Author name: Roger Hyttinen

You ever have one of those habits that makes absolutely zero sense on paper, but you stick with it anyway because it just feels… weirdly comforting? That’s me and cheesy holiday romance movies. And trust me, nobody is more confused about this than I am.

I mean, I’m the guy who doesn’t put up a tree. I don’t hang lights. I’m not out here sipping peppermint lattes while wearing an ironic sweater with a confused-looking reindeer on it. Honestly, if you walked into my place in December, you might think I skipped straight to February and decided winter was optional. My version of holiday decorating is maybe lighting a candle that smells vaguely like cinnamon if I’m feeling bold. That’s it.

And romance? Yeah. Not exactly my go-to genre. I can handle it in small doses, preferably tucked inside something else—mystery, noir, ghosts, magic, explosions, you get the idea. The only time I want my heartstrings tugged is if a ghost does it. Literally.

But then December creeps up on me—always earlier than I’m prepared for—and suddenly I’m slipping into this bizarre alternate self. A version of me who loves holiday rom-coms. The cheesier the better. The kind where the leads meet in the world’s smallest town where everyone knows everyone, there’s a bakery that only seems to sell gingerbread, and someone has a tragic backstory involving a snow globe.

And the weirdest part? I watch them secretly.

Like, I’ll curl up on the couch—no tree, no twinkly lights, no Michael Bublé defrosting anywhere—and I’ll put on something with a title like Snowflakes & Second Chances or Mistletoe Mix-Up. And then I’ll just… enjoy it?
What is that about.
Where does this seasonal transformation come from?
Why does my brain flip a switch and go, “Oh yes, I crave wholesome strangers wearing red scarves”?

I have absolutely no explanation.

But I do have favorites.

Oh, do I have favorites.

Let me tell you about the one that started this whole thing: The Knight Before Christmas.

It’s cheesy in a way I genuinely admire. Vanessa Hudgens falls for a medieval knight who time-travels to modern Ohio during Christmas. And I don’t know what happened in the writers’ room for that one, but I hope they all got cookies and a bonus because it hits some strange, delightful part of my brain. Every time he looks confused by, like, an electric kettle, I’m in my happy place. I rewatch it every year. Every. Year. Like some kind of ritual I never signed up for but now can’t skip.

Then there’s The 12 Dates of Christmas, which is basically Groundhog Day but with mistletoe and awkward flirting. I love it. I actually love it. Kate keeps reliving Christmas Eve and has to figure out how to stop sabotaging her own love life. I don’t know if I learn anything from watching it, but I swear it puts me in a better mood than most self-help books.

And speaking of holiday bliss, let’s talk about one of the real gems: Make the Yuletide Gay.
A gay Christmas rom-com where the awkwardness is relatable, the humor is warm without being sticky, and the characters feel like people I might actually want to know. The mom alone? Iconic. It feels like hanging out with a fun friend who refuses to let you disappear into your anti-holiday cave.

What makes these my comfort movies? No clue. Zero. Nada. I’ve tried to analyze it—believe me, I have. I’ve considered everything from seasonal nostalgia to brain chemistry to maybe being possessed by a cheerful December spirit who just wants me to believe in love for two hours at a time. But I’ve got nothing.

And honestly, that’s fine. Some things don’t need a thesis.
Some things are just little joys you stumble into and hold onto.

The best part—and please don’t spread this around—is that I watch these totally in secret. My spouse has no idea. None. If they walked in unexpectedly, I’d probably pretend I was watching a documentary about snowplows or a gritty true crime series about missing fruitcakes. Meanwhile, it’s usually me, under a blanket, watching two dorks fall in love while baking cookies for a festival that only exists in that movie’s universe.

But now you know. And I’m trusting you with this information.
So, hush. Pinky swear. Not a word.

As we roll toward that time of year again, I can already feel the pull. Somewhere deep inside me, a tiny voice is whispering, “You should rewatch A Knight Before Christmas. You know you want to.”
And I do.
I really, really do.

Alright, I’m off to pretend I’m above this kind of thing… while mentally queuing up a list of movies involving strangers bumping into each other in Christmas markets.

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Brooklyn nights were never this terrifying. Shadows with teeth prowl the alleys, and a blood-red moon is rising. Armed only with forbidden knowledge, his sister’s faith, and a golem who grows more human by the day, David has to fight back. The Golem’s Guardian – grab your copy HERE.

