I was eleven. My sixth-grade class was participating in a reading challenge, recording all of the books we read on a giant chart so that we could see how many we finished by the end of the year.

For some reason, I took the challenge quite literally and really strove to challenge myself. I still don’t know why I got it into my head to find the biggest, thickest books on the school bookshelf with the biggest, longest words.

It’s not like I still didn’t enjoy the Babysitters Club series or Ella Enchanted. But while I don’t remember the inspiration that drove me to read Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, or The Story of Dr. Doolittle by Hugh Lofting, or Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë, I did. Read More→