I glare at the sheet of paper, blaming it for the past four months of headaches, screams, tantrums and tears. Two different classes, true, but the frusteration level was exactly the same. What have I learned from this class?
- Concrete details are important.
- Consider your audience.
- Some people don't think fantasy is real literature.
- Some people only wantyou to practice writing 'real literature.'
- This professor cannot be pleased.
I want to bang my head against the desk until I have a concusion, but she wouldn't give me an extension on that account. I glance at the paper again. What I really want to to do is scrawl a big fat "NOTHING" across the paper, or print it in 72-pt Hobbiton font and hand it in, but she wants 350 words minimum for 10 pts, and my perfectionist nature won't let me squander the grade on revenge. Plus, I have her next fall. Can't burn my bridges just yet.
"Rule 1: The Doctor Lies."
So do I. All the time. Have to. Spoilers"
--Amy and River, "The Wedding of River Song"
I feel like I've been lying to her the whole time. Lying that I liked this poem or that essay, that I agreed with this theory of writing or didn't really mind the assignment. Lying by omission, if nothing else. She talked about vulnerability yesterday, about being adventurious and unafraid before that, and I scrawled in my notebook,Of course you can say that, you aren't the one getting graded! You aren't the one who spends hours on a short story she doesn't even like and gets told it was lame! (even when it is lame. Let me use my ideas, then it won't be lame.) If you want me to write about my world, acknowlege that it largely takes place in my head. And stop calling us apprentice writers! People act like they are treated. It's a self-fufilling prophecy that will we never be anything more than apprentices.
On Tumblr yesterday, I saw this quote: