Personal Narrative Of My Writing

Writing Narrative I used to read books to my imaginary friends. I would sit in a chair and read outload every book in my collection. My parents thought I was crazy they asked my teacher if I knew how to read inside my head. After I got tired of telling them the books I checked out form the library I started to write my own. I would do this for hours each day. This is where my loved for both reading and writing came from. In my home reading was always important to my mother. I could read full sentences before the time I entered kindergarten. I always liked when I could read something the other kids couldn’t. Vain was probably a good word to describe me and the way I thought of myself. When I got home from school I loved to read because it was something I was good at.

I would stay in and read. I kept getting better at reading and writing. I practiced more than any other kid in my whole school. By the time, I was graduating elementary school I read at the highest reading level of my class. I figured I was a prodigy. I was sure I was Yale or Harvard bound. It all went downhill from that moment in my life. In seventh grade English, they tell you that you have been learning everything wrong your whole life. You don’t really know how to write a paper. You don’t really know how to interpret a story. They break down everything you have ever learned about reading and writing and explain why it’s wrong. They gave you topics that you really didn’t want to write about. They made you read certain books that didn’t entertain you. By the time, I was in high school I no longer liked English. Reading and writing became something I hated. Last semester I had a strict professor for an education class. She told me my writing was terrible. She told me that I needed a basic writing class. She said that I would not last a week in a collage English class. That was hard for me I was going to drop English