I’m writing this with a mug of coffee cooling just a little too fast beside me, the kind where the steam disappears before you’ve even had three sips—just tragic—but it’s fine because I’ve still got Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge and honestly, that alone is enough to carry me through a week.

Yes, I had a sweet holiday. The kind where everyone actually showed up in a good mood (minor miracle), nobody spilled gravy on a carpet, and the pies vanished at a pace that suggested we were all training for a speed-eating competition. I came home with a plate of extras—stuffing, a slab of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce that looked like it still remembered the can it came from—and I’m not ashamed to say that every bite tasted like victory.

I don’t know why leftovers hit different. Maybe it’s the calm after the holiday bustle. Maybe it’s eating cold turkey at midnight like some kind of secret ritual. Whatever it is, it works. I’ve been grazing on it all weekend with a contented little sigh every single time.

Meanwhile, the writing desk has been calling my name in that soft but firm way it tends to do. You ever get that feeling where your characters are tapping the glass, like: Hello? We’re waiting. That’s Lucien Knight for me lately. Coat collar up, cigarette nearly out, standing in some shadowed hallway in my brain like a noir painting. I’ve been polishing up book two in the series, smoothing dialogue, layering atmosphere, and finding all the places where commas like to multiply like rabbits.

The story is behaving itself more than usual. Every time I sit down with the manuscript, something clicks. Lucien walks through a scene a little sharper. A clue reveals itself with just the right kind of bite. I love the stage where a book starts feeling like a book, not a pile of words trying to form a synchronized swimming routine.

So yes—progress is being made. That’s my little victory lap for the week.

Speaking of Lucien—because honestly, when am I not talking about him?—if you haven’t met him yet, you can start with his first adventure, Murder at at the Savoy. I’m proud of that one in a way that makes me want to pat the cover every time I see it on my shelf. He’s prickly, brilliant, tired, and drawn into more supernatural nonsense than any reasonable person would tolerate. Which, of course, is why I adore him.

If you’re curious, or if you just want a gritty paranormal noir mystery to curl up with while the weather does its moody late-Autumn brooding, you can grab a copy right here: Murder at the Savoy

I still smile thinking about how it turned out.

There isn’t much else to report this week. And honestly, that’s kind of lovely. After the chaos of holiday meals, busy kitchens, family chatter, and too many dessert choices (not that I’m complaining), there’s something nice about slipping back into a quieter rhythm. Writing. Reading. Walking. Simmering stew weather.

I’ve been lighting candles at night—soft amber glow across the room—while I clean up my manuscript. It feels companionable, like sharing the space with someone who knows when to stay quiet. If you’ve never edited a novel by candlelight, I recommend it. Makes the ghosts behave. Usually.

Anyway, that’s what life looks like from my side of the screen today. If you’re working on something creative, I hope it’s treating you kindly. If you’re still sitting on turkey leftovers… more power to us both.

Some Things I Thought Were Worth Sharing

Reading this piece on fans—the sweet ones, the chaotic ones, and the “oh no, please don’t do that” ones—felt way too relatable today. Solid boundary tips here: https://writersinthestormblog.com/2025/11/fans-the-good-the-bad-plus-6-tips-for-preventing-the-ugly/

Want readers to feel your story, not just read it? This article on emotion in editing romance & women’s fiction is your ally. https://writersinthestormblog.com/2025/11/how-to-edit-emotion-in-romance-womens-fiction/

Queer country just turned up the heat: Orville Peck teases his new EP Appaloosa with Zane Phillips looking mezmerizing-shirtless. Worth a peek. https://www.gayety.com/orville-peck-zane-phillips-appaloosa

Charlie Larson flips on the floor and flips the script—elite gymnast, unapologetically queer, andapparently the living twin of Timothée Chalamet (who knew?). Worth a read. https://www.queerty.com/charlie-larson-on-being-a-champion-gymnast-his-beyonce-alter-ego-getting-mistaken-for-timothee-chalamet-20251120/

Plot full of action but your pages feel flat? Maybe you’re missing microtension—the subtle unsaid clash that keeps readers engaged. Worth a read: https://www.livewritethrive.com/2025/11/17/microtension-a-must-in-your-fiction/

Just dug into this post by Joanna Penn from Author Nation 2025: human connection > everything, constraints spark creativity, and plan for the curveballs. Excellent stuff.
https://www.thecreativepenn.com/2025/11/17/lessons-learned-from-author-nation-2025-with-joanna-penn/

