There and Back Again: A Literacy History
For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by books. I have vivid memories of reading Shel Silverstein growing up. I would read anything by him and would form opinions about the book. I remember enjoying Where the Sidewalk Ends much more than any other. Something about the uninhibited, free-form work he created. My parents, also avid readers, would be supportive of whatever I wished to read. They simultaneously bolstered my reading and allowed me to choose. It was a sort of give and take, I suppose.
The Early Years and Elementary School
My parents read to me from day one. I called my mom to ask her about it. And she recalled reading to me from the earliest days. I wish I remembered specifics of what they read. But I can’t. And it makes a lot of sense that I’m somewhat of a bibliophile today. Today I still consume libraries whole, leaving hardly any books without being at least looked at. I do remember journeying to the Carson City Library with the family and we all were allowed to select a book or two. After feeling precocious one day, I decided I was going to read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. I was probably eight or so. And I would warrant a guess that going after the larger, intimidating books plagues me to this day (I have been trying to read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace for about two years.
Attempting to recall precisely what I read when I was younger the aforementioned Shel Silverstein comes to mind. Along with Judy Blume, Roald Dahl and others. I do remember in elementary school enjoying library day. We would go listen to the librarians talk about the critically acclaimed books and then quiz us on them. Who wrote which one, what prize they won, etc. And then we were allowed to walk around the library and pick out any book we wanted. I remember picking books about countries a lot. I think I held on to the book about Norway for triple the time allotted. I enjoyed being transported to a different world through a book. Another book that was colossal for me was The Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. This book is about a boy, who for some reason is traveling in a small plane, the plane plunges into the wilderness and he has to survive. The pilot of the plane is killed in the crash, so he is alone. There is something about this story that I think is attractive to everyone.
Furthermore, I think this is a satellite issue to my literacy history. When I was in elementary school, I was in speech therapy. Rumor has it I couldn’t pronounce the letter R. I like to think I was just speaking with a New York accent. But I think that ostensibly played a role in my advancement. I learned the difference in words and for that matter, how things are heard. Also, I remember urging my parents to write my Christmas list out for me because I enjoyed how their writing looked. My Neanderthal script was nothing compared to their looping cursive.
Middle School and High School
In general, I enjoyed English oriented classes in my early education. I do remember being fascinated by words. I would pick up words that my parents and their friends said that I didn’t know. And then I would attempt to use them usually incorrectly. My affinity for words and texts didn’t stop there. I also attempted to write stories at a very young age. However, I would mostly lift stories right from the original text and place them where I wanted. There are probably tubs of writing from my younger self that are replicas of books. At one point, I had written, cast and was planning on directing an adaptation of Street Fighter. I had typed out congratulatory letters to the people I had deemed worthy of my cast. There is also a story very similar to The Hatchet somewhere at my parent’s house.
The first chapter book—that I felt like a grown up reading anyway—that I fell in love with, was The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein. When I was given the task of reading this book in my 7th grade English class I was dreading it. It was, after all, an old book. What would I want with this old thing? However, early on I was hooked. The idea behind the assignment was for us to read a book and then present on it. We had to write a book report and then complete some sort of auxiliary project. We could create a model of something, a poster board, a video, etc. The first pages of The Hobbit include a map and I decided to create the map. We were also required, in the book report, to type out a summary of the book. Just give the big ideas, big plot points, etc. of the book. What I turned in was a chapter by chapter summary of the book. Something you might find on Sparknotes today. (I was a little sad when the teacher didn’t make any comments about my achievement.) It wasn’t easy to recall each chapter and the major occurrences in each, while also including all the characters and their various issues.
Once I entered high school and was required to be tested on my reading comprehension, I was elated to find out that I was reading at a college level, when I was only in 9th grade. I felt this was quite the accomplishment. Something refrigerator worthy. And throughout high school I knew I was a person who could read. And at a high level. However, there was something nagging at me. I wasn’t performing well on quizzes about the book. I would finish the reading assignment without much issue. And I would participate in class discussion. But I wasn’t performing that well on the tests. I then realized that I really didn’t like reading for a class. I was finishing the reading, but usually after it was due in class. I liked to take my time with the words. Let them sink in.
