The first time I picked up a copy of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer in the seventh grade, I never dreamt it would cause such a dramatic impact in my life. I know the image of me forming in your mind, but no, I’m not one of those crazy, screaming fan girls in love with a fictional character, or one who kisses posters with characters’ faces on them. I won’t try to sway your opinion of the book either. Twilight altered itself into more than just a book, but a page-turner in my literacy.

In elementary school, I could actually read pretty decently. I learned words with ease, could effortlessly sound out letters, and finish a page in a book fairly quick. My only problem: I hated reading. I didn’t understand why someone would want to read a book for fun. To me, books couldn’t be fun; they wasted my time. I enjoyed plenty listening to bedtime stories or books that my teachers read out loud, but for me to do it myself? ‘Most definitely a waste if time’ I thought.

In fourth grade, when we started reading in class, I really got into trouble. I would skip over sentences, paragraphs, and even sometimes whole chapters, for the simple reason that I didn’t want to read them. Somehow, I managed to read just enough to make my teachers think that I had read the assignment. Throughout the span of about fourth through seventh grade, I missed out on great books that my teachers wanted me to read. Books like Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, Holes by Louis Sachar, Sarah, Plain, and Tall by Patricia Maclachanan, Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli, and countless others that I can’t even recall. Why? Because I just didn’t care.

Then middle school introduced me to a whole new array of friends. Friends that I wanted to like me, so I wanted to do everything they did, and at the time, they were reading Twilight. So what did I do? I read Twilight of course! I asked for it for Christmas, and Christmas morning, I began the 498-page monstrosity, that I actually wanted to read. I took it to my grandma’s house with me and opened the pages to the book that started it all, right there in the back bedroom.

I finished the book within three days, and it absolutely amazed me. I didn’t think about the fact that I read so much, for I was in another place: the town of Forks, Washington. I didn’t have to think about turning the pages. It happened like an automatic motion, almost as if the book did so itself, longing to be read, to be paid attention to. As I read, I discovered that that a 498-page book of nothing but words could easily develop into a picture book. The imagined characters, if written well, could become a movie in your mind, a mural on the side of your skull, if you only know how to get lost between the lines.

When I read Twilight, I specifically remember one of the many parts that stood out. When Bella and Edward, the two main characters, both ended up in the same biology class, Bella know that Edward had not taken a liking to her. When Bella went to the office later that day, Edward was there, saying her had to change his schedule, and she automatically thought it was because of her. Then when he didn’t show up to school for several days, it only reinforced her thoughts that she must have really repulsed him. The way Stephanie Meyer wrote, like many other authors, you could experience the hurt that Bella did, right along beside her.

I didn’t know that a book could do this to a person. A book can make you anxious when a fictional character gets into dangerous situations. A book can make you sad when the characters that you drew a picture of in your mind get hurt. A book can even give you butterflies when a girl gets nervous about a boy. A book can, quite literally, open new doors: to other worlds, and to new parts of the mind that you never even thought of using before. A can even inspire you to write: to change the story the way you wish it would go or to spark your imagination to a whole new idea.

Twilight did all of this, and more, for me. After that, I constantly read, and read, and read, everything from action and adventure, to mushy gushy romance stuff. I wrote fan fiction pieces, sometimes to adjust the story, or to add on to my favorite characters lives. Some of my best writing occurs when a book inspires me.

I think my bad connotation towards reading arose because I hated the books my teachers forced me to read. I never knew so many types of books existed. I found, by reading lots of different books, that there isn’t a particular genre I tend to like. I just judge a book by its summary and if it sounds good, I read it. I found that I liked any genre, except maybe textbooks. I didn’t realize that just because you haven’t found your niche in the book world, doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy reading. I needed to find my page-turner in literacy. So while I don’t think that Twilight is the greatest book ever written, I still thank Stephanie Meyer for writing the book that renovated my hatred, and instilled my love, of reading.