Diary Writing Novels & Stories

It was a personal diary entry, handwritten, dated November 1994. The writing was precise and small, the writing of a man who had been trained in a time when handwriting was still a professional skill. I read it at the kitchen table with Jeremy beside me on the sofa watching something on his phone and the apartment quiet in the way of Sunday evenings in October, the particular domestic quiet that I had come to value in the specific way of things you cannot fully appreciate until you have been without them. The diary entry described the industry dinner. He had written it two days after. Revisiting it, he said in the first line, because he had been thinking about it and could not stop thinking

It was the diary in which I used to write everything! I held it in my hands and settled myself on the bed. I peered it open to see a blinding light flashing through it. “What?” I fluttered my eyes shut. After a minute, I opened them to see the diary in its normal state. The page I had opened was the beginning one. It had an entry already written with….today’s date. I commenced reading it. ^Dear Diary, Today I am leaving my home and going to my college. I am way too excited! But then at the same time, I will miss mom.

I know that one day, I'll find what I've lost, and I'll transfer everything I write here to it. I feel a bit embarrassed, for some reason, as I describe our kiss. I smile foolishly, looking around to make sure I'm not being observed. I've been keeping diaries since I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder six years ago. In fact, it was one of my doctor's recommendations. Since I'm a visual person, I wanted something unique and personalized, so I started making my own diaries, from the cover to the pages, the design, and the printing.

I needed a safe place to reflect and vent about things that happen to me that I don’t want anyone else knowing so information doesn’t eat me alive! The only person that knows that I write is my mother, and she is the one that actually encouraged me to start writing in the first place. She said when she was a young she-wolf (about my age), she used to write in her diary. I’m not some girlie-girl that needs to go off writing ‘Dear Diary’ all the time, but I thought it was a good idea to keep a journal for my own sanity.

He didn't know what is a diary. "Diary is a book in which a person keeps his or her daily record of events and experiences," Suzy answered Tubby. Erella looked at her tiny friend with awe. She didn't expect that Suzy has a lot of knowledge in her. No wonder she was always the one who was sensible between the three of them. "So it was your father's life in that book?" Eddy asked. She nodded her head. "I want to listen. I want to listen."Tubby said with excitement.

I pull out the drawer from my study desk and see colorful diaries of mine which I started to write since my high school, every year with every new colors. They are of brown, lavender, purple, pink, sky blue and black color. Altogether, there are six diaries which I had written in last six years. I had filled them with all the emotions at that time. My fear, my anxiety, my excitement, motivation, my frustration, my madness, my anger and the love I always had been yearning for. All of them were mentioned over there. All of the five diaries were complete but I had never been able to complete the last diary. It’s because I had never been able to write and explain the things that had happened to

How should I start writing. "Hey Diary, Here comes another day of my so-called Regular Boring College Life. Or I shouldn't say it boring as it was full of nonsense. All the people I know here, are shitty. But, all this nonsense can't help me forget about my Unknown Hero. How can I forget him? He has something super natural in him.

I ate them even though I wasn’t that hungry. Later that night, I opened my diary. Tried to write to Mom. Like I used to when I was little. But the words wouldn’t come. My hand hovered over the page like it forgot how to work. “What’s the point?” I whispered. “She’s not even here to read it.” Still, I left the page open. Just in case. After a while, I wrote: “I miss you so much.” Then suddenly the words came flooding. I wrote everything—my day, the pancakes, the weird café moment. Everything. And when I finished, I felt lighter. Like something heavy slipped off my chest.

“How will I survive without you dad?” “How dad how?” I yell. I stand up and move toward my shelf. I take out my diary with my shaking hands. I open the diary and see the title of 2019. I want to read it. I know it will hurt me a lot. But I need this. I miss my mom and now dad isn’t with me which makes me more afraid of this world. I started writing diary on the day when I came to know about my mother’s cancer. I open diary to read.

CRYSTAL. I have been a fan of journals ever since I ran from home, pouring my heart into writing. I couldn't go out to have fun like others do because of the fear of being watched and the last thing I wanted was Father finding me. Watching a movie at the cinema at least once was one of the things I scribbled in my diary—sit in the dark, eat popcorn and feel normal. So I stayed indoors most of the time till it was a comfort for me—staying indoors to paint and thanks to that, I had enough time to paint out my feelings and imaginations.