Entry 5

Traditionally English class has always been a class in which I didn't have to stress out over terrible assignments or looming tests. I payed just enough attention in my sixth grade reading and language arts class (and I mean barely enough) to know how to write essays on broad relatively vague prompts, and as for the tests, my slogan has always been "I know how to read, I'll probably be ok." Seems like a terrible way to approach any acedemic subject, but honestly it worked out totally fine. I'm not bragging, I know that there are people who struggle as constantly with English as I do with Trigonometry, and I feel for them. For this reason it's difficult for me to think of a defining literary experience in my life. I think that the time that I really enjoyed reading and writing outside of school was in fourth grade. My teacher Mrs.Woodburn was asked by one of the kids in our class who her favorite author was, and she said that it was J.D Sallinger. Obviously nobody knew who that was because we were all in fourth grade so she described how his books became very popular and then she claimed that he "disappeared." That took me by surprise as a kid because it seemed to be against anything I had ever heard about becoming a famous something-or-other, especially an author. It seemed like a very mysterious and even magical thing to do and I was instantly interested. Through all my years of slacking and semi-slacking through English classes and reading books inside and outside the classroom, that image always stuck with me, and I realize now that that was the first time I saw a writer as something more than a person doing a job. Even though I was really young, I think at least subconsciously I must have taken note of that and buried it in one of the relatively few "Save: Do Not Delete" folders inside of my brain.