E-reader Note Taking Novels & Stories

Uncapping her pen, she drew another bold checkmark beside the note that read: “Gaze at the night sky from a rooftop with my boyfriend.” Then she retrieved another notebook—more of a diary than a planner—and began writing down every detail of her experiences from the previous night and the current one. She wanted to record each tiny moment so that when her memory inevitably faded with time, she could reread her own words and relive everything as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday.

Irene said visibly trying to gather her thoughts and breath. “Yes, I vote that we do that,” I whispered and reached for the scissors. I unwrapped the large package while they squealed, I was more interested in the note that I knew would come with it. The box was opened and I immediately reached for the paper before Irene took the MacBook. “Oh my goodness! Anna it is a MacBook, and there’s a note attached to it. I can’t believe Jason Micheal is sending you gifts with notes. Can I read it?” “Go ahead,” I giggled, I knew that it would be cute notes. The one with me had more length and I knew it was going to be very personal.

"Yes. I was busy killing time." The professor arrived, and they just discussed. Ethan thought of buying a tablet to use when he takes notes, as Chrystyn told him the other time, but then he forgot. He whispered, "Let's buy clothes tomorrow. I'll buy a tablet, too." Chrystyn nodded and continued taking notes on her tab.

The kind of woman people like Edmund could point at and use as proof that they were justified in ruining her. My stomach tightened. I kept reading anyway. Then I saw it. In the margins. Tiny notes. Sharp, cramped handwriting. Not mine. I froze. My breath caught so fast it hurt. I leaned closer. Edmund. His handwriting was unmistakable. Jagged and precise in that ugly, controlling way of his, like every word had been stabbed into the page. My eyes locked onto the first one. Make the ink look smudged here. Another. Add more detail about the “accident.”

I save it to three different locations. I forward it to my editor with a note that says: FYI. Not stopping. Then I open the draft and I keep writing.

On the third day after I reunite with my pack, my family corners me in the mansion's living room. My adopted sister, Mia Ashford, holds several notes in her hand while sobbing her eyes out. "Layla, I know you hate me, but you're driving me insane with your death threats!" Every single note is covered in curses written in red. "Go to hell, you thief! You stole Mom and Dad away from me." Noah Ashford leaps to his feet and hurls the notes at my face. "Apologize!" he roars. "You think you can bully Mia just because you're my sister?" Mom embraces Mia, trying to comfort her. Dad, as the Alpha of the pack, finally speaks. "If you don't write a 1,000-word apology letter to Mia today and

it makes Dylan giggle, putting his empty plate in their tiny sink before wiping his hands. "It is flashcard night. a whole new section ready to go through the laminator.” Andre starts pulling out his own notebook. one giant notebook that he uses for every class. "It’s annotating night for me. which I didn’t know until Rina told me this, did you know people annotate books…for fun? like they just sit down and make notes about books that they choose to read? Why would you want to give yourself homework?” Dylan tries not to let his face turn up at the mention of Rina.

My notebook lay open beside my laptop, filled with observations that somehow felt more personal than professional. Before closing it, I added one last line. Still impossible to read.

She places his backpack on his desk chair before grabbing the notebook he'd started taking notes on last night. She flips through the pages quickly before reaching the final page. She scans over what he'd written there before stopping at a particular section. It takes a moment for her to register what it is.

“Stress doesn’t need a reason, Nicole. It just finds you.” I shook my head, smiling. “You’re impossible. I swear you make life sound so dramatic sometimes.” He laughed softly. “Maybe I just like to complain. Makes me feel human.” We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the sunlight stretch across the shelves. Then I noticed his notebook. “What are you working on now? More notes for class?” He held it up, flipping to a page full of scribbles. “Yeah… notes, sketches, reminders. Basically a mess. I write down everything so I don’t forget, kind of my survival tactic.”