Result: A love of stories that scare me and make me laugh. This also leads to me being convinced that my room is haunted by an evil stuffed monkey that has sat on my shelf since toddlerhood. Monkey gets evicted to the attic, I sleep on the couch for six months (seriously.)
Result: My love for both fantasy and series books is planted.
Result: I develop a respect but also a wariness for literary fiction. In addition, I acquire a lifelong aversion to novels that kill off the dog. I go on a binge of R.L. Stinehorror books (such as The Baby-Sitter (Point Horror Series)
)and Roald Dahl instead. I also began to indulge my budding interest in the paranormal. My science fair projects for this year: ESP and Poltergeists.
Result: Discover that romance + sexy + darkness = awesomeness
Result: Decide psychics, monsters, vampires, and ghosts are by far way cooler than normal humans.
Result: I raise the stock of the Cliff Notes company (allowing me to ace all English tests and papers) and am further turned off by the term "literary."And what do I do with the time I should be using to read my assigned books? I write my own romance novel because clearly there is no chance of actual romantic interludes in my own angsty life. A hundred and fifty typed pages of sappy teenage indulgence is born and titled Kismet. My male protagonist bears a strikingresemblance to Joe McIntyre of New Kids on the Block.
Result: Regret dropping the English major. Promise myself that once I get settled in my psychology career, I will try to write in my free time.