literacy narrative crappy rough draft~ engl 110

Cassànndrè Sager
Engl 110 ~ literacy narrative “crappy” rough draft
12 October 2006

Focus questions~
do you think I any potential leads? Where are they?
what memories have I included in there that don't really belong (are somewhat irrevalant)?

My first memory involving reading and writing is when I was in pre-school. One day I decided that I wanted to spell my name. So, I grabbed a piece of paper, and a nice pen, and I began to spell. It took me a couple tries, but eventually, it turned out right, or so I thought. I slowly sounded out my name… the going got tough, so I turned to the teacher, who wrote my name down for me. I copied it onto a piece of paper. Look at it. Digested the spelling. Then I put away both the teachers’ paper and my own. I wrote my name. Correctly. Once again- or so I thought. That evening I showed my mom my hard work. “Look Mom! I spelled my name today!”
“Wow! Good job! But you missed just a little bit, let me show you.” Little did I know that this was a type of what was to come concerning my name. “You see, above your second ‘a’ and your ‘e’, there go these little accents, so the letters look like this-” and she wrote, “à” and “è”. This was the beginning of the saga of my name.

In first grade there were 40 kids in my class. Whenever Mrs. Tucker or Mrs. Lapic were gone (we had two teachers because the class size was so huge), the sub would call role. Well, she’d get to my name and say, “Cuh-san-druh Sager?” Well, that’s not how you pronounce my name. You see, my name isn’t spelled Cassandra, it’s spelled how you see it at the top of this paper- Cassànndrè, and it also happens to be pronounced differently. Well, I had told this to all of my fellow classmates at least ten times, so they all knew exactly how to inform the teacher of this.
“Cuh-saawwwn-druh!!!”
It was suddenly as if my small seven-year-old self had suddenly multiplied and become a choir of 40!

I’m told that the class did this also in the second grade by my friends; however, I don’t remember any of that…

For Christmas in first grade my Grandma Bridges gave me six Nancy Drew books- the first six. They were Chapter books!! What a change! I had already begun to read these mini-chapter books which were Wini-the-Pooh and somewhat difficult for other students to read, though I could read them without too much difficulty. Well, anyhow, I got my very first chapter books and began to read them, somewhat cautiously, for I had not an idea of what difficulty of reading they would be. I read the first. It took me a while. But I was committed to it.

Y’know, it occurs to me that books teach us commitment. Especially the longer ones. Unless you are committed to reading a book, then you’ll never finish it because books take time.

Well, Anyhow, I finally finished the first Nancy Drew book. It was very good. At that time I was one of the few students in my class reading chapter books, though I’m not sure if I really realized that difference.

Well, my youngest sister is eight now. She’s in the second grade. I was surprised recently when I found out that she has just started reading chapter books. I thought, I started a year younger than her… that’s kind of weird.

Not that I mean to point out how good of a reader I am. I’m about average, I’m sure. Slower than some, faster than some snails I know.

What else? Well, in the seventh grade I took a creative writing class. I enjoyed that class. Seventh grade was the year that I was depressed actually. I began to write a lot that year- lots of poetry and diary writing, actually. Some of my poetry was written fairly well, actually, but was depressing and very somber. Poetry and writing became my way to get out my emotions and feelings. To understand how I felt about what was going on. I had some troubles with a close friend, and I consequently wrote a few poems involvuing or inspired by him. I was very frustrated w/ my dad at that time as well, and so I’m sure that he was behind some of my reasons for writing. Well, creative writing was a fun experience. There was this one boy who
decided that didn’t like poetry, so what did he do? He wrote about cheese!

When I was in ninth grade I had to write a story. I decided that I wanted to write a fictionalized story of how my great-something grandparents met each other.

Well, it’s this fantastic story. Would you like to hear the beginning? Or an excerpt, let me find
you one, alrighty? Here’s the second paragraph- where the story starts.

“The wind fiercely buffeted the ship to and fro. Most of the sailors were not God-fearing men, but they could be, if a situation called for such "faith" or "selective faith" as the mainlanders disapprovingly called it. The skies were tumbling and turning, as if they could not make up their mind which way to turn, which way the sea should roll the boat… Franz, in the brief moments he could look up, could see the black and blue sky as clearly as if his world had been covered by a never-ending bruise.” (“True Love is Never Forgotten”. Cassànndrè Sager. http://home.comcast.net/~scottpre21/truelovestory.html%202004.)

I do enjoy writing, actually, once I find something to write about. I wrote an essay where I styled my type of writing after Jane Austen. Actually, I wrote two of those. I was very well
pleased with them when I finished. What fun they were to write!!

Now I am taking English 110 at Greenriver Community College. Where will this take my reading and writing experience? Well, probably not my reading experience so far as my writing one, because that class is called “College Writing”. I want to take a class that’s about reading things… I want to read classic books! But there are many books I would never read if not in a class, because I don’t know of them, or just don’t have time unless I have to. It’s unfortunate, but true.

It seems that the reading emphasis has been removed. There are not many people who appreciate that old book smell. There is this Gilmore Girls episode where one of the main characters, Rory, is showing a girl around the Yale Library. Rory walks up to the old books, takes one out of the shelf, opens it, and then extends it towards the girl, saying, “smell that! That is just the best smell in the world! I love it!! Don’t you love it?!!” Well, Rory, I happen to love that smell. My mom has some books that are older, and every once in a while I like to just open up one of those books and take a whiff. Oh! What lovely aromas lie within those worn pages! The aromas of Emily Dickinson’s poems. I suppose part of the beauty of their smell is the sense of nostalgia that I get, which really can’t belong to me, but must belong to someone else- perhaps Dickinson’s nostalgia from writing it. Nonetheless, the old smell seems to relate to me that oldness of the book and its works therein. It reflects the classical nature of the book, and enhances the enjoyment thereof.

Perhaps something I write will someday be in a book that has that old book smell.
Or, you know what would be lovely? To discover a book of some sort that is very old and that one of my ancestors wrote. Maybe a diary. I would like to come across something so very old like that! What a joy to read, as well! I like geneology, actually. I never really thought I would. It always seemed so boring. But it’s like searching for someone- I get to be a detective! I can learn about where I cam from. I am Welsh. How cool is that? I am Prussian- my people come from a country that no longer exists! Wow… I guess in an indirect way I can see how WWII affected myself- it affects my heritage. And since heritage is important, I suppose, then, that history can be, too. Sometimes.

Brynn recently came across these short stories that my mom wrote when she was in elementary school. One was titled “The Nice-Looking Man”. I don’t really remember what it’s about, but it has something to do with a man that looks nice, but actually is not a very nice person. I wonder what got that idea into her head… I should ask her sometime.

I guess I’ve come a very long way since I first learned to spell my name. I can spell other long words that are spelled kind of strangely. Like hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Microsoft Word tells me that I’ve spelled that wrong, but they don’t have any suggestions on how to spell it right. Doesn’t it seem that people can be like that sometimes? They have so much criticism to offer, but hardly any advice on rectifying whatever it is that they are criticizing! Well, anyhow, I have come far. I expect to go further.