Literacy Narrative For as far back as I can remember, I have had a passion for the arts. However, I have not always had my love or admiration for writing. I honestly couldn 't have cared less for reading or writing, and yet every day, one dreaded English class stood between me and my love for the arts. I often found myself intensely watching the clocks, waiting for the period to be over. I swear the clock never ran slower than it did during my English class. It was the 7th grade: a new year with new teachers, and I was hoping that my course lineup would miraculously be different from previous years. I glanced over my class schedule, and I quickly apprehended nothing had changed in my course plan. My dreaded nemesis, English class, was scheduled right before sixth-period Art. Eventually, the time came, for the first English class of the year. I chose a desk in the back of the room, where I slumped way down in the chair. I intended to go unnoticed, while I scribbled doodles on the cover of my notebook. Mrs. Roberts walked into the room, and she had a startling resemblance to a stringent librarian. She wore her gray hair up in a bun, and her glasses were positioned on the tip of her nose. Once in the center of the room, she glanced around the classroom with an austere look on her face. Almost instantaneously, my anxiety shot up to record levels, and the feeling of angst quickly washed over me. I remember thinking, 'this will surely be my most odious English class thus far. '