However, I enjoyed my American Literature Survey course immensely. My teacher, Mr. Macy, was a wonderful example of how to teach the content area. He always started the class by reading from his Flash Fiction book that was rather beat up. It was torn and well loved I’m fairly certain the cover had long since departed the book. The stories in the collection showed me that literature didn’t have to be pretentious and crotchety. It showed me that stories could be subversive and provocative .We read everything from The Scarlet Letter to The Man in the Wheatfield. The latter is a book by Robert Laxalt and centers upon a small community in Nevada. I suppose that was pivotal because it proved that literature can happen in a place you’re familiar with.
This American Literature course is where I was introduced to Kurt Vonnegut. Kurt Vonnegut was attractive to me because of his piercing wit, his propensity for humor in the most difficult settings, and of course his talent as a storyteller. The class read Cat’s Cradle which remains one of my favorite books. Vonnegut’s ability to weave together an entertaining story while commenting on society is spell-bounding.
College and Writing
It is rather surprising because of this that I ended up where I am today. I never thought when I left high school that I would major in English and Theatre. Both degrees required a good deal of writing and reading. I always enjoyed the activity of writing and the activity of reading. I suppose I needed to allow myself to figure out that I can both enjoy the text and finish it for a class. There is a list of books that I read in my undergraduate career that I would like to read again. Jane Eyre for example was a book that we were required to read ten chapters of in between class sessions. The class was Tuesday and Thursdays. Consequently, I did not read that as thoroughly as I should have.
I think because of my long time adversity towards the formalized conquests of English and literacy that will reflect my teaching style. I will teach the standards that need to be taught; however, I am fairly certain I will be a bit more energetic towards creative writing or contemporary fiction and have to kind of slog through teaching MLA format and sentence structure.
I enjoy the writing process and intend on trying to pass this zeal to my students. Throughout my courses in writing, most of them say to “just type” first. Your first draft will probably be horrible (they use a different word—an expletive). But the first draft is where you harness the raw feelings and then you’re able to take the raw emotion and cut about 20% of it. In college, I read On Writing Well by Howard Zinsser who is adamant about removing unnecessary words. Small words are not your friend and should be removed. They don’t mean much. For example, one could say “I opine” instead of “In my opinion.” They say the same thing; however, it is easier to say “I opine.” Another pivotal book was The Elements of Style by William Strunk and E.B. White. This book is a must have.
My ascension into creative writing has grown exponentially in the past few years. While an undergraduate at Augustana College, I completed a screenplay entitled One Fine Sunday and was fortunate to have a staged reading. In 2009, I travelled to Vilnius, Lithuania as part of the Summer Literary Seminars. I was able to interact with writers from all walks of life and participate in a workshops in poetry and playwrighting. My senior year at Augustana I published a chapbook of poetry called Bipolar Musings of a Failed College Dropout. This past December a play I wrote was staged at Augustana College.
My history has been peppered with differing books and authors. I’ve always lived two lives. One of the tangible world in which I go to school, play sports and chat with friends. The other was much more revealing about the content of my character. I solved mysteries with The Hardy Boys, went to the end of sidewalk with Shel Silverstein, ate green eggs and ham with Dr. Seuss, was afraid with Ponyboy, and traveled there and back again with Tolkein and his hobbits.
Throughout high school I wore a scarlet letter, feared ice-nine, searched for the white whale, and learned about a tragedy of a young couple of Verona. In college I began to define myself as a writer and reader. And as I type this essay, I think about my most recent achievement. I finished On Writing by Stephen King. His Golden Rules of writing are “Write a lot and read a lot” and “if you don’t have time to read, then you don’t have the time (or tools) to write.” As I said before I don’t remember everything I’ve read. I know I haven’t remembered all my successes and failures, but as I’m sitting writing this paper, surrounded my books, I can say that I have been lucky.
