I first learned of my gift for storytelling in high school. Though admittedly, I suffered through most of my studies an average student on paper, who was, however, fortunate to be smart enough to sufficiently pass tests without ever opening a book at home—not a habit I passed on to my children, but, still, one that seemed to work for me at the time. Though I did make two exceptions to my not-opening-a-book-at-home rule. The first, any and all history books: U.S., World, European … those books I opened. Not because I was afraid I wouldn’t pass the course if I didn’t read my assignments, but because history itself fascinated me. Especially the accounts of times gone by that read like fiction, but weren’t.
And I also read, in their entirety, every single book required reading for my A.P. English class. And it was in that small classroom, in the north wing of my high school, where I flourished. Plodding my way through the likes of Steinbeck, Dickens and Bronte. It’s where I fell in love with Conrad and Flaubert. Where I became enthralled with Homer and Tolstoy. Where I learned I didn’t care for Hemingway, Bradbury or Melville. (Sorry, Ishmael, but I just don’t get it.) Where I learned that I could adore Fitzgerald’s Gatsby and a few weeks later be bored stiff by his other works. And, it’s where I learned that I could write words to make people understand, take them down the road I wished them to go.
A few authors shaped my voice. A few others left me wondering what everyone else was reading.
So yes, some authors became lifelong companions and others became cautionary tales. But all of them—the beloved and the baffling—helped me realize I could write words that carried people exactly where I wanted them to go. In the end, every book taught me something, even the ones I didn’t love … and mostly, I suppose, they taught me that my own voice was worth following.
Today’s post inspired by the WordPress daily prompt: What’s a classic book that you think is overrated? Cover image created with Google AI.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
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