Little Space Journal Ideas Novels & Stories

My eyes sparkled slightly at the sight of the warm color. The color I was forbidden to like, to have, to touch, and to own, for no obvious reason. Now, it sat in front of me mockingly. A perfect contrast to the dark desk it lay on. “Why?” I muttered, staring at the journal. The inner child in me squealed at the sight of it. It was medium-sized and delicate, with details for the days of the week, weather, date, and more on each page.

They were both smiling. She quickly put it down back as she tried to prevent the encounter she had with his mother in the past from invading her head. She felt a strange tug at her heart. Before she could ponder it further, she turned to explore more of the room and picked up a small, leather-bound journal. Flipping it open, she scanned the pages filled with his neat handwriting. Thoughts, ideas, and even sketches filled the pages, revealing a glimpse into his world. Most were about new recipes to try, random sketches and…a paper fell out. It seemed old and tattered.

I dumped my old journal which I used last year, filled with only about my stupid ass boyfriend. Today, I spent the entire day writing about my mom, dad, my brother Samuel, my lifeline, my granny, my bestie Ivanna, the aunty next door and at the end Kane. After finishing his page, I stick the note he wrote and close the journal. When I look out of the window, the sun peaks at the horizon, making the sky blush harder. Stepping into my tiny balcony, I inhale the cold air. I feel better today. After a whole damn month.

It's a little slice of paradise. I plop into one of the cushioned lounge chairs resting just inside the shade cast by the house. Flipping open my journal, I scribble down a brief update about everything that's happened in the last twelve hours - blushing when I write about our encounter on the plane, even though I leave out most of the dirty details - then lean back and do a quick sketch of the pool and yard. I don't think I'll run out of things to draw while I'm here - I definitely need to draw the front of the house, and my bedroom, and I'd like to at least attempt a doodle of that succulent wall. I could probably fill up an entire journal with notes and sketches about the things that I en

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 stood up with a groan, soreness pulsing. My steps were quiet and soundless as I walked through the darkness, my phone's flashlight bright enough to help me see but still too dark to light up the room; the blue shine dancing off the few whiskey glasses which sat on the small side table next to a rocking chair. Dust layered onto the hardy glass which had a victorian style flowers designed into the glass, a whiskey container which matched the same style sat near the cups half full. Moving the light and moving through the spacey room, my eyes then landed on rows and rows of not books, but journals; each one titled on the spine with a date and moving with a hot purpose, my hands found their way

he replied lightly. “I know,” I said. “I’m okay with that.” Silence followed comfortably, shared. Later that evening, I sat at my desk and opened the notebook I’d been carrying around for months. It wasn’t a planner or a journal, exactly. More like a holding place for thoughts I didn’t want to lose. I flipped through old pages, questions circled, fears written small like they wouldn’t notice if I didn’t give them space. And then newer pages, where the writing was looser, the questions more curious than defensive.

We are bound to forget most of them, and that includes some great and precious ideas. However, when you write them down, you will not only save them from being forgotten, but it will be easier for you to develop them and connect them with one another. You can even come up with new ones through brainstorming. 4. Put Your Life Events into Perspective One of the most basic examples of this is keeping a journal, but it’s not the only way of putting things into perspective. Writing fiction will also help you analyze things and look at them from a different point of view. You will be able to draw parallels between those fictional events and situations, and those which took place for real in your l

But she had known in the way of people who built things worth taking that taking was a possibility. And she had built it anyway. Because some things were worth the cost. I finished the second journal as the city was starting to think about becoming morning. Not quite dawn. Just the first suggestion of it, the particular thinning of the dark that came before the light committed to anything. I put the journal down and sat with it. Two down. Two left. I was going to read them slowly. Not one a year like Mei. But not all at once either. The right pace for the right thing.

So I sat at my small desk, with my laptop open, forcing myself to focus. Hours ticked by and I typed notes and highlighted texts, my eyes burning from the screen. I was very exhausted but all that kept me going was the thought of my journal waiting for me before sleep. I had another journal that was already full with my writings so I always left it at home, my dirty little world.