Animated Diary Novels & Stories

I looked across the table, it was just us, Kavin was nowhere to be found. I rolled my eyes in annoyance forcing the food down my throat. By mid-afternoon, I was curled on the couch in the library, journal balanced on my knees. I’d never been the diary type, but my head was too full. I needed somewhere to dump the madness before it swallowed me. Entry 1: Malrik doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep much either. Moves too fast. Sometimes I blink and he’s across the room. My cheek… healed overnight. Not just healed. Erased. My eyes are getting brighter. Not my imagination.

he ignored my question and called the server. “Do you have anything spicy here?” “Um...like what?” “Never mind, Do you have French fries?” “Yes.” “I will bring it.” When the server left, he turned to me. “Then what’s that note? Any study stuffs.” “It’s my diary. I will write about myself and my daily life. But I don’t feel like writing it anymore” “Why?” he said without taking his eyes off me. “Cause nothing good happens in my life, so why should I have one. I want life to be happy, interesting with a little of passion, adventure, love which I never found.”

It was my medical and emotional diary — an idea Isa had when I was a child. "Write everything down, Giu. Even the fears. That way they don't weigh so much inside here." Today I wrote: "10:48 PM – I'm okay. A little tired, but happy with the day. My heart raced when Noah pulled out the chair for me in the auditorium. Idiot. But it was cute. My health? Normal. Didn't feel anything different. Maybe just missing home. Reminder: call Dad tomorrow." I closed the notebook and placed it on the nightstand.

Jack asked. Dianna looked up from the under-bench cupboard to where Jack was standing, leafing through her art journal. “Um, yeah,” she said. She should feel embarrassed, but she didn’t. She was proud of her work. No, it would never hang in a gallery, but that wasn’t why she drew. The journal Jack was currently looking through was her concept journal for Paper Gate. The characters and scenes had changed a lot from concept to final production, but it didn’t diminish those early drawings at all.

He was hesitant and continued, “it’s ok if you don’t want to tell me.” I took a deep breath and told him a little secret about myself. Something which was between me and Akansha, which not even my Mumma knew. “Arnav ji, this is my diary. My second best friend in the whole world. And it is alright that you ask. I don’t mind.” Arnav nodded. “So, do you write anything specific in there?” “It can be anything really, just depends on the situation…how I’m feeling I keep it with me,” I gave him a stern look, “and nobody is supposed to read it.”

I jumped out of bed quickly and headed straight to my desk, picking my diary up out of the drawer. This diary was invaluable in managing my day-to-day life. I recorded my mood daily and a summary of the events of the day, I also kept track of official functions and pack-related affairs in there so I didn't forget a single thing. Every morning I wrote a list of the things that I needed to do that day. I turned to the page that should have held the list that I clearly remembered writing as soon as I woke up on the eve of my anniversary, but the page was blank.

She was eleven now. She had grown two inches and had developed opinions about several things that had not previously required opinions and had been in sustained correspondence with Calla at the western satellite for three months, the two of them having discovered through the web that they had things to say to each other that neither of them could say to anyone else in quite the same way. The eleven-year-old and the four year old corresponding. Anya is writing letters. Calla responded through drawings that were becoming more complex with each month, the crayon lines more specific, the web rendered with increasing detail and accuracy.

The diary and stack of photos I had shoved under a pile was still there. Folding my legs like a monk, I settled on the hardwood floor and began to read. The diary went back years ago and it was a bit fascinating to see my mom from another perspective. In her diary, she wrote about her adventures and some of the crazy things she wanted to achieve or do. It's like having a best friend confide in you. I got so absorbed in it that I didn't notice the tidbits about Andre hearts knock in halfway through the diary. It started with little notes about a handsome, attractive older man and then progressed into romantic dates.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, but Chloe barely heard it. The new house felt strangely alive around her, boxes stacked, curtains half-drawn, air thick with silence. Yet in her hands, the diary pulsed with voices that weren’t hers, carrying her from one life to another. She turned the page. The handwriting curved across the top in bold strokes: “Episode 3 – The Office After Hours.” Chloe’s pulse quickened. She leaned closer and began to read.

It made me feel that I share my daily routine with a friend after a long day. This hobby was an irregular chore, but I became habitual after falling in love with Brandon, writing down my feelings for him. He was the son of our Alpha, the most eligible bachelor in our pack. So, I knew very well that I had to keep my feelings in my heart to avoid unnecessary conflicts. For reference, all girls were crazy for Brandon, trying their best to date him even for a week. In these circumstances, my yearly diary turned out to be my best buddy. I noted Brandon’s every habit, every achievement, and every important moment of his life. In short, those diaries were my research thesis on him.