Guest Post | Dear Diary by Holly Day


Hello, everyone! I’m Holly Day, and Ofelia doesn’t mind me stealing a spot here since she’s my alter ego 🤪 This month, we’re celebrating Dear Diary Day.

Unless you’ve forgotten or never stumbled upon the explanation before, as Holly Day, I write stories for specific days. They’re all gay romance stories in every possible and impossible subgenre, but the idea comes from a specific day.

This month, that day is Dear Diary Day. I could have done it by someone finding a diary and learning something important. I could have done a love story in the past time – think The Bridges of Madison County. But I didn’t. I wrote a diary.

Telling a story in diary format was a challenge, but a fun one! I most often write in third person and with dual points of view, but I couldn’t do that in a diary, so I had to rethink my usual strategies.

I have to say I’m quite fond of the result. It’s just a short little thing. A slice of life. A guy fighting depression one day at a time with the ups and downs that come with it.

Dear Diary

deardiaryDear Diary, 
My therapist wants me to write a diary to help me manage my depression. I have no idea how it’ll work, but I didn’t 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 don’t think I’ll 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 it’s like he’s magnetic and pulls me in every time I see him. I shouldn’t be dating. I don’t want to force my crazy on anyone, but he’s asked me to dinner. He deserves a sane partner, so it would be unfair to go, wouldn’t it? 

Buy links: 

Contemporary Gay Romance: 9,219 words 

JMS Book :: Amazon :: 


Monday, September 12th

Dear Diary,

Remember Lars Olsen from school? Damn, he looks good now he’s grown into those arms, so good I forgot to stop walking once I spotted him. Yup. I walked right into him, spilled my walking-home-from-work Caramel Latte all over his chest. He only screamed for a few seconds. Not embarrassing at all. I swear. I wished for lightning to strike right then and there.

It was a clear blue sky.

Aliens would’ve worked too. They could’ve beamed me up, and I would have gone willingly. It would’ve been a rescue mission, after all. Everyone knows I don’t belong in this world.

Fuck, I suck. Why do I always do things like this?

Anyway, Lars claimed to be okay, and the once-white T-shirt clung nicely to his abs. When the hell did Lars get abs? Why don’t I have abs? Well, I know the answer: Caramel Lattes and a fetish for moving as little as possible. Now, now, no need to be insulting.

Still, though… Abs would’ve been nice. I’m aware of having abs, thank you for reminding me, you fucking know-it-all, but they’re buried under a soft layer.

1. My breakfast coffee was okay.

2. My lunch coffee was okay.

3. Lars Olsen’s abs—I’d forgotten how much I love looking at abs.

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