Coming out of an english class that I despised the year before, I started out my junior year with confidence that class would not be a waste of time, but a challenge rather, that I would surpass. The class seemed to mostly be abstract concepts about the nightly readings---incredibly long ones at that. Every day the class was the same, we started out with one of the famous “Layton quizzes.” A name derived from the teacher’s name; Mr. Layton. These quizzes were known and feared by every student who had ever heard of the class. Known for being incredibly difficult, and never allowed enough time to finish. He’d call out “Question number one!” and students would jump in their chairs, quickly surveying the room for something to tie themselves a noose with. They were horrible and more or less---with the exception of two large papers and two “oral finals”---the only thing that went into the gradebook.
The lectures in class were amazing, and I honestly enjoyed the class, aside from the quizzes, and the bulky readings. Come the turn of the semester I was unpleased with the letter in the gradebook. A C+ and what really ticked me off was that it was .2 away from a B-. At this point I knew I needed to make some drastic changes, because the class was what it was. The only thing I could change was my own way of going about the work, specifically the quizzes. Reading never was, and still isn’t one of those things that comes easily to me. It takes a whole hell of a lot more time and effort for me to read and retain the information that the average student---at least it seems in my own experience. I had been avidly paying attention in class, and truly learning quite a bit, but that didn’t change the fact that there was more than just that to get a decent grade in the class. I’ll admit, I never truly read any of the books all the way through, there were some Sparknotes and such intertwined, leaving me with poor grades on the inevitable quizzes. So I set up a new goal for myself; to finish every reading in full for the entirety of second semester.
Now this was shortly accompanied by the goal of acing these infamous “Layton Quizzes,” or well, at least doing well on them. “Alright,” I thought to myself “I can do this just as well as any gifted reader---infact I will do it even better.” The seed being planted, I set to work. The first book to challenge this promise to myself was Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. Which actually turned out to be my new favorite book. Well because it was the only book that I could actually say that I have read.
After picking up the old paperback copy from the library, I remember it smelling of “old book” the kind of musty damp paper smell. I rushed home after school to start my reading during the daylight, thinking of all my study habits over the years and trying to apply them all. I set myself up in my room sitting up straight in my desk chair, I laid out my book and a piece of blank printer paper that popped out from the solid dark cherry desk. Both windows in front of me were slatted by open blinds, allowing outside light to fill the pages. I began to read. Slowly, but purposefully and consistent, underlining key terms that seemed important, and jotting down sloppy notes on my paper. At the end of the first chapter I glanced at the clock. It had taken me nearly 45 minutes, something like 3-4 minutes a page. And it was a small book. Shaking my head I wrote myself a quick summary of facts from the chapter, people's names and important details, things I thought might be on the quiz. I kept reading, and reading, and reading.
*seems like fist quiz needs to go here* or ^above^ needs to go below
We had anywhere from 2-8 chapters to read each night depending on length, and my God did we read a lot of books in that class. Thinking back to everything that has worked for me in the past, I knew reading at night was not an option. The morning however was the perfect time. After about two days of nothing but reading and other homework, all of my time was consumed by my sloth like reading style. I would usually read one chapter after school in the daylight, do my other homework and readings etc, (I was also taking a 5pm class two days a week at the time) and get to bed around 9:30. Up at 5:00 I’d take a quick shower, get dressed and brew some coffee. I grabbed the striped dish towel hanging on the oven and laid it out on the counter. It was the only thing that separated my forearms from the ice cold quartz countertop. I was the only one up, I could hear the slight buzzing of the fridge to my right, and nothing else. I continued with my strategy for hours, then I ate some breakfast, did some more studying and was off to school. Things continued like this for a while, I’d read the Sparknotes summaries along with my notes to do a quick studying for the daily quizzes, and to my surprise, it worked. The quizzes were graded in class so you knew instantly if you had either done extremely well---or not. My paper full of notes resembled somewhat of a chalkboard in an asylum, but that was no matter, I understood what it said.
Nearing the end of the book I began to, in a way, wish that it was longer. Partially because this book seemed to suck less than others in the past, and partly because I genuinely enjoyed it. I remember thinking to myself “this really isn’t that bad.” silently counting down the days left of school, “I could finish this year out for sure.” Remembering that I should be reading I returned my gaze to the page reading the final chapter. After a short while I flipped the last page to reveal the towel that the book was on. I really didn’t quite know what was going on. “That was it?” I thought, “how have I never done that before.” It seemed like child's play to me and I was in awe with myself, not knowing what to do. I had finished an assigned reading for a class and it had only taken me eleven years to do so!
It was almost time to leave for school at this point, and I knew that the last quiz was always the hardest. It was incredibly detail oriented and focused on the entire book. Calm as a rock, I knew that I had this one in the bag though. Accompanied by my “asylum chalkboard,” showing me exactly how hard I had worked up until this point I stood up and closed my book. I then grabbed my note paper, folded it in eighths, like I always did, and stuffed it in my back pocket.
10:40 rolls around and class has begun, you can smell the anxiety in the air, but I do not contribute to this waft, as I am ready. The shrieking “QUESTION NUMBER ONE!” bounces right off me this time. I look up to the board at the first question, and I know the answer without even looking at my notes. At this point I had so much time invested in that book that I knew it cover to cover. Question two, three, four, five, five, five. He always did that, just to mess with us. If it gives you any idea, the short round balding man hung a sign from his desk reading “I don’t suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it!” He loved teaching and even more than that he loved screwing with us, unfortunately this extended to screwing us out of grades. Not me though. I finished my quiz with time to spare, I answered every single question (which is highly unusual for his quizzes) and was eager to see my results. We passed our papers to the person in front of us, and he would call out the answers. As I was using quite a lot of read ink on the paper I was grading, I was mentally keeping track of my answers. My correct answers. I got my paper back, and it brought a smile to my face. 27 out of 25. I knocked it right out of the park. I had finally defeated the class (well ok, just in my mind. There was still a whole lot more to come...) Grabbing my books and such as I was walking to lunch, I remember feeling like I was on top of the world. I knew that I could handle anything that was thrown at me, and from this I learned that I truly enjoy the challenge.
