Why English Literature Is A Nuisance?

Literacy memories and events began at a young age for me, and while teachers and family members all impacted my opinions and preferences for reading, every book I read and writing assignment given to me helped me form my literacy story and come to enjoy reading. Many literacy moments came from when I was young, like my mom or dad reading to me before bed or teachers reading to me at school their favorite books. All of these memories were accompanied by everyone saying how great reading was, and for a while I didn’t believe them. I had so many forced experiences with reading that it was almost painful for me to pick up a book. But as time went on and the reading I was still forced to do intensified, a better relationship with reading and writing

When I was a child I had a passion for reading that I gained from the support of teachers and my mom. My mom had a love for reading and that soon and that helped encouraged me to continue to read as well and fueled my passion to read. One day I received a book called “The Little Engine That Could” because of my obsession I had with trains. To today’s

When we were required to read books for school, other classmates complained about it, but it was one of my favorite parts of class. Even though I didn’t always like the books, I liked to read books that I wouldn’t have picked out to read. I liked being surprised when I enjoyed a book that I didn’t think I would like.

My mother taught me how to read at a young age. She read to me before I could read which helped me learn new words and develop a basic understanding of literature at an early age. When it came time for me to attend elementary school, I remember heading to the library quite often. Books were organized based on what was thought to be the appropriate reading material for that grade level. I often found myself wandering down the isles with the older kids. I’m so grateful my mother encouraged reading as much as she did. If she hadn’t, it’s very possible I could have struggled with reading. If this were true, I wouldn’t have learned as much as I did, or had the desire to read, which is very important in order to become as advanced in literature as possible.

One of the most eye opening experiences of my life occurred in the second grade. I would have never thought that doing one simple assignment in elementary school could change my whole perspective on literacy. My understanding of literacy was sparked when I had read my first real book. I remember sitting down on the vividly colorful carpet day dreaming about playing Mario Cart on my Nintendo 64 while everyone was obediently listening to the teacher read a book out loud. It wasn’t that I did not know how to read or listen, I just didn’t care. Reading to me used to be tedious because I did not understand the purpose of it. I did not grow up with the luxury of my parents reading to me because they weren’t literate in English, so I had to figure out for myself why literacy is vital in everyday life. My ongoing learning experience with literacy can be traced back to one simple visit to library.

As a child, I read non-stop. I used to spend entire nights reading, so much so that by the age of 9, I had developed grey circles under my eyes, which I wore like a badge. In school, I would use every free second I had to get just a little closer to finishing whatever book I had on hand. Ms. Carpenter, who always seemed as though she didn’t like teaching very much, frequently yelled at me for keeping my books on my desk so I could get to them quicker whenever I finished my classwork. She insisted that they were a distraction. But I always had a book to read, because every Friday each class walked in a neat line

In elementary school, I loved to read. Writing was not a big deal either due to the fact that we did not have to write four page essays. It was in first grade when I started to like reading. Reading has just been freshly introduced, considering we had only completed one year of school. My teacher always read to us and I wanted to read those books as well. Throughout elementary school I started to read Junie B. Jones books, which were my favorite. All of the books were about a first grade girl and her different adventures. I had always enjoyed reading those books. Each book had a different topic which I would always relate to in some way. Although I liked to read, I did struggle with reading comprehension which made me dislike writing as well. I hated having to read and then go and write about it. To this day, I still do not like reading comprehension, but my feelings toward reading and writing have changed.

From start to finish, English this year had been unlike any other I had. From start to finish, each and every book had a deeper meaning than I, before, could possibly resolve from the text. The exposure I had to this deeper level of thinking forever changed the way I see literature. Less about “what” than “why”, Literature distinguishes a meaningful story from another. While what makes a book “good” is different for everyone, what makes a story meaningful is what it teaches. Each book I read this year had a story and logic behind it. Every story was real enough to have actually happened because the plot points are supported with real speculation backed up by the nature of humanity. I, personally, have never gone as deep into literature as I have this year, giving me a new appreciation for the genius behind the speculation these books present.

