping in today with zir new release The Queer and the Restless, we have a great excerpt and a fantastic giveaway so check out the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~
The Queer and the Restless
Ed Masiello has been on testosterone for a year, is working his dream job as a reporter, and is finally passing as a man (so long as you don’t ask his abuela). But the investigation of a murder case is starting to take over his life. Afraid he’s becoming obsessed, he goes to the local club to relax, and meets the flighty, whimsical Alisha.
Alisha is a free spirit who’s tossed aside ambition for travel and adventure. Her approach to life is a far cry from Ed’s, and while Ed has always assumed that meeting his goals would make him happy, Alisha is much more content than him—despite all the plans she can’t yet fulfill.
As their relationship heats up, so does the murder case. Alisha thinks Ed needs a break, but someone’s got to find this killer, and he wants to be there when it all goes down. Besides, taking off into the great unknown with Alisha is crazy. But opting for what’s safe is just another way of living in fear, and Ed vowed to stop living like that a long time ago.
Hi, I’m Kris and welcome to the blog tour for The Queer and the Restless, book three in my awesome queer soap opera! Enjoy the blog tour!
Before I got this job, I’d thought every story I covered would be a labor of love, at least in some sense. Sure, some might be boring, but I loved digging out details, and writing facts in a way that made them not only readable, but inspiring.
If you’d told me I could force myself through inches of words that I didn’t care about, that I could write entire articles without hardly learning the facts of them, I wouldn’t have believed you. I didn’t think I could be that jaded about reporting. By the time I finished the bingo article (both the online version, which was little more than bullet points, and the print version), I wanted to write my younger, more dewy-eyed self a letter. Dear self, on some days you will be so bored at work you’ll become obsessed with the murder of a poor kid just to keep yourself awake. I’m sorry. Love, your future self.
It had been a surprisingly tough week, though part of that was having Monday off. Even working four days felt long when you had three days off before them. (I hadn’t done any big Fourth of July things, either. I’d spent that time reading the newish Sarah Vowell book and trying new vegan recipes, most of which had been terrible.) But whatever the reason, by Friday night I was in need of some light entertainment, so I headed out to Club Fred’s.
Fred’s is the queer club in La Vista. It’s basically the anchor of queer nightlife, and rules one corner of Steerage, which is an L-shaped alley that runs between Mooney and Water Street. The other side of Steerage plays host to a dive bar called Bayside Saloon that might have been straight twenty years ago, but was now, at the least, “lifestyle optional” if not outright queer.
I don’t go to the Bayside much. Not really my crowd. Club Fred’s is all about music, and camp, and seeing everyone you’ve ever had sex with all in one place. Which sounds more gruesome than it actually is; if you really want a place where everyone knows your name, in La Vista, that place is Club Fred’s.
I got myself a beer and started wandering around, chatting with different people, different groups. I passed a poster proclaiming next Friday “F*ck G*nd*r Night,” which would be entertaining. When I was done with my beer I hit the dance floor, and immediately found Zane Jaffe (whose dancing was . . . unique).
“Baby!” she shouted over the music. “It’s been too long, tell me everything that’s happened since I saw you last!”
“It’s only been a couple weeks!”
“Yeah, like I said, too long!” She tugged me closer, putting her hands on my shoulders and leaning in to speak in my ear. “How’s it, Ed?”
“It’s good.” Now that she wasn’t throwing her limbs everywhere, we could settle into a fun little grind. I liked Zane a lot, at least in part because we’d never dated, so she was one of the only lesbians I knew who didn’t make me feel like I had to explain my transition to her.
I wanted to ask her about the Costello kid, but that hardly seemed like dance-floor conversation. “How’re you?”
“I’m not fucking pregnant. Christ, Ed, it’s beginning to fucking wear on me. Doesn’t matter. Maybe this cycle it’ll work, right?”
“Right! That’s a good attitude to take.” I’d gone to her two “conception parties,” but she’d stopped throwing them. “Sorry I can’t help you out, Zane!” I leaned back enough so I could adjust my crotch.
She laughed. “Oh baby, if only you could! I would totally mate with your genes!”
No joke, that was a really cool compliment. “Aw, thanks.”
“Hey, you gotta talk to Jaq tonight, okay? She’s got a student she wants to pick your brain about.”
“Okay. Is she here?”
“Not yet, she’s off with her girlfriend! Have you met Hannah?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, just wait until you do. I’m gonna go eat something disgusting, babe. See you later!”
She did some kind of wild shuffle in the direction of the bar, grinning when I turned back. Zane was hilarious. She’d also added a streak of pink to her purple hair since the last time I saw her, and while pink and purple might look little girlish on a lot of people, on Zane it just looked fierce.
After ten years of coming to Club Fred’s, I felt pretty comfortable dancing by myself, or with whoever was around me. In the early days—when I was poor Steven Costello’s age—I’d only gone to Fred’s if I had a date or very close friends with me, so I would never have that moment of feeling by myself in a crowd.
Then again, these days I know so many people the difference is a little moot.
Read more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/the-queer-and-the-restless (just click the excerpt tab)
Kris Ripper lives in the great state of California and hails from the San Francisco Bay Area. Kris shares a converted garage with a toddler, can do two pull-ups in a row, and can write backwards. (No, really.) Kris is genderqueer and prefers the z-based pronouns because they’re freaking sweet. Ze has been writing fiction since ze learned how to write, and boring zir stuffed animals with stories long before that.
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