My lit grade right now is fractions of a percent from an A. Yes, I know it’s overly inflated, as are everyone else’s grades. If it weren’t for that unexpected B on our final project, I would’ve gotten my first A in AP literature. But now I don’t really care. Does getting an A matter to me, really? Not really. Maybe some self-esteem boosts, but I got tons more where that came from. What’s worth more is Mr. N admitting that he ACTUALLY liked my paper:
(11:28:23 PM) Me: I was pretty happy with my comparison/contrast essay result
(11:28:39 PM) MrWen: as was i
(11:28:52 PM) MrWen: there were only a handful of papers that i enjoyed reading
(11:29:00 PM) Me: hey, that’s quite the honor. thanks
(11:29:37 PM) MrWen: to write a complicated paper like that in high school is no small feat.
(11:30:09 PM) MrWen: it’s hard enough to juggle one text, but to juggle multiple texts but somehow keep things coherent… that’s a hefty challenge.
(11:30:35 PM) MrWen: most people resorted to a basic formula…
(11:30:42 PM) MrWen: discussing one book… then the next… then the next…
(11:30:55 PM) MrWen: the more successful papers found a unifying thread to discuss all texts concurrently.
Thanks, Mr. Nguyen. I guess I know what to do for tonite’s bedtime reading.