If you love queer pop culture throwbacks, this one’s for you: 20 icons from Ricky Martin through Matt Bomer who were serving it two decades ago. https://www.queerty.com/from-ricky-martin-to-matt-bomer-20-queer-celebs-that-were-serving-it-20-years-ago-20251120/

Disney’s “first openly gay character” is… a beaver voiced by Fortune Feimster. 🦫 Wild, obvious, and kind of brilliant. Check how the internet is reacting: https://www.queerty.com/disneys-newest-first-openly-gay-character-is-a-beaver-voiced-by-lesbian-icon-fortune-feimster-20251117/

If you’re an author you’ll want to read this: predatory law firms are circling the Anthropic settlement—pressuring writers to opt-out and chase big payouts instead of taking guaranteed funds. Link → https://writerbeware.blog/2025/11/07/predatory-opt-outs-the-speculators-come-for-the-anthropic-copyright-settlement/

Struggling with the saggy middle? This article on connecting your big plot points and bridging the gaps is exactly what your draft needs. Link: https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/connect-plot-points-keep-story-moving/

An elderly gay man, haunted by a handsome avatar of death, and now it’s being adapted from Stephen King’s “Mister Yummy” — possibly his gayest horror ride yet. https://www.queerty.com/an-elderly-gay-haunted-by-a-young-hunk-mister-yummy-might-be-stephen-kings-gayest-horror-story-20251119/

Trailer dropped for A Friend of Dorothy starring Miriam Margolyes & Stephen Fry. Lonely widow meets unexpected visitor — heart-wrenching, unexpected, got me. https://greginhollywood.com/see-trailer-for-new-short-film-a-friend-of-dorothy-starring-miriam-margolyes-and-stephen-fry-248522

If you write characters in a hospital or clinic, check this: real-life patient behaviour is even weirder than fiction. Inspiration = unlocked. https://www.boredpanda.com/funny-stupid-patients-msn/

Turns out writers create more than just stories—check out how Barbara Pym’s diaries reveal real-life stalking, obsession & fiction mirroring life. Wild. https://lithub.com/on-barbara-pym-author-and-stalker/

Need a pick-me-up? Kids say the darnedest things—these quotes on Jimmy Fallon’s site had me snorting into my coffee. https://www.boredpanda.com/funny-kid-quotes-jimmy-fallon-msn/

“If you call us fascists, we’ll arrest you.” Yup, this satire from McSweeney’s nails the absurdity of power-structures denying their own authoritarian vibes. Give it a read. Sharp and biting. https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/we-are-not-fascists-and-if-you-call-us-fascists-we-will-arrest-you

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I just finished reading The Year I Lived Twice (2024) by Alex Woolf, and I wanted to share my thoughts with you all. Fair warning: this is not a fluffy feel-good read. It dips deep into grief and regret, so go in steady.

Okay — first off: yes, overall I liked the book. The concept grabbed me. Jason Harris (our main guy) loses his younger brother Archie in a fire, and then (after a weird accident) he wakes up one year earlier — with Archie still alive — and gets a shot at trying to prevent the tragedy. I mean — time-loops plus sibling love plus tragedy = my kind of emotional cocktail.

What I loved: The early pages had me really invested. I could feel Jason’s grief, the weight of what he’s lost, the ache of “if only I could change one thing.” The book captures that sting of loss in a way that made my heart tighten. The twistiness of the time-loop mechanics kept me curious: small decisions ripple out. Also: a nice surprise is the setting before phones and internet were ubiquitous, which meant the characters had to be in the moment rather than immediately googling everything. That grounded it in an interesting way.

Now — the “but.” About the middle of the book… yep, it slowed down. The momentum dipped to a crawl. Some of the second-third quarter felt a bit repetitive: re-experiencing events, trying different choices, and the emotional terrain felt heavy and a bit dragging at times. If you’re a reader who needs constant forward propulsion, you might feel the same. I found myself taking longer to sit with certain chapters, pausing here and there. But when it picked up again toward the climax — there were some satisfying pay-offs.

One more caveat: this book is not sunshine and rainbows. There is serious emotional heft. Relationships fractured, guilt, “what have I done” vibes. It made me think. It made me sigh. It made me wish Jason well (and wish him more than well). If you’re looking for something light and breezy, this won’t deliver that. But if you’re okay with going somewhere a little darker and thoughtful — it works.

