In high school I wasn’t much of a reader. While I enjoyed English class and most of the books I had to read for it, I never picked up a novel in my free time. I remember telling myself that I didn’t have to read outside of school in order to be a good writer, that I was better off being ignorant because then I wouldn’t be influenced by other writers and therefore I would be more original.
Yeah, I was an idiot.
The summer before my first semester of college, I went to the library to check out some books. I can’t remember why I suddenly had the urge to read for fun, but I do remember feeling lots of anxiety that summer as I pondered my future and wondered if I could succeed in college. I also know…
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