Rececently, I have been thinking about (in great detail, I may add) children's literature. Now that I am further removed than I have ever been from my child self (I could rewrite that everysecond of everyday and it would remain true) I have begun to disect what about series and stand alone books I loved and why. I will try to explain some of the things I have thought about, but first some context and other miscalenous stories. In first grade, I was in remindial reading. I behind according to my test scores but also I loved stories. In second grade, I assume I progressed a little. In third grade, we took practice STARR tests in reading. My best friend at the time, Caroline, and I were pulled into the hallway by Ms. Reyes. I had drawn an elephant man on my test and she was dissapointed in my lack of everything. I was frustrated with myself I can remember but also, I didn't seem to care. I remember in third grade, I was always writing little stories of my own during freetime, and would force my friends to listen. It was also in third grade, according to my mother, that I became an excellent reader, in the top of the class. She has sometimes recounted the story of a particular parent-teacher conference where when asked to bring something to read in the hallway while they talked of my preformance, I brought a college level book of academic essays on the Civil War. From my remembering, it was overnight that I soared to the top reading group and made multiple library trips a week. I recall with an exceptinal fondess the Magic Treehouse book series. I felt like Jack, and through that I felt seen, like I had someone to aspire to be like. That I sort of already was liked. This morning (June 12th 2024) I reread a magic treehouse book, the one where they encounted a twister on a prarie. Unlike my eight year old target audience mind, I liked how the writing was suited towards kids. It made me feel like I was sitting at the P.E mats after injuring my ankle reading about their adventures. By this point, I was in fourth or fifth grade and remember specifically how shocked I was by the ease and speed in which I finished the book (I think this one was about dinosaurs). In Middle school, I watched a Series of Unfortunate Events. It made sense to me. In those days, I wasn't aware that I could go out and do something. I thought there would always be a reprocution and I didn't want my mom to laugh, no matter how well natured. So I went without reading for a while. This changed when I read the Hunger Games in seventh grade and added dystopian futures to the list, along with time travel and the MCU, of things I would think about and imagine scenerios in constantly. If I was more aware of my freewill, I would have been an excellent seventh grade Dungeon Master- I made my friends roleplay zombie apocolpyse scenerios on the track in P.E. I wrote stories that were lost to the great deletion of g dot email adresses. I have much more to say and to edit, if you are reading this line after have read all of the rest of whatever I have conjured above. Please take it all with a grain of salt- this isn't meant to be a full reflection of my writing abilites. I can do worse, I just need to edit. This also began a persisting comfort time travel narratives. But, that is a page for another time.