January Writing Prompts 2024 Novels & Stories

Thirteen Year 2023 It was a crisp January evening in New York City. The air was nippy, but the city lights created a warm, inviting glow. Some tourists had started their evening with a hearty dinner at a classic Italian restaurant in Little Italy. As they savored their pasta and a glass of red wine, they could hear the lively chatter of other diners and the soft sounds of jazz music playing in the background.

“Sometimes we write about what we see, or maybe you’re a patriot who wants to write a song about your country. There are many themes to choose from. Let’s start with using your senses. How do you feel about your surroundings right now?” “Um...” I survey the penthouse, the living area, the fireplace, the piano, and even the lights. “It’s peaceful, cozy, and dim, but not sad.” I shrug as I look out the windows. “It is still rather chilly outside because of the snow, but here it is quite warm.” His mouth twitches in pleasure. “That’s a good start.” “Can I say anything else?” “Of course, I encourage you to be open.”

It is the record, in physical form, of everything the six years have built. He finished the coffee. He opened the journal to the next blank page. The page was January-white, the color of possibility, the color of a year that had not yet written itself. He left it blank. He would write in it later, in the evening, when the day had completed itself and he could see what it had been. For now, the blankness was appropriate. January was the month of intention before legibility. The blank page was January's proper symbol.

It is January now. He'd noticed this on the walk to the subway—the specific shift in the cold when the calendar turned, the way January had a different quality from December, less festive, more committed, the cold that had stopped pretending to be temporary and had settled in for the duration. December cold was performative, almost—the cold of holiday lights and hot chocolate and the expectation that soon enough you'd be inside somewhere warm, surrounded by people you loved. January cold was real. January cold was the cold that reminded you that winter was a season, not an event, and that you had to get through it the same way you got through everything else: one day at a time, properly dres

He treated her like shit as a result. “Like my father will ever admit to that,” I scoff. “Either way, I fucking hate January.” It’s the worst month of the year. The longest goddess damn month. It’s after Christmas. It’s cold. It’s miserable. It’s grey. Like the world is holding its breath and daring you to break first. Literally nothing good has ever happened in January. There’s silence for a few moments, the kind that presses against your ears. Then Tobias says, “hey it’s not all bad, the 22nd it pretty decent”

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“Baby grow healthily, okay? I promise to always bring you the best, with or without your father.” The sky has gone very dark, and it seems to be getting late, but I don’t want to go back. The wind may be too strong for me, but I don't want to miss out this night.I couldn’t. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I really wanted to enjoy the seconds of the new year I’m stepping into. It’s such a relief that school is on winter breaks and I got a little break from all the activities and the crowded city. But most importantly, having a little break from all those haunting thoughts.

I confirmed. I took the coffee and sat at the table. Julian turned around and looked at me with the morning expression, the one that had no performance in it. "January second," he said. "I know." "Thirteen days." "I know that too." I wrapped both hands around the mug. "The presentation is ready." "I know it is." "I just want to say it." "Say it as many times as you need to." Elise looked between us. "Ready," she said firmly, apparently contributing. The first week of January was quiet, as it often is before a storm.

January is the most honest month. December lies to you. It puts lights on everything and fills every room with noise and warmth and the performance of celebration, and you believe, for a month, that the world is brighter than it is. Then January arrives, takes it all down, and what is left is the city in its truest form. Cold. Clear. Undecorated. Moving at full speed with no excuse for doing so except that it always does. I have always loved January.