I hated The Catcher in the Rye

I remember my 11th grade English class very well.

Mrs. Druse labored all year to see us connect with the literature we read.

I remember writing a tongue-in-cheek paper about reading too much into the author's meaning.

I remember the term "platonic conception" being used ad nauseum to describe the chraracter Daisy in The Great Gatsby.
I remember being a little disturbed by The Scarlet Letter.
I remember writing another tongue-in-cheek paper about why the American public education system was "stupid" compared to it's European counterpart. (I think I was just angry that I had to take Advanced Algebra.)
I remember listening to a girl from South Africa read the part of Abigail Williams in The Crucible in a very thick English accent--and spitting every time she tried to add dramatic flare to her lines.
I remember reading the SparkNotes for The Grapes of Wrath.

But more than anything I remember hating The Cather in the Rye.

I hated Holden Caulfield and his "woe is me" attitude.
I hated the way he used The Savior's name in every other sentence.
I hated his constant description of himself as "yellow."

Mostly though, I hated the way I felt after I read it.
I hated that it made me hate.

As soon as I closed the book I began seeing the world as Holden saw it.
And I did not like what I saw--everything was fodder for criticism.

We had a long class discussion when we had all finished the book.
It was peppered with comments like "I loved this book" and "Holden is so funny."
The entire time I seethed with disgust for my fellow classmates.
So much so that my heart raced and my face was flush as I planned what I would say.
I raised my hand and proceeded to give a scathing monologue detailing why this book was literary trash.
I'm sure I was not quite so articulate at the time.
It was probably closer to rambling.
But allow me to remember it as a scathing monologue.

I was passionate like I had never seen myself before.
You might say (if you were looking to find a moral in this story) that for the first time I felt the power of the written word.
I vowed then and there that I, unlike J.D. Salinger, would not be a part of polluting the world with written smut.

And so it is with that same passion that I have decided to start a blog dedicated to writing.
Because I believe in writing about the things that are virtuous, lovely and of good report in this world.
And because sometimes a girl's just got to write what she feels.

So here it is world.
My tiny attempt at ridding the world of written smut--and probably closer to the truth (and not nearly as noble), my attempt at sharpening my writing skills in preparation for my Master's in English Education.