Diary Writing Novels & Stories

*** Dear Diary, As I write on this final page, I want to thank you for being a safe space for me to share my thoughts. Writing here has always been a way for me to communicate with clarity, to learn more and to be more productive. It has always given me an awareness of reality, thus helping me make better decisions for me to be happier and to live more focused. I have a lot of written memories here, and I wish I could write here forever. Thankfully, I can go to the pixie in the enchanted forest to get another diary just like this one so I can continue those special memories. I will definitely miss writing here, but I am also glad that I had the chance to share all my special times here. I ho

Everyone acted differently, am I too oblivious to what surrounds me? I suddenly remembered the diary that I'd been keeping under my bed. I get up and look for it. There, I found it. Grandma gives this to me when I was young. She said that diary can be our best friend. You can write everything there, and if nobody listens to your rants. I'd rather write it down in a diary than share it with someone who can't even understand the words I tell.

Everything was simple, and she had no idea what to do on it. Her eyes flickered to the huge TV that was probably the same height as her, but she didn't feel like watching anything. She opened a typing software on the laptop, even though she had no idea what she would write. She has never written anything before, only a diary she kept when she was 12. 'Why not?', she decided, as she found herself typing. *** Day 1

Dear Diary, I'm so sorry I didn't have time to write yesterday but trust me the wait was worth it. I didn't even get back to my dorm room until 4am and at that point I was in no state to write an entry. Honestly I still don't know exactly how to even begin to explain the rollercoaster that was the past two days. I mean last time I wrote everything was so much simpler than it is now. I mean I literally feel like a different person right now after kissing three different girls and yet I feel more scared than ever to come out. I'm sorry I'm getting a head of myself, let's start with yesterday before I spoil the whole story.

When he got there it was almost late, he was the last to get in the car. He sat down beside a girl but paid little to no attention to her. He opened up his diary and started writing. "Is that a diary? I have one too." A soft girly voice asked it was the girl beside him. He looked up and she was in the same uniform as he was. She was so beautiful he couldn't make himself answer her question. He just kept staring with his mouth half-open. "Is something wrong with my uniform? I just got it. It's my first day, you see?" She said with a smile.

He shook his head while staring at the empty pages. “It’s a diary.” Amy began. “I want you to write anything you can remember that happens everyday… It could be at home, it could be what happened at school. Just anything you can think of.” “Why?” Carl asked so innocently and Amy couldn’t help but kiss his cheeks. He was so cute. “Think of it as a way of talking to me, like you’re writing me letters. Because, I don’t wanna miss any moment that passes in your life.” She carefully explained.

I opened it, flipped through the pages, and saw the handwriting of a child. Finding a comfortable spot at a nearby table, I opened the first page of the diary. Dear Diary, Today is my first day writing to you and I'm so excited! I've always wanted to have a diary, just like my dad. He has one too, but he doesn't let me read it. I think he thinks I'm too young. But I'm almost ten years old now, so I think I can handle it. I wish my dad liked me more. He's always so busy with pack business and he never has time for me. When he does come home, he's always tired and grumpy.

I was eighteen now, yet he still had this habit of treating me like his little girl at times. Tonight was different, though. I wore the shortest shorts I had. The kind that inched its way up my ass cheeks when I moved. And a form-fitting crop top that showed off my flat stomach. No bra. My nipples strained against the thin material if I was cold. I got two sodas from the cooler and departed. My bare feet tingled against the wooden patio. Daddy did not look up right away. When he did, his eyes swept over my body. Snappy, but I saw 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.

Some fear it. And some — like Ravi — deny it. I started keeping a diary. Not for the usual entries about daily chores or college notes. But for feelings. Sometimes I wrote about the way my body felt after those secret moments at night. Sometimes I wrote letters — unsent — to Ravi, begging him to see me, to want me. Sometimes I wrote fantasies — ones I didn’t even know I had. Each word bled emotion. Each page carried the weight of years of suppression.