Some extra thoughts that stuck with me:

• The sibling bond: The way Jason’s relationship with Archie is portrayed… bittersweet. The possibility of another chance is a powerful theme.
• Consequences: The idea that changing one thing might change everything (and un-changing things might be beyond control). That tension is effective.
• Pacing: Early and late sections were strong. Middle lagged a bit for me.
• Emotional tone: Real. Not sugar-coated. The tragedy remains visible even as we hope for redemption.

Would I recommend it? Yes — if you’re into time-loop or second-chance narratives (which I am), especially if you don’t mind the emotional weight. It’s enjoyable, in the sense that I turned pages, got pulled in, and felt something. But “enjoyable” here doesn’t mean “easy.” You’ll walk away with stuff to think about. If you ask me for a rating: maybe 4 out of 5 stars (in my quirky blog terms). It lost a little steam in the middle, but overall the trip was worth it.

And if you pick it up, maybe give yourself a comfy reading session — a quiet evening, some tea (or whatever you like), maybe a little chocolate on standby because it gets heavy. You deserve comfort as you dive in.

So here we are again – November rolling around like that friend who always shows up uninvited but somehow makes everything more interesting. Thanksgiving is coming, and if you’re queer like me, you might be feeling that familiar mix of excitement and absolute dread that comes with this particular holiday.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after my cousin texted me last week asking if I’m “still doing that whole gay thing.” Gotta love family dynamics, am I right? (Just kidding – I promised myself I wouldn’t use that phrase anymore.)

The Great Thanksgiving Dilemma

Look, I love turkey as much as the next person. The smell of stuffing makes my heart happy, and don’t even get me started on pie season. But Thanksgiving can feel like walking through a minefield when you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community. You’re sitting there, passing the cranberry sauce, while Uncle Bob launches into his latest political rant, and you’re wondering if you should speak up or just focus really hard on your mashed potatoes.

I remember my first Thanksgiving before coming out. I was 22, nervous as hell, and had spent weeks rehearsing conversations in my head. And I decided to bring my boyfriend along. Most people were cool about it – handshakes, polite conversation, the usual family stuff. Nobody batted an eyebrow.

Until my Aunt Ellen answered the phone in the middle of dinner prep. Clear as day, I heard her tell whoever was on the other end: “Oh, Roger just arrived with his boyfriend.” Just like that. Matter-of-fact, like she was announcing the weather. I froze for a second, waiting for… I don’t know what I was waiting for. Drama? Awkwardness? Instead, she just kept chatting about who was bringing what side dish.

The weird part? Most people just… moved on after that too. Nobody said a word. Sure, there were some curious glances and a few people clearly trying to figure out the dynamics, but the world didn’t end. Aunt Ellen still asked for my famous green bean recipe, and my little nephew still wanted me to play video games with him after dinner.

Creating Your Own Traditions

Here’s what I’ve learned over the years: sometimes you have to get creative with how you celebrate. My chosen family – you know, the people who actually get me – started doing “Friendsgiving” about five years ago. We rotate hosting duties, everyone brings something ridiculous (last year my friend made a casserole that was just mac and cheese with hot dogs on top), and we spend the day being genuinely grateful for each other.

There’s something magical about sitting around a table with people who love you exactly as you are. No questions about when you’re getting married to someone of the “right” gender. No awkward comments about your haircut or clothing choices. Just pure, uncomplicated love and way too much food.

The Art of Surviving Family Gatherings

But maybe you’re going home this year. Maybe you want to see your family, despite everything. I get that too. Blood family can be complicated, but they’re still your people – even when they’re being absolute disasters about your identity.

Some survival tips I’ve picked up:

Bring a buffer friend if possible. Someone who can change the subject when conversations get weird or just be there for moral support. My friend Alex has perfected the art of asking about someone’s job right when things get tense.

Have an exit strategy. Seriously. Know how you’re getting out if things go sideways. Maybe that’s your own car, maybe it’s a friend on standby, maybe it’s just a really good excuse about having to leave early.

Practice some responses ahead of time. You don’t have to engage with every ignorant comment, but having a few calm responses ready can help you feel more confident.

