Read Around the Rainbow

ReadAroundTheRainbow

It’s Read Around the Rainbow time!!! I can’t believe it’s been another month already. On the last Friday of every month, we’re a group of authors who get together and blog around the same topic. This month’s topic is Writer’s Block.

I know this is something some struggle a lot with, but I don’t. I write most days of the month. My alarm goes off at 05:40 every morning, no matter what day it is. I get up, put on coffee, fix something to eat, bring my coffee to my desk, scroll through my emails and some social media, and unless I have edits to deal with, I write.

Do I wake up feeling like writing every day? Nope. Do I do it anyway? Yes.

And I know it sounds as if I don’t take writer’s block seriously, that I’m being ableist, and maybe I am, but it’s because I don’t have writer’s block. I’m not saying writer’s block isn’t a thing, because I know it is, but I’ve never had it, not to the degree that I’ve been unable to write anything at least.

Sometimes I get lost in my head. Yes, I know it’s sort of the job, but I find expectations crippling. It’s the reason I struggle with writing series. I often start writing a story, thinking it’ll be a standalone story, then I fall in love with a secondary character and want to write their story. I often do, and then I’m standing there with a two-book series, and people expect a third. That’s when I freeze.

But it’s never to the extent that I can’t write another story, stand-alone or in another series. And then I’m angry with myself for not finishing what I started and build on the reluctance to continue the series by putting pressure on myself. And on and on it goes in a lovely little spiral.

I don’t call it writer’s block, though, because all the while I’m writing. I might not be writing the story I ‘should’ be writing, but I’m publishing a story a month (as Holly Day). I write 2k a day apart from the days when I’m doing edits or proofreads. I sneak in the occasional admin day too, but, as a general, I write every morning between 6 a.m. and 9 a.m. Then I go for a walk with the dog, fix some lunch, have some more coffee, and get back to my desk for a couple more hours until the kids get home from school.

Routine. I think routine is key. I treat my writing like I would any other job.

That being said, depression is real, as is performance anxiety, but at risk of pissing some people off, I don’t have time to wait for my muse to be cooperative. I have deadlines every month.

Check out what the others have to say!

Nell Iris

Ellie Thomas

Addison Albright

ReadAroundTheRainbow

It’s Read Around the Rainbow time!!! On the last Friday of every month, we’re a group of authors who get together and blog on the same topic, and man did that last Friday come early this month!

Since it is February, we decided to go with our most romantic book. The month of love and all that.

The problem is… I’m not a romantic person. At all. And while I’m firmly in the romance genre, my characters are either fated mates, so not really having a say in the matter, or they fall in love by mistake while running from or trying to catch bad guys.

I’ve written over a hundred books, and there isn’t a flower bouquet in sight. (If you find one, let me know, because I tried to think through each one of them and came up blank.)

And dates? Yeah. I have one book with 24 of them 😊 but you have to go through the others with a fine-tooth comb to find any. And if you do, they’re the picnic in the garden kind, not dressing up and going to a fancy restaurant.

But romance, for me, is the little things. I’d get super uncomfortable if hubby wanted to take me out on a date (social anxiety rocks!) so my characters are the same. But if we’re gonna talk about love language my darling husband is great at acts of service.

Did you catch the orange peel theory when it was all over TikTok? How people would test their partner’s love for them by asking them to do something simple, like peel an orange, and judge their partner’s reaction when asked? I get half an orange every time my husband peels one without mentioning oranges.

So… romance to me is half an orange. And I’ll take it over a date every day of the week.

That being said, I think I’m gonna say that 24 Dates is my most romantic story. It’s about an established couple, so not a meet-and-fall-in-love kind of romance, but they’re in a bad place. They hardly see each other, they don’t touch each other, and Victor thinks maybe the relationship is over. Jian can’t accept that, so he takes Victor out on twenty-four dates. It’s a December story, so an advent calendar of dates.

What kind of dates are we talking about? Not the fancy restaurant kind 😆 I’ll leave one at the bottom of this post if you want a peek.

Your TBR looks a little thin, so check out the others’ posts and add to it!

December 5th

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Jian shook Victor’s shoulder and held out a cup of coffee for him before he’d blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“What…” Victor cleared his throat and grabbed the coffee. “…are you doing?”

“We’re late for our date.”

“No more dates, Jian.” He sipped on the coffee and glanced at him. “At least not in the morning.”

“Come on, babe.” He rustled a paper bag in front of him, and Victor narrowed his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Your breakfast.”

He remembered the avocado sandwich Jian had made him for the ride and perked up a little. “Can’t I have it now?”

“Nope. I need you to get out of bed, put on a pair of sweats and a sweater.”

