31 Great Journal Prompts!

Writing tips and book reviews! | Attempting Authenticity

Sometimes you want to journal, but you don’t know what to write about. I always find it difficult to find journal prompts I actually care enough about to spend time on them, but it’s really helpful to have a collection of them in case you hit a journaling wall!

Writing tips and book reviews! | Attempting Authenticity

Here are 31 journal prompts that I hope will stimulate your writing and help you to get out of the journal rut.

  1. Your favorite book and why you love it
  2. Your most outrageous goal
  3. The weirdest dream you’ve ever had
  4. Your earliest memory
  5. Your favorite sound and why you love it
  6. Your first day of school
  7. Something fun you used to do with your childhood friends
  8. A movie you haven’t seen that everyone else has seen
  9. Your favorite season and why you love it
  10. Where you see yourself in 5 years
  11. Where you thought you would be now vs. where you are
  12. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and why it’s the most beautiful
  13. Something you’ve always wanted to try
  14. Something that’s holding you back in your life
  15. Your greatest fear and where you think it comes from
  16. The best day of your life so far
  17. Someone you always thought you’d be friends with but aren’t anymore
  18. Your biggest regret
  19. The thing you are the most proud of!
  20. At least 10 things you like about yourself
  21. Something you used to do that you’d like to pick up again
  22. Your favorite place in the world, and why it’s your favorite
  23. A word you dislike, and why
  24. A word you adore, and why!
  25. An “impossible” dream that you have
  26. The moment you realized you weren’t a kid anymore
  27. Your favorite time of day and why
  28. A smell that instantly transports you to another time/place
  29. An opinion of yours that’s changed, and why
  30. Are you happy? Why or why not?
  31. What have you learned about yourself using these prompts?

Happy journaling and let me know how it goes!

Writing tips and book reviews! | Attempting Authenticity

Rain and Soil and a Home That is Everywhere


When I think of my home, I don’t think of one particular place. I think of people I love. I think of the many places where I have left little bits of myself, like a trail of breadcrumbs. I am not saddened by this realization, that I am a nomad. It’s been there for a while, after all. I’ve known for a while. Maybe one day I will be somewhere and not think of the other places, the other places that have either stolen or been given parts of my heart, my mind. Maybe one day I will be somewhere and find someplace where I will not think of playing outside in the darkness, and rain on cement, and rust that is after all just an ugly brown but seems, in memories, to be some kind of precious, reddish gold, some rare thing you can only find deep in a mountain or behind a hidden waterfall. Maybe I will forget about high, golden pyramids and little bowls of spices and a dust land, a desert land that stretches for miles, and then again lush green and rain dripping from huge leaves, like elephant ears, and fertile soil so dark it looks like it’s been soaked with blood and ink.

I do not pretend, I hope, to be some kind of traveling gypsy. Most of my time is spent in one place, in a place I love very much and can’t imagine leaving. And yet…I can, and want to, and there is so much pain and guilt and I am so torn, because I am home, and I am with my friends and my family and I love them, and I love this place and it is the only place in the world that beats out the same rhythm as my heart, as if I came from its very womb and am attached to it in some intangible way.

But there is wind in my blood, and too many other places I love. A country is not just a place with borders on a map and some interesting places to see. A country is alive and breathing, and every country beats differently, pulses to a different beat, breathes a different kind of sigh. A country is a whole world, a whole universe. A country is the soil you walk on, the soul of the eyes of the people you see all around you, the dust in the air, the blades of grass, a scent, a taste, a sound.

People creep into your heart and you feel guilty because you come and take what you can, and then leave. And then you go to the place you call home and write some poetry and pretend to understand. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t understand, but you want to, and so you dream and you write, and if you are very, very lucky, someday you go back.