My passion for reading began the summer before junior high, the English class I would be taking had a required summer reading list. I had no desire to read “boring books” over the summer and summarize them. Fortunately, my parents made me read the first book and I was hooked. Consequently, I became obsessed (in a positive way) with this unbelievable adventure; “The Hatchet” by Gary Paulsen; transported me to the wilderness that summer and sparked my love for reading. From that moment on reading became my favorite pastime. Literature expanded my world beyond the Rio Grande Valley I visited the “Island of the Blue Dolphins”, and decided I needed dogs with “Where the Red Fern Grows”. I have several beloved books that I never get tired of reading,

Some of my earliest memories of reading and writing took place in preschool. My former teacher, Mrs. Williams always made reading a fun and new experience which helped encourage us to read. I remember always being excited to read a new book as if I were embarking on a new adventure. My mother also encouraged me to read by reading to my brother and I at bedtime. She also gave us plenty of genres to choose from. Even though my dad did not reach much, my mom was very much interested in books about British crime mysteries. My brother, on the other hand, read anime’ comics and video game instruction pamphlets. Although reading has not been my strongest subject, the subject has always been part of my life.

Reading was the new outlet for my imagination and the stories I read fascinated me. They weren’t too unlike the scripts of computer games or the own stories I came up with on my own, but books actually had the action and emotional aspects written out. And again, while my peers were reading things about growing up, things that had morals and would teach valuable lessons (I remember one book about a shoplifter who had to do community service at an animal shelter), I read real fiction: Jurassic Park, Dragonriders of Pern, Lord of the Rings… Stuff of fantasy and science-fiction that let my mind stray from reality. Stuff that kept my imagination alive while I was being forced to learn multiplication and the names of countries. Of course, my teachers encouraged me to keep reading, as long as I wasn’t doing the reading in the middle of their lectures. But it wasn’t because of their influence, however, that kept me interested in books. It was because I loved it. It put pictures into my head and made me think. So I kept reading. But even then I knew reading wasn’t enough… Yes, the stories were fascinating, but they weren’t what I wanted. Back then I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but as middle school came to a close, I found it.

In the duration of this course, I was more informed on how English literature was started. I became more educated on how the styles and tones the authors utilize have an affect on the readers. Although I had already read many of the stories we studied, I became more enlightened on the background history of the authors of those stories. Becoming more cultivated on the authors enabled me to view their accounts in ways that I wouldn’t have usually considered.

At this point in my life, reading would definitely not make a list of my favorite things to do, but this wasn’t always the case. Some of my youngest memories involve reading, and many of these memories are enjoyable. Every night before bed my mom would read to me, and I remember begging to read just one more before she tucked me in almost every night. This is when my love for reading sparked. Throughout grade school, I continued to read frequently and never found it to be a chore; however, once middle school hit I no longer included reading as a past time or found it pleasurable. Looking back now I realize this was when English class included more forced literature, and school consisted of reading extensive pages in textbooks. Reading

As a child, my interests were more focused on reading than writing. In elementary school I fell in love with books. Initially I read simple children’s books, much like everybody else in my class, but it did not take long for my passion to drive me to read more difficult writings. Fiction books quickly became a replacement for any childhood toys. Instead of blocks or stuffed animals I would ask my parents for books. Since they were aimed at young readers, they tended to be short. I found myself going through them within days, and then soon several hours. Towards the end of elementary school I was reading series like Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I was captivated, and reading truly opened up a whole new world for me.

From an early age I loved to read. At just two years old I would beg my mother to enroll me into school. I watched as my older sister meticulously picked out her outfit each night in preparation for the next school day. At such a young age I somehow knew that this thing called “school” was the answer to something spectacular. My home was chaotic and reading became an escape and helped distract me from the unpleasant family dynamic.