Booktok Journal Novels & Stories

However, it is clear that from the days of yore, these two kinds have always come up with one sinister plot or another. I do not know how Arthur acquired this book but this is a personal book that I am sure was not given out willingly. In actual fact, this book is written like a journal. In it, different projects where the two kinds sort to work with each other, are recorded. I suck in my breath and adjust my posture.

I let out a sigh of relief while feeling some triumph. I decided to begin journaling – someone has told me to try it as it will help you find out who you are. I did not think much of it but as soon as I started writing down points , I felt my soul being filled with self love. After I was done with my journaling , I just sat back against my chair. Today has been good – I feel as if something was lifted of my chest , I felt something different was stirring in the air. Maybe it has to do with the weather today , but I feel like I can conquer anything that comes my way.

It pricks my interest and I wonder why I didn’t see it before. Guess I was too cut up trying to find a way and escape the suffocating smoke in the space. Scooting over, I grab the book. It’s an old leather-bound journal with several drawings and writings. I sit back down on the creaky floor, folding my legs together and then I flip through the first page that has a written sentence. “The world is dark. Full of myths. But how much do humans know?” That statement alone stirs my nerve and my curiosity flares to the nth degree. I turn the next page and surprisingly a picture falls off.

The library, her sanctuary of silence, had become a catalyst for her own story, a story waiting to be told, a story waiting to be shared with the world. This newfound desire to share her story manifested in a way she hadn't anticipated. She started writing. Not in her notebook, filled with notes and interpretations of "The Odyssey," but in a fresh, unlined journal she found tucked away in the back of a dusty bookshelf at the library. It was a small, leather-bound journal, its pages blank and inviting, a canvas for her thoughts and emotions.

The key smoothly entered the hole, with a slow twist, I heard a 'click' sound, and the drawer opened. My heart raced with joy; inside were four books. I took one and looked inside. Clearly, it was a handwritten diary. Next, I read and studied all four diaries. Only then did I understand who instructed me to write Alex's biography. And the real purpose of this book was to be made with secrecy about the names of places and notes for the authenticity of the biography.

I opened my eyes to find Brock’s side of the bed empty and I sighed. Not again! Did he regret already? I sighed and slid out of the covers putting on my underwear. I stared at the huge library of books on the wall and smiled. So Brock read books, how cute, a book caught my attention and I saw that I was an old journal written by Brock. “You know, you shouldn’t snoop” said Brock voice behind me and I whirled around, his journal fell from my hands and he smiled.

It was wonderfully, messily alive. Liora found a stall selling parchment and inks. The old man running it had kind eyes and ink-stained fingers. “Looking for anything special, miss?” he asked. “A blank book,” Liora said. “The biggest one you have.” He smiled and pulled a heavy, leather-bound journal from under his counter. The cover was a rich, dark brown, and the pages were creamy and blank. It smelled of new leather and possibility. As she paid for it, her fingers brushed against the old one in her pack. It felt like saying goodbye to an old friend.

Vincent nodded his head as his fire hissed low, struggling to stay lit. “Yes. It's a writing sound,” he replied. In front of them appeared—a tall oak desk that seemed as grand as a throne. Upon it, a massive leather journal opened by itself, its pages flipping rapidly. Each page had fresh words in black ink, still wet, dripping like veins down the page. Camela’s stomach churned. “It’s…writing on its own,” she said. The journal stopped on a page that lay wide open. At the top of the page was a neatly written date: “Entry One.”

I was hoping to see something else. Sucking my teeth, I was about to close the safe when something caught my eye. It was a small brown leather-bound book tucked into the corner and wedged tightly between the stacks of bills. Curiosity burned through me, and I pulled it out. The gold lettering on the front read Lila’s Journal. “Bingo.” I opened the book and flipped through the pages. Lila’s handwriting was neat and precise. I could tell this was a glimpse into her private thoughts and her innermost secrets.

He asks and I chuckle. "This book is about a war between dragons and shit. It's not like a cook book or a knitting class." I say, chewing on some ice as I type up the description online. "Stop chewing on ice, you're gonna ruin your teeth." Jack barks through the phone, but I ignore him. "Yes or no? I'm sure Mrs. B would just give us the books. You're the one who was bitching that we need to try new things." I say and he groans a little, obviously annoyed by me.