Books I Read Journal Novels & Stories

I knelt down and opened it carefully. Inside were several journals, stacked chronologically. I picked the one from the top, flipped it open, and began to read.

"Faster than most people. I usually finish a book in a day if I have time." He leaned back in his chair. "What do you read?" "Everything. History. Narrative nonfiction. Novels, if they're good." I paused. "Business writing, sometimes. If it's actually about ideas and not just someone padding a magazine article into a book." Something shifted in his expression. "Which business writers?" "Depends on what I'm reading about." I kept my voice even. "Industry-specific stuff is usually better in journal form than book form. Too much gets lost in the translation to general audience."

You need the journal. Margaret opens the small box. Inside is a small book. The small book is the kind of small book that mothers of women who are gone keep in small boxes on Tuesday afternoons. The small book is a journal. The journal is the kind of journal that women who are gone used to keep on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep, in the way that women who are gone used to keep journals on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep when the women who are gone are the kind of women who are gone who used to keep journals on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep.

Feeling strangely exhausted, sore and hungry, Jayler went downstairs to the kitchen to find something to eat, where he found his sister reading a book at the kitchen table. "You're still awake?" Joyce noticed him. "I can't sleep" Jayler replied. "What are you reading?" He asked while opening the fridge and then grabbing a banana. "The Midnight Romance" Still focusing on the pages, Joyce replied. "What's with that book?" said Jayler, while peeling the banana. Somehow he's eager to hear something about this infamous book and this is weirdly the second time during the day that he had heard about it, and accumulatively it would be the third time all in all. Did Richard really wrote that? He aske

Jace DAYS BEFORE The bed creaked in protest as I reached for the leather-bound journal which had turned into a close companion for the last couple of weeks. Forbidden knowledge had been inked into every page with intentionality I could only thank the author for. I opened to the page I had dog-eared for days, sinking into the information there.

I entered mine, went through the three books I had gotten from the store, and set them down on the bed. I folded my arms and read their names. The Claiming Rites, Finding the One, and Under the Red Moon. There was no order in which anyone should read these books, so I sat down and picked up The Claiming Rites. After an hour, I finished reading. The book made zero sense, and then I picked up Finding the One and spent another hour reading through it. While the first book was incomplete, the second made a little more sense. I picked up the third, which I had gone to Zion’s room with. I took my time reading, and another hour went by.

Misty’s temperament seems harmless to her, but with his genetics, that could be a false sense of security. Acheki walked to the holographic desk and reserved a private study room. He held out his wrist. The robot librarian scanned his wrist, pulling up his library information. In a robotic tone, it repeated what was on the screen. “Jalefel Acheki. Return book date, march eleventh. Book One Day and Night: the carnal diaries. Book Two Chasing Spirits. Book Three Living in the Human World.” He covered his face. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he was alone, but someone else heard his reading list. He glanced at her briefly. Akaisha wasn’t paying attention. The robrarian unlocked a private roo

I am drawn like a magnet to the spot where I hid the book, taking it out between spaces. I glance around as if someone is there even though I know that I am alone and study the edges for a hesitant moment. I have avoided reading it for three days, but I can not deny I want to read more of Xirrians story. It calls to me and tells me that its words are mine. That they belong to me. I sit beneath the light of an oil lamp, my knees pulled up my chest, and I open the journal with shaky hands. I hold my breath for a moment. I do not know why I am keen on ruining myself.

I wanted to read it, but at the same time, the thought of reading the contents of the journal, made me very nervous. There was still no sign of Blair. Maybe, it was a sign for me to actually read it. So, I threw caution to the wind and opened the book, flipping the pages as I skimmed over the words. I paused when I saw the words; 28th April. Two days ago. I started to read what she'd written in her journal, two days ago. The more I read, the more pain I felt. Hello, Diary.

I have a feeling that this is gonna lead to the start of something new. Aurora. I don't know what to say . It feels personal to Aurora and I wonder why she gave me this . I am torn between reading it and keeping it back. After an argument with myself, I decide to read it. There must be a reason that Aurora gave me this. I take the journal to my bed and wrap myself with blanket before readng it. I turn the page to see another entry. 15, february, 1789,