“Sweats?” What kind of date involved sweats? “Should I shower?” Jian hadn’t. His hair was a mess, and the dark stubble could soon be called a beard. Victor loved it when he grew it a little rugged.

“Nope, you’ll get wet enough later.”

Victor scrunched his nose and took another sip of the coffee. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

Jian chuckled, and it had a wicked ring to it. Victor’s nerves woke up. “Jian! Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Get your sweet ass out of bed because we’re going in five.”

Victor growled, took another sip of the coffee, and stumbled into the bathroom. Seven minutes later, he climbed into the truck, accepted the thermos cup Jian had prepared for him with more coffee, and the bag with the sandwich. As they rolled out of the driveway, Victor looked at him. “Are you gonna tell me now?”

Jian grinned and shook his head. The soft sounds of Christmas music filled the tinsel-decorated pickup and the tiny Christmas tree glowed on the dashboard. Outside the streets were mostly deserted, the snow was white and glistening.

When Jian turned north instead of toward Courtland or Whiteport, Victor frowned. North? What the heck could they do north of Northfield? Skiing? He hoped not, he’d break a bone or two hundred and six.

“Where are we going?”

Jian raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, come on, we’re on the way, you might as well tell me! Communication is a good thing, Jian.”

“Not always.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Snowmelt.” Jian drummed his thumb on the steering wheel, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Snowmelt? There was nothing in Snowmelt… except ski slopes. “I’m not skiing.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, Jian, I’m serious. I won’t ski. I’ll be in the pub while you go.”

Jian nodded, his face might’ve held a blank expression, but Victor knew he was laughing at him.

Victor blew out a breath. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting in a bar while Jian was out skiing. He could drink alone at home—he never did, but if he had, it would be considerably cheaper.

For the most part, pine trees lined the road, not giving Victor much to look at other than Jian. He didn’t mind, he loved looking at Jian. He wasn’t classically handsome, but Victor loved the bump on the bridge of his nose and the dark, dark eyes where you could hardly see where the iris stopped and the pupil began. Though, he couldn’t look into his eyes when he was driving. He loved the black stubble against the olive-colored skin that grew darker in the summer.

The morning sun was streaming through the now thinning trees, giving warning about civilization up ahead, but before they reached Snowmelt, Jian turned left.

“What are you doing?” There were no ski slopes down there. The mountain was on their right.

Jian chuckled. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“I hate you a little right now.”

Jian nodded. “It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“What?” Get worse? What could be worse than skiing? “It’s a date, right?”

“Of course.”

“Aren’t dates supposed to be… pleasant?”

Jian pursed his lips. “I don’t know if pleasant is the word I’m going for today.”

Victor took a deep breath but kept his mouth shut. Jian turned in on a small gravel road and followed it for a couple of minutes before he parked in a three-car wide parking lot that had been cleared of snow. Pine trees surrounded them and silence descended in the pickup.

“Where are we?”

Jian gave him a serious look. “In Snowmelt.” He opened his door, walked around the pickup, and grabbed a bag from the back.

Victor followed, his heart thudding more rapidly than it should on a Saturday morning. A few seconds later, Jian led him out on a jetty where a man dressed in thick winter clothing waited for them. He grinned and shook Jian’s hand.

“Jian?” Victor stared at the rectangular hole in the ice of the lake. “Jian, what are we doing here?”

The man chuckled, and Jian grimaced. “We’re bathing.”

“Oh, hell no!”

“We are, Vic.”

Victor stared at him. Had he lost his mind? He must have, because he was nodding at Victor. Sawed up holes in the ice did not go with bathing. Bathing in a lake wasn’t something sane people did in December.

“They say it’s healthy for you.”

“They are idiots!”

Jian chuckled. “I agree, but you always seem to care about what they say.” It wasn’t true, Jian was far more concerned about what people thought of them than he was.

“Come on, babe. It’s five minutes of your life, and you can curse me all the way back home.”

Victor took a deep breath, staring into Jian’s dark eyes. “I hate you.”

“I love you.”

Victor sighed and shook his head, though the words warmed his heart. “I fear for my balls.”

Jian nodded. “It’s a valid fear.”

The man cleared his throat. “Undress and stand on the jetty for a few seconds before you go in. It’ll lessen the pain… some.”

“Some?” Victor made wide eyes at him.

“The higher the temperature difference, the greater the shock for the body.”

“Of course.” He glared at Jian. This was not a date. He didn’t care what Jian called it, but a date it was not.

