Book Reading Journals Novels & Stories

Didn't know why my husband hadn't installed electrically locked doors but it was a good thing for me. **** Going through most of the books I got to know one thing, they were all about broken hearts, sad love stories or life, and the ones that would make me cry. 'Why keep these types of books?' Walking down I noticed one more thing, many books were written by the same writer. Roaming mindlessly I found a shelf full of different types of journals, What were these? To whom did they belong? The most important thing, what was written in them? Giving in to my curiosity I took hold of the first journal, the cover of it was made of leather on which was inscribed 'From where the story begins', curiou

I ask as I spin, taking it all in. “No, so we will have our work cut out for us.” Fun. But I am glad to hear him say us. I’m not alone in this search. I walk forward and browse the books in front of me, and groan when I see no names on the spines. Pulling one out, it appears to be an old journal. Well, whatever, better get to it. I grab three and haul them off the shelf, not expecting the weight that drags down my arms as I bring them to the table.

“There’s something I need to check out first.” I saw Jane's eyes widened with surprise as she saw the book. “Where did you get that?” She seemed to recognize the small black book and that drew Mark’s interest. “it was among the journals in my Father’s study. I looked inside but I couldn’t make sense of anything it said. But I have a nagging feeling that whatever is in it is important.” Jane strode over to him and snatched the book away and flipped through it with surprise and amazement still etched on her face.

I was curious about the other book lord Jamie had requested, so I headed back inside to ask him about it. “What is that other book about?” I carefully questioned immediately when I stepped into the room. “It’s the late king’s journal.” He replied and without hesitation, I asked further why the book would be empty if it’s a journal. He chuckled lightly before he replied. “Because you need the king’s blood for the words to appear.”

I clarified. "Wait—what are you trying to say?" I didn't know how to put it in a way that does not offend her, hence I just stayed quiet about it and just described to her what the specific contents of the book may entail. Thankfully, she obliged without a word. After relentless scouring and searching, we eventually stumbled upon one that met my criteria. It was a journal—a journal authored by a former warrior of the Great Rift. "Are you sure this is what you're looking for? Not a textbook?"

"I have never read about it in any place." Madam Pince said. Susan looked around the various bookshelves, and sighed at the vision of so many empty spaces in them. *sigh* "I am not impressed that you didn't know about it. I didn't see the Book of Records in your table or in its normal place. In it you would find the instructions about this function." "The Book of Records?" Madam Pince asked. "Yes. The record book is a book that automatically records all the borrowed books with the student's name and date. Lucky us that it too has a Hogwarts' Library Stamp on it."

"I'm not sure. But I am almost sure no one saw me, can you tell me what is going on right now? Is it some sort of 'no touch book'?" "Well, kinda. You see that book is not a scrapbook. It's a journal." "Okay, whose journal?" "Everyone you saw their pictures there." "Wait, hold on." "Holding on." "You're telling me that that book is a diary? Like not historical data or educative, I don't know, background checks. You are saying it's a diary?" "Well, practically we go by journal but sure diary works too." "If it is a diary, why the hell is it kept in the library? I have never heard of a diary being kept in a library before."

I wasn’t. “May I have it back?” ‘You should give it back, you rude twat!’ Bane scolded me. I took the book up to my eyes and scanned the content. Save for a few words on the front, it was relatively empty. “Oh. It’s a journal,” I rolled my eyes. “And it’s empty,” she had an accusing look on her face…one that made me frown as I handed the book back to her. “What?” “You know, since you forgot things…you didn’t think keeping a daily log of things would help you remember when your memory goes ‘poof!’?”

I set them aside for later. Then I reached deeper into the bag and pulled out the books I hadn’t recognized. Several of them were small, leather-bound volumes. Journals. I flipped open the first one and saw pages filled with my mother’s neat handwriting. My breath caught. I closed it gently and placed the journals beside my bed. I would read them later. When my head wasn’t spinning quite so much. There were two larger books left. The first one was heavy. Very heavy. The moment I lifted it, something strange happened.

Within seconds, I was scanning lines that felt familiar, making me huff quietly. “This is what she reads?” I muttered, picking up another book with similar themes. This one was about a dominant executive and a stubborn assistant with heated exchanges disguised as professional conflict. Reaching for the third, I shook my head, amused despite myself. “So this is the narrative she consumes, no wonder she talks back.” I muttered, setting the novel down then reached for the stack beneath it. It was a leather bound journal which was worn slightly at the edges from use. I hesitated as personal journals were boundaries but curiosity has always been my flaw.