Hello and welcome once again to another rant & rave session on writing.  I'll be your host, Susan Cooper. 

"No Mercy"

age 12, 5th grade, Dupre Elementary

Another year, another grade. It was a doomed spring day in Mrs. Looney's 5th grade class. She had had this evil look in her eye all day (it had nothing to do with her name, although I wondered?). It was suppose to have been a glorious day because we had just gone to the library that morning.  We had all picked two of our  favorite books to read.  I was elated with joy!  I loved books and I couldn't wait to get home to read them.  Upon returning to the classroom we had been very busy doing our assigned math problems.  It was almost time to switch to our last subject for the day, language. I had done well all year in language.  Reading stories and answering the questions that followed.  It had been pretty painless thus far, I had no reason to fear this switching of subjects. As we started to get our language books out of our desks something in Mrs. Looney changed.  That evil brow became a wry smile. She said, "Instead of reading today class I have decide that you will be writing a book report on your favorite book beginning today".  I had been watching her close looking for a reason to call her bluff. Not even a blink. She started again, "Pick out one of the two library books you checked out today, read it and we will begin writing tomorrow in class." I was stunned, she insisted on heaping this thing, this "book report" in our laps.  It was a hard upper cut to the chin.  I kept wondering, "what are you thinking woman, do you know what Writing will do to me?"  I was hurt, black and blue. My favorite book was to be tainted with this "book report" as she called it. What was I suppose to write, "I read a book.  It was good?" Reading and writing...I couldn't even see how the two were possibly even related.  Why do this?  And then I realized for the first time, Writing was out to get me and it was going to suck the fun out of the one thing I loved...reading.  No mercy, that evil beast!

Writing had once again tormented me and mocked me with gleeful joy. 

Another perfect school day foiled by writing.

Why do people like to write?  It's such a tedious activity.  I'm perfectly content thinking about stuff and leaving it at that.  If my thoughts get put down on paper or in sentence form they always sound worse than they did in my head.  Therefore, I don't see the need to write. 

However in lew of this xanga thing I will forego this belief in order to appease the masses.