Hello, everyone! Thank you, lovely Addison, for allowing me to come back š Last month, when I was here, we were celebrating Bookstore Romance Day. This month, our focus is on diaries.
On September 22nd every year, itās Dear Diary Day. The day was created to celebrate the way diaries help us sort our thoughts and document our lives.
The oldest diaries still around are from the Middle Eastern and East Asian cultures. The earliest surviving diary belonged to Abu Ali ibn al-Banna whose diary is from the 11th century. He was an author and a scholar from Baghdad, and they donāt have all diaries, but parts of them.
But while Abu Ali ibn al-Bannaās diary is the oldest still around, they know Emperor Marcus Aurelius kept a diary, so weāre talking around 200 A.D.
Dear Diary probably isnāt something that will be preserved for later generations. I doubt theyāll sit 2000 years from now and wonder about this poor chap who battles depression and spills coffee all over the love interest.
At best, it could help future generations understand how mentally unstable we were in this day and age. At worst, they think weāre all dependent on caffeine and lock ourselves in bathrooms to cry.
If youāve read any of my stories, you probably know that I normally write in third person, and I prefer dual pov. I have stories that only have one characterās point of view, but most often I write both sides. Itās for my sake. I feel like Iām only telling half the story when I only do one pov, and writing first person most often makes me physically ill.
I feel trapped, and most tools I use to describe the world donāt work in first person, so I mostly sit there staring at the words Iāve written and have no idea how to get the story to move forward.
I think itās a personality thing. If I write in first person, I want the character to make sense in a way I think a person should make sense, and Iām a down-to-earth person with a fair bit of suspicion. I would never meet a person I donāt know somewhere. I would never enter a spooky-looking building late at night. I would never take that phone call. I would never hook up with a stranger. I would never think I could solve a crime. I would never snoop around in someoneās house. I would never do most of the things that make a story move forward. So when I write an I, that I wonāt do any of those things either. And before we know it, weāre trapped in a story thatās going nowhere š
I find it much easier to make up crazy people ā and stories need crazy people ā when I can watch them from above.
Surprisingly enough, despite a diary being a super narrow way to tell a story, I loved writing Dear Diary. It was a fun challenge because when you write a diary, youāre retelling your day, and I had to really think about what youād put in a diary. You donāt retell everything, you donāt always explain what you mean, and you donāt always show yourself from your best side.
As a teen, I always wrote a diary. Always. It helped me think, and it gave me comfort to let the words pour out of me. Then when hubby was a UN soldier and was out of the country for months on end, I wrote letters to him instead. He became my diary and every night before bed, I wrote him a letter. Then with kids and animals and work, I was too tired. And now Iām writing stories instead. I find writing fiction just as therapeutic as writing a diary. Youāre trying to make sense of the world, and it doesnāt matter if itās the real world or a world filled with dragons and vampires, the emotions are the same, and putting them into words helps sort them.
Blurb
Dear Diary,
My therapist wants me to write a diary to help me manage my depression. I have no idea how itāll work, but I didnāt have the energy to argue with her.
All I want is for life to go back to the way it was before I walked in on Christopher and Jason. Or maybe not because I donāt think Iāll ever be able to forgive Christopher for cheating on me in our bed, but I want to function as I did before that moment. Before I lost everything.
Do you remember Lars Olsen from school? I do my best to stay away, but itās like heās magnetic and pulls me in every time I see him. I shouldnāt be dating. I donāt want to force my crazy on anyone, but heās asked me to dinner. He deserves a sane partner, so it would be unfair to go, wouldnāt it?
Excerpt
Friday, September 16th
Dear Diary,
Twice in one day, I know! Donāt tell Janet. Iām still claiming you donāt help me, and you donāt since you donāt respond, but oh my God!
When I got there, a panic attack builtāthe sense of doom, my heart racing, hands shaking. You know the deal. I tried Janetās breathe in a square thing. Stood there pressed against the wall and breathed in and out while following the sides of an imaginary square.
I donāt know if it worked. Maybe. While I was doing it, my phone buzzed. Had I been gone for real; I wouldnāt have noticed.
Lars asked what I was doing, and I told him. I told him. I typed I was standing pressed against the wall inside the restaurant and breathed in a square to stave off a panic attack.
I swear, no more than two minutes later, Lars crossed the threshold. He looked deliciously disheveled, as if heād rushed out of the shower to come and save me. Heās way out of my league, but he walked in, checked all nooks and crannies, until he found me hiding in the shadows. Then he smiled. His entire face lit up, and my heart somersaulted. Silly, I know. I donāt have the energy for school-boy crushes.
I was trying to tell him I was insane, and he should run away while he had the chance. He only chuckled, took my hand, and dragged me over to the dickhead and the others.
The dickhead had already had a few drinks and was loud and rosy-cheeked. He talked about how important it was to meet outside the office and to have strong workplace relationships, and other things heād most likely read in an article somewhere. I donāt know if he was trying to impress Lars or if he wants to sleep with one of the bitches. I, for one, donāt want to meet outside the office. Iām exhausted all the time; I donāt have the energy for fake smiles and feigned interest in the others and their spouses and children.
Iām getting sidetracked! The dickhead and his ambitions arenāt important. Whatās important is that Lars stayed with me. The others were drooling all over him. I donāt blame them. They donāt know there were a couple of years where his arms were far too long for his body. Heās grown into them now, and itās hard not to drool.
After Christopher, I didnāt think Iād ever look at another man again, but I have to admit there are butterflies in my chest whenever my phone buzzes. Pathetic since it canāt ever be. Lars is nice and normal; he canāt be with a loon like me. Sigh.
I have to distance myself from him. Itās for his own good. Heāll understand.
1. Lars saving me.
2. Lars doing all the talking, so I didnāt have to.
3. Lars looking all cute and insecure when he said goodbye outside the restaurant.
4. My breakfast coffee.
Should I have kissed him? I wanted to, but I need to protect him from me as he protected me from them.
About Holly Day
According to Holly Day, no day should go by uncelebrated and all of them deserve a story. If sheāll have the time to write them remains to be seen. She lives in rural Sweden with a husband, four children, more pets than most, and wouldnāt last a day without coffee.
Holly gets up at the crack of dawn most days of the week to write gay romance stories. She believes in equality in fiction and in real life. Diversity matters. Representation matters. Visibility matters. We can change the world one story at the time.
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