Booktok Journal Novels & Stories

he began slowly, "I think there might be something more to this story than you realize." I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his words. "What do you mean?" I asked, eager to uncover any hidden depths within my own work. Lex walked over to the bookshelf in the corner of his office and pulled out a worn leather-bound journal. Its pages were yellowed with age, and its cover was adorned with faded gold lettering. He turned to a specific entry and handed it to me. "This is an old story I wrote years ago," Lex explained. "It shares striking similarities with yours - the themes, the characters, even some of the plot points."

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 muttered to myself. Then I opened the safe and looked inside. There was only one book inside. It was old, as if it had been around for years. I slowly brought it out and when I opened the first page, I read out loud. "My journal. . ." I trailed as an involuntary shiver suddenly seized. This had to be it. It had to contain everything. There were some pages protruding outward like they were not pieces of the same book.

Just occupying my own body without apologizing for the space it took up. At a small bookshop on the corner I stopped on impulse and went in. The smell of paper and ink and warm indoor air folded around me immediately. I moved between the shelves slowly, reading titles with genuine curiosity, picking things up and putting them down and picking up other things, with no sense of hurrying or having to justify the time. Eventually I chose a plain-covered journal and carried it to the counter. The cashier smiled. "New project?" "Something like that," I said. "Yes."

I hit it. With a faint nearly imperceptible click a tiny piece of the bookshelf panel moved inward and then smoothly sideways exposing a dark narrow nook. I gasped for air. Tucked away inside was a small worn leather-bound journal rather than a stash of cash or a secret weapon. I reached for it and my hand shook. The leather was warm and soft from hiding. With my eyes sweeping the front I took it out. Both a title and a name were absent. Only dark plain leather. It was this. This had to be it. I struggled with the journals clasp as I opened it.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

A place where I didn’t have to keep proving my worth to people who had already decided it didn’t exist. Now, with one letter, one vision, and one truth—I was a beacon. A hunted one. Tessa’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I found something,” she whispered, slipping into my tent like a shadow. Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed from running. “What?” “In Madam Theresa’s book. The old journal she left you. There’s a page I’d never noticed before. It was stitched into the spine—hidden.” She pulled out the book from her satchel. A thin leather journal, frayed and worn. She turned carefully to the middle, then peeled back a false page.

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.

“And here I thought the night couldn’t get more dramatic.” Cheyenne didn’t laugh. She was already turning toward the bookshelf. Tora let out a breath and looked to Jax. “I’m gunna need a notebook.” Cheyenne moved toward her bookshelf with purpose, brushing her fingers along the spines until she found the one she was looking for. It was a thick, weathered journal bound in soft brown leather. The edges were frayed, the cover scored with claw marks and burn lines. A faint glimmer of old magic clung to it.

When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”