Jian pulled his sweater over his head, folding and putting it on a wooden bench at the end of the jetty. He kicked off his shoes and removed his sweats and socks. “Come on, Vic.” There was a challenge in his eyes, and Victor growled. He toed off his shoes, took off the sweater, and pulled down his sweats.

They stood on the jetty in their underwear gazing out over the ice and the forest surrounding the lake.

“It’s about five feet deep so you should be able to stand on the ground without a problem.”

Victor half-turned. “We’re to jump in?”

“Not head first.”

Victor rolled his eyes. Who jumped headfirst into five feet deep water?

“Hold onto the edge of the hole. Your legs are likely to go numb, and you may momentarily experience loss of muscle control. The first two minutes are mostly about breathing through it. Talking to each other is a good distraction.”

Victor glared at Jian. “Oh, this sounds lovely.”

Jian nodded and took his hand. “Ready?”

“No.” But they climbed down the ladder onto the ice. Victor’s feet burned, his toes turned red. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

Jian dipped a heel in the water and blew out a shuddering breath. “Okay, this might not have been my best idea.”

“You don’t say?” Victor touched the underside of his right foot to the surface and shivered. He let go of Jian’s hand and looked at the black water. A million reasons why he should turn around swirled in his head, but he bent down, touched his hand to the ice, and slid his feet into the water.

The shock of the ice against his ass as he sat and the cold of the water engulfing his lower legs had him whimpering. Before Jian got his feet into the water, Victor slid over the edge.

The sound leaving him wasn’t one he’d ever produced before—it reminded him of a bellowing moose. Jian laughed hard, slid over the edge into the water, and all air whooshed out of him.

All Victor could process was the pain. He couldn’t say where it hurt the most or why, but it hurt. Air didn’t fit in his lungs anymore.

Jian made another sound, then he started to laugh—choppy and a bit strangled. “This is fun.”

“Very. Remind me to pay you back.”

“I did it for you.” Jian blew out another shuddering breath. “It’s good for circulation and prevents inflammation.” He panted. “And it’s said to help against depression.”

“I’m not depressed.” He blew out a breath, the pain was still there but more endurable. And hadn’t he been a little depressed? Sad, worried about their future, disappointed in how things had turned out, but he wasn’t depressed. Was he?

“Now we certainly won’t be.” The grimace might have been an attempt at a smile, but Victor wouldn’t call it one.

Jian reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

The snow glistened in the morning sun, their breaths formed clouds around them, and the trees around the lake were frost-dusted.

It was beautiful.

“You can come up now.” The man on the jetty shattered the calm. “Let me know if you need help.”

Victor met Jian’s gaze before putting his palms on the ice and pushing himself up out of the water. The air caressing him was warm, his feet burned, and a sense of freedom filled his chest. Filling his lungs with air made him light enough to fly. “This is amazing.”

He looked at Jian and grinned. The air smelled of forest and winter cold, the tranquility filled his mind, and, for a moment, he believed he was the only person on Earth.

“Come up here and get dressed. You shouldn’t be exposed to the cold for too long.” The man gestured at the bag Jian had brought, and Victor was annoyed by the intrusion in his ode to life.

Jian kissed his cheek and went before him up the ladder. By the time Victor reached the jetty, Jian was holding out a thick sweater to him. Victor slipped it on, groaning as the fabric caressed his skin. Next, a pair of dry trunks followed. Victor glanced at the man who had walked off the jetty and wasn’t looking in their direction, before pulling off the wet ones.

“My junk is forever traumatized.”

Jian huffed and swayed a little as he pushed his foot through his sweats. “I’m sure it will be fine with the right aftercare.”

“Maybe.” Victor rolled his shoulders and gazed out over the lake. His feet were numb in his shoes, but he was filled with energy. “This is great.”

Jian gave him a soft look and nodded.

Back in the car, Jian reached behind Victor’s seat and pulled out a thermos.

“Coffee?”

“Hot chocolate.” He poured them a cup each, and Victor moaned as the sweet flavor exploded on his tongue.

24 Dates

24dates

When Victor Hill bought a house with his boyfriend, Jian Kouri it was a dream come true. But now, two years later, instead of living their happily ever after, they hardly see the other awake.

With Jian out the door before Victor gets up in the morning, and asleep on the couch nearly as soon as he walks in the door, the life Victor imagined couldn’t be further from reality. They don’t talk; they don’t touch, and Victor fears he and Jian have already drifted too far apart.

The holiday season is a time for hope, but when Victor comes home to find Jian with a plan to woo him for Christmas, is it too little, too late? The dates are great, and there are filled with Christmas fun to get Victor in the right spirit for the holiday, but are they enough for the two of them to fall in love again? Or is there just too much in their relationship that needs fixing?

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