Every month I put a FREE short story on here. Here’s the story for June 2026.
Grace’s New Diary
Grace stared at the book in her hand. Leather bound, with gold sprayed edges it looked impressive. She’d seen the diary in the bookshop, and it had called to her. She simply had to have it. As a child she’d had a new diary every year. She recalled how she wrote in it religiously for a week or two util the enthusiasm wore off, or she found something more exciting to do. She sighed.
“What have you bothered with that for?” her husband, Bernie, asked when he saw it. “It’s not as if you ever do anything worth writing about.” He tutted, shook his head and went back to reading his paper.
Look who’s talking, she thought. Since he’d retired Bernie had done nothing but sit round all day finding fault.
First, she wrote in her and Bernie’s birthdays. There were only the two of them. Then she thought about appointments. She didn’t have any. The only thing she needed to do the next morning was shopping so she wrote Shopping. She sighed. Bernie was right. She had nothing of any interest to put in. Well, she smiled, it didn’t have to stay like that. She’d find things to do, things to write about.
Shopping looked a bit sad, so she added Coffee with… She couldn’t think of anyone to have coffee with, except her friend Maisie. She hadn’t seen her for a while so gave her a ring. Maisie said she’d be delighted to meet up so she put that in her diary. Then she rang the hairdresser and made an appointment. She usually just turned up and hoped he’d fit her in, but today she made an appointment and wrote it in her diary, then she added having her nails done.
She soon found that one thing led to another. After having her hair done the man in the paper shop noticed her for the first time.
“Fancy the Bingo?” he asked, pointing to the poster advertising it.
She nodded and put it in her diary.
As the days went by, she found other things to write about. There was a gallery opening in town. She visited and wrote about it. The artist at the gallery opening invited her to visit his studio, so she wrote about that. The coffee with Maise was such a success they decided to make it a regular thing. Sitting in the coffee shop, all around her people were engaged in lively conversations amid bursts of laughter. Why had she never thought of doing this before?
She began to wonder what other of life’s simple pleasures she’d been missing. She bought herself little treats, like boxes of chocolate, she took a walk in the park and sat and watched the children playing on the swings. She went to the most expensive shop in town and bought herself a new outfit. Over several weeks the diary entries included details of her new clothes, the make-over she had and the day she went blonde and Bernie didn’t even notice.
Other outings with Maisie followed, shows, classes, girls’ nights out. She wrote about them all. She took Italian lessons and wrote her progress in the diary, in Italian. Then she went on a daytrip to Southend with Maisie. She hadn’t been to the seaside in years.
Soon the diary took on a life of its own. It was the first thing Grace looked at in the morning and the last thing she thought about at night. She wrote about things she’d done and things she hoped to do. Her thoughts and feelings. Anything she wrote in her diary she felt compelled to do. As she wrote she reflected on her life with Bernie. It felt as though she’d spent all her time playing catch up and never quite made it. She recalled when she was young and carefree. Her teenage diaries had been filled with passion and thoughts of romance, often more imagination than what actually happened, but a very different life to the one she was leading now. She remembered the excitement and anticipation of days ahead, filled with adventure. Where had that enthusiasm gone? When did she lose her zest for life? Forty years of marriage had worn her down.
Bernie wasn’t impressed. One evening she was sitting writing her diary when he looked up from his iPad. “What are you doing? Writing a novel?” Bernie was never a great talker. His idea of conversation was: “What’s for dinner?” or “When are you going to do the ironing?”
“No,” she said. “Just writing my diary.”
“Hmph! Waste of time,” he said. “If you’re looking for something to do you could put the vacuum cleaner round and I don’t suppose that kitchen floor’s seen a mop since 1992.” He snorted with satisfaction and went back to his iPad.
Grace didn’t think it a waste of time. Writing her diary had opened up a new world for her, a world where she could do whatever she wanted, be whatever she wanted, a world with . unimagined possibilities, things she’d always wanted to do but never had the courage.
Writing her thoughts down felt suddenly liberating, as though the diary had given her permission to do things she’d only ever dreamed about.
Things like: See a solicitor. Get a divorce. Book a cruise. She smiled as she wrote them in her diary.
If you enjoyed this story there are many more in my Short Story Collections here.
