Booktok Journal Novels & Stories

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.

A blast of cold air rushed up from below, smelling like wet stone, old blood, and something rotten beneath snow. The journal slid across the floor toward the opening. “No!” I lunged for it. Damien caught me tighter. “Leave it.” “No.” “That thing wants you closer.” “The book has been more honest than half the people in this town.” “It is not a person.” “Neither are half the people in this town.” The journal teetered on the edge. Pages fluttering. Glowing. Waiting. Then one page ripped free and flew upward on a burst of silver wind.

Inside was a beautifully bound book. Its pages were blank. Attached was a handwritten note. "Your Majesties," "When you visited our village, you reminded us that every voice matters." "This book is a gift for your child." "May they fill its pages with their own thoughts, dreams, and discoveries." "May they always remain curious." "And may they never stop learning from the people around them." Nova carefully closed the book. "It's perfect." Kieran smiled. "Our child already has their first journal." She placed it beside the keepsake box containing their letters.

Daniel thought bookstores were inefficient. “Remember this place?” Harper pulls me inside. The familiar smell of paper and coffee hits me—sandalwood and possibility and all the hours I used to spend here in college, hiding between shelves and dreaming of a future that looked nothing like my present. “You practically lived here junior year.” Harper stops in the journal section, pulling down a leather-bound notebook. “Write in this.” “Harper” “My treat. Consider it a very late divorce gift.” She presses it into my hands. “Write everything you’re feeling. Everything you can’t say out loud. Get it out of your head where you can actually look at it.”

he said. “By about four days,” she said. “I checked against the journal.” “You keep records,” he said. “I keep records,” she agreed. They stood for a while. “The book is doing something,” he said. “The reader messages.” She’d been sharing some of them with the household — not all, some were private in ways that the sharing would violate, but the ones that were about the quality of the book rather than the specifics of the readers’ lives. “Yes,” she said.

“No… It doesn’t. But it felt as if it was burned into my skin.” “It’s the same design as the one on the book…” Leo adds with a frown. “Can you read it?” Thea implores curiously. “Yeah… - I nod, skimming through the contents - It’s like a journal. Or a diary… Would you mind if I went to read it in peace?” “No, no. Go ahead.” I go to the bedroom in the back before turning the book to the first page and start reading.