Everyone has a different story about their literacy adventure, but we all have one thing in common: we all have a story about how we first started to read or what first sparked our attention in the literacy world. As long as I can remember I have been reading and writing. I was a top “AR” reader in my fifth grade class. I always had a quiz that came along with the piece I had to read. I received several awards and points for being such a great reader. To others, this seemed like a great accomplishment, but to me it was nothing really; I like to read and write. So what? This was just something I didn’t really have to work at. This early interest in reading became the stepping stone I needed to adventure into writing. Throughout middle school I loved English. Absolutely loved it. It was one class I could always count on. It never confused me, never worried me. I was always looking for ways to improve, because a paper is never perfect. Somebody’s always going to have an opinion, or something they think you should change as a writer. I learned quickly that interpretation meant everything, and there was always going to be somebody dissatisfied. Writing came effortless to me during my middle school years, and the beginning of high school. I scored well on my papers, some really difficult ones and I would always get questioned by my peers. How did you do that? Did you pay him/her off? Countless questions arose but what they didn’t understand is that it is something that came so naturally to me. I knew what needed to be done and I executed it. This all seemingly worked through high school until I met seemed to be a rock wall: Mrs. Thomas, my senior English teacher. Senior year came around, and I just knew it would be a breeze. I knew how high school worked, why would this year be any different? Boy I was in for a rude awakening. First day of English class I remember having no worries. I focused more on math and science which are the