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Dealing with a douche in creative writing class.
billwill
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
So we're having our final workshop this Thursday and one of the students in my class just emailed the following "story" to all of us:
We all have to spend a few minutes talking about this story, and I just don't know what to say. I mean I want to tear him a new one, but we are in a classroom setting. I literally am at a loss. Any tips on how to proceed would be mucho appreciated. Thanks.
A story? You want a creative story from me? Now? Well, Hell. I don't have any tales to tell, and to be honest, even if I did, I probably wouldn't anyway. I would love to tell the tale of The Na'im and Friends Company or something like that. Actually, I have an entire portion of that story written in my head, but no. I will not submit that. There, of course, are a variety of reasons, and all I intend to get to.
So, I'll write this. Sorry if it's not filled with expressions like "gelatinous sunlight," a stupid phrase from a stupider writer who I can only hope is rotting away in an unmarked grave, preferably shallow. No, no. None of that. I must admit, that single string of words infuriated me to a level none of you will ever understand.
I am not a sick man. No. I am an angry man. I am a petulant man. I am an unforgiving man, still holