My first real writing experience happened my junior year at HHS. It was the second to last day of school of my sophomore year, and I happened to be flipping through the course descriptions book, and was thinking of an English class to take next year. Well, I sat there and sat there thumbing through the pages, and finally, one particular class appealed to me. I thought, "WOW, this is a class I should take!" "Yeah right," but I still decided to register for American Lit.anyway.
Well, the school year finally ended, and I wasn’t too happy for next year’s school year to begin. "I mean, American Lit. was going to be boring with all the reading, not to mention all the writing, too." But I didn’t consider the writing to be a big problem, because I had gotten to be pretty good at it by my junior year, or so I thought.
To move on, the summer didn’t last long enough for me. I had tons of fun being at the cabin, fishing and stuff. But the thought of going back to school bothered me, so that kind of ruined my summer. And before I knew it, I was lying in bed the night before my first day of "hell" tossing and turning all night because I knew I was doomed for the next nine months of my life.
"Finally," I said as I woke up after two hours of sleep, "let’s get this over with." I ran out the door without breakfast, and I was already fifteen minutes late by the time I got to school. I walked into my first class. It sucked. I walked into my second class, and that also sucked! American Lit. was next. "I don’t even know why I registered for this," I thought as I strolled into the classroom and took my seat way in the back.
The teacher then walked in and said her name was Ms.Schmidt. "Man, she looks pretty damn old," I said under my breath. She then took attendance and we all got pretty quiet when she started explaining the American Lit. course to us.
"And let’s not forget about grading either," she said.
I barely even heard her, though, because I was trying to sleep. Then she talked about reading, which was alright, I guess. But I was still trying to sleep and she was really making me mad. "Ohhhhhhh, man am I tired," I said. And then I finally dozed off.
I woke up with about twenty minutes left in class, and she was still babbling on, but this time she was babbling about writing. I thought to myself, "writing will be easy, piece a cake." And before I knew it, she assigned us to read The Scarlet Letter and write a paper on a particular character of our choice. "I don’t care," I said, "the reading will be boring, but the writing will be easy." Then the bell finally rang, and I strolled out the door with the same cocky attitude I had come in with. I didn’t know it at that time, but I was in for a big surprise.
"I mean I had been taught how to write in my sophomore English class, right?"
Well, the rest of the day unexpectedly flew by, and I now found myself pushing the school doors open and running home to get my American Lit....