Connor Reese

Jennifer Tolson

English IV AP

27th February, 2017

Literature is the only real link we have to the past. Though the ruins of great cities still stand,

artwork reside in museums, and political systems and figures leave a lasting legacy on this

world, the only way to truly have any meaningful connection to the citizens of bygone days be

they accounts of the everyman written by learned men, or scholars writing grand histories of

their own times is to read the accounts they left behind in writing.

I delight in literature. Reading, truly, is one of the only things I can consistently find joy in.

Whether its casual, dime-store checkout lane pulp fiction, J.R.R. Tolkiens Silmarillion, or the

Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoys 1,700 page plus historical epic, War and Peace, I try and find

time in my life to work through a few good books every season. I suppose, when it really comes

down to it, this love of reading can be traced back to my formative years, when my parents

would read to me, nightly, fostering an early skill at the craft, and allowing me to get in at the

ground floor,, as it were, with the hobby. However, I did not manage to truly work myself into

the book-loving fervor I now possess until my early teenage years, when I was first exposed to

more advanced, and (comparatively) meaningful works, as opposed to the low-level learn as

you go,, affair of childrens books. Such series as Tamora Pierces Lioness Rampant and

Immortals series, as well as Tom Clancys works, and Dmitry Glukhovskys Metro 2033 all

helped shape my views, and opinions, of the world around me, and, at the time, not only made

me a better writer, and a more understanding person, but caused me to, for a time, wish to pursue
a career in creative writing.

Writing, as well, is a great passion of mine, and I try to take pride in my abilities, and constantly

strive to refine them. I do, however, tend to be more than a bit particular, and overly critical, of

both my own formatting and stylistic preferences, and those of others. It should be noted, though,

that I did not always enjoy writing. In my earlier years, I had a particular distaste for writing.

Indeed, I loathed it. My elementary school teachers would be forced to barter with me for days

on end to get me to write a short paper, and even up through middle school and junior high, I

would procrastinate my way through essays, and would never think that, not but a few short

years later, would revel in the art of writing. As of late, not only have I refined my professional

writing, for educational purposes, but my recreational, and utilitarian writing, as well. I believe

that, honestly, that my love for writing came out of spite. I began to grow frustrated with the

writings of my schoolmates, finding them below the level of the novels I read, at the time, and,

having that in mind, realized that my own writing was even worse than my contemporaries. With

this knowledge, I set out to improve my own skills as many times over as I could, until I reached

a point that I deemed satisfactory. And, I was, to be certain, terribly hard on myself, though my

grades, and personal opinion and satisfaction with my writing, did improve greatly.