Two different pieces of writing live in a photo diary and they have different jobs.
Yours, at the front, once. It explains the object and starts it. Theirs, everything after. Your job is to make that easy to begin.
Your page, at the front
Four things, in about two hundred words. Longer than that and it becomes a foreword to somebody else’s book.
1. Why this, and why now. One sentence. “You are about to spend a year somewhere none of us have been.”
2. What the photographs at the front are. Not a caption on each — a line about what that section is. “These are the last four years, so you have something to start from.”
3. What you hope goes in it. This is the instruction, and it should be modest. “Not every day. Just the bits you would want to remember wrongly.”
4. A date, and your name. It becomes the first entry, which is the point.
⚠️ Do not write “I hope you fill this.” It reads as an obligation, and the pressure is what stops people starting.
Three first pages, written out
Each of these comes in well under the two hundred words, and each does the four jobs above.
For a sister starting her first job in another city:
Didi — this is for the first year of the job, not the rest of your life. The photographs at the front are the flat in Lucknow and all of us at the station, so home is already in here. Do not write every day. Write on the days something happens that you would ring me about, and then ring me anyway. — Riya, 3 August
For a father on the day he retires:
Papa — thirty-four years of the office and not one page about it. The front is the last day: the send-off, the garland, your desk before it was cleared. The rest is for what comes after, which you keep calling nothing. Write down the nothing, starting with the first Monday you did not go in. — All of us, 30 June
For a friend leaving home for a one-year course:
You will have forgotten the name of the chai stall by March, which is why this exists. The photographs are us, before, so you remember who you were writing to. Write short. Write about people you have not met yet. The first entry is mine: today you packed three suitcases and still forgot your charger. — Kabir, 14 June
Notice what none of them does: explain why diaries are good, or ask for anything large.
Printed, or in your own hand
The page can reach them two ways. Send the words and they are set with the printed section, or ask for that page to be left blank and write it yourself once the diary arrives.
| Printed | Handwritten | |
|---|---|---|
| How it looks | Finished, part of the design | Unmistakably yours |
| When you write it | Before printing, checked on the preview | After it arrives |
| Needs | Nothing more | The diary delivered to you, not straight to them |
| Suits | A gift sent directly to their door | A gift you hand over in person |
That third row catches people out. If the diary is going straight to their address, there is no moment at which you can write in it, so send the words.
If you do send them, read them on the digital preview before you approve: every name, the date, and the one sentence that has to sound like you rather than like a card.
Prompts, if you want to include them
Some diaries work better with a light structure. A few prompts at the end of your own page give a hesitant writer somewhere to begin; if you would like them set anywhere else, ask on WhatsApp when you send the words.
| Prompt | Why it works |
|---|---|
| “Where you are, right now” | Concrete. Anyone can answer it |
| “Something that happened this week that will not matter in a year” | The best kind of entry |
| “One thing you have changed your mind about” | Produces the pages people reread |
| “Who you saw today” | The detail that vanishes fastest |
| “What this room looks like” | Rooms are forgotten completely |
Do not ask for a prompt on every page. That turns a diary into a form, and a form is something people abandon.
For the person writing it
If the diary is yours rather than a gift, the only advice that matters is this: write short and write often, rather than long and rarely.
Three lines on a Tuesday, kept up, is worth more in five years than two thousand words written once in March. And the entries that turn out to be worth reading are almost never about the big events — those you remember anyway.
What it costs
| Size | Pages | Price |
|---|---|---|
| 60 sheets | 120 | ₹699 |
| 80 sheets | 160 | ₹899 |
| 100 sheets | 200 | ₹1,099 |
| 120 sheets | 240 | ₹1,299 |
Flat ₹70 delivery anywhere in India. A page of your words at the front can be arranged — send them with the photographs.
Frequently asked
What should I write on the first page of a photo diary? Why you are giving it, what the photographs are, what you hope goes in it, and the date. About two hundred words.
Should I include prompts? A few, on your own page at the front. A prompt on every page turns the diary into a form.
How long should my message be? Short. It is a note at the front of somebody else’s book, not a foreword.
What should I not write? “I hope you fill this.” The obligation is what stops people starting.
Do you set the writing for me? It can be arranged. Send the words with the photographs and they are laid out with the printed section, then checked on the preview.
Part of our guide to photo diaries and card decks. See also: what goes in a photo diary and who a photo diary suits.
With your words at the front: Photo Diary from ₹699 · All 12 keepsakes