And here’s maybe the most important thing I’ve learned: when dealing with that one nutjob MAGA relative who just won’t quit, ignore them. Let their comments roll right off of you like water off a duck’s back. I’ve spent years trying to reason with my uncle’s conspiracy theories and hateful rants, and you know what I’ve learned? There’s no sense arguing with someone who’s completely dug into their position and will never see your point of view. Pick your battles, my friends. No sense creating an emotional explosion during a family holiday gathering. Save your energy for people who might actually listen.

Finding Gratitude in Unexpected Places

You know what though? Even the messiest family gatherings have taught me something valuable. They’ve shown me how much I’ve grown, how comfortable I’ve become with who I am, and how much stronger I am than I thought.

Years ago, when my mother made that sarcastic comment about “lifestyle choices,” I would have crumbled. This year? I just wish I would have said, “Ma, being gay isn’t a lifestyle choice – having seven cats is a lifestyle choice.”

The Beautiful Mess of It All

Thanksgiving as a queer person is complicated. Sometimes it’s beautiful, sometimes it’s a complete disaster, and most of the time it’s both. But here’s what I’m grateful for this year: I’m grateful for every awkward conversation that’s made me stronger, every chosen family member who’s shown me what unconditional love looks like, and every small moment of acceptance I’ve witnessed.

Whether you’re spending the day with blood family, chosen family, or just you and your cat (valid choice, by the way), remember that you belong at whatever table you choose to sit at.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. You’re loved, you’re valued, and you deserve all the pie.

New city. New life. New murder.

Private investigator Lucien Knight thought leaving London would free him from scandal. Instead, he finds himself entangled with a grieving heiress, a haunted jazz club, and a trumpet player whose charm could prove just as dangerous as any gunman’s.

To solve the death of Evelyn Sinclair, Lucien must navigate a tangle of passion, deceit, and forbidden desire before the killer strikes again—and before his own secrets come to light. Available on my web store (paperback) or on Amazon (ebook)

Okay friends, I’ve been practically vibrating to tell you this (in the cute way, not the “needs more coffee” way): my new novel, Murder at the Savoy, is LIVE!

Like… it’s actually out there now, breathing the same digital air as your other favorite books. I hit “publish,” paced around the room, refreshed the page like a man possessed, and yes—there might’ve been a celebratory snack involved. Or two. Don’t judge.

And here’s the fun part: it’s FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited.
If you’re already a KU person, you can just grab it and go. If you’re not, well… this might be the universe nudging you.

So what’s this book about?

Picture 1937 Chicago, smoky jazz clubs, whispered secrets, and a whole lotta ghosts who refuse to stay politely in their graves. Murder at the Savoy kicks off my new paranormal noir series starring Lucien Knight—my moody, stubborn, occasionally-too-brave-for-his-own-good detective with a knack for stumbling into the creepiest cases imaginable.

The Savoy is not a jazz club — it’s a haunted jazz club.
Like, very haunted.

Think shadowy corners, late-night trumpet solos that shouldn’t be possible, and a murder that crackles with supernatural energy. Lucien’s trying to keep things grounded and sensible, but the Savoy has other ideas. Honestly, this poor man just wanted a quiet life and somehow ended up consulting with the dead.

We’ve all been there, right?

Why I’m excited about this one

You ever have a story that jumps into your lap, curls up, and refuses to leave? That’s what this book did. The characters wouldn’t stop chattering in my ears, the atmosphere was practically begging to be written, and the jazz? Oh, the jazz. I swear I could smell the cigarette smoke and feel the phantom bass notes under my feet while typing.

It’s filled with everything I love:
* Found families and found troubles
* A moody city that almost feels like a character
* Ghosts who have opinions
* Sharp suits, sharper danger, and more than just a touch of yearning
* And a mystery that kept me guessing while I was writing it

If you’ve been craving a story with noir flair and paranormal bite—and a detective who absolutely did not sign up for any of this—then you’ll have a good time at the Savoy.

Grab it now!

You can read Murder at the Savoy right here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FXY22WVC

Remember: it’s free with Kindle Unlimited, so it’s basically sitting there waving at you like, “Hey. Psst. Jazz ghosts.” If you’re more of a ‘paper book in your hands’ type of person, it’s also available in hardcover and paperback.

I really hope you enjoy this book as much as I loved writing it. And if you do give it a read, send me your thoughts—especially if you have theories, favorite moments, or a sudden desire to time-travel back to the 1930s and adopt a ghostly jazz cat.

Thanks for celebrating this little milestone with me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go breathe into a paper bag and pretend I’m calm.