From the moment I learned how, I was always a voracious reader (and later, writer). I was the kid who stayed up way past my bedtime with a flashlight under the blankets for “just one more chapter.” Spending the summers in California with my grandparents was a dream, and not for the reason you’d think. Sure, escaping the humidity of New Jersey was great, and seeing extending family was always fun, but my grandparents lived in a larger city– WITH A GARGANTUAN LIBRARY. This library could have eaten my small town library for a mid-afternoon snack and still be hungry. They had an entire children’s/young adult section with every book I could even think of reading. Every summer I devoured those books and begged my mom to take me to the library more than the standard once a week.
Fast forward two decades later: I’m nearly thirty and I’ve been teaching high school English for almost 8 years. “Reading” means reading aloud the same books class period after class period to my freshmen or reading my AP students’ essays. Not a novel in sight. I panic when I try to read just for me. Or when I try to journal/get my thoughts on paper. My brain screams at me, “YOU SHOULD BE DOING SOMETHING MORE PRODUCTIVE!” This brings me to why I’m here. I’m hoping that with some structure (Thanks, Slice of Life Story Challenge and twowritingteachers.org!), I can rekindle my love of reading and writing that has fallen by the wayside now that I’m a “grown up” (or so they tell me).
Here’s to beginning again.