My First Novel, by Alethea Kontis

There are authors I know who would rather die than ever show their first attempt at a novel to the world.

I am not one of these authors.

In the Fall of 1987, my English teacher decided that she wanted our class to write in a journal every day.

I did not like this teacher.

I did not want her knowing anything personal about me, so I announced in my first entry that I would be writing an ongoing story for the duration of the class.

This teacher (whose name escapes me) cared far less about the assignment than I did. If she noticed the speed at which my writing improved and my journal entries lengthened, she never mentioned it. She did not care what I wrote (if she even read it)–it only mattered that there was a date listed beside every entry so she knew where to make her check mark. She never spoke to me about my broken idea of plagiarism, this fear of copying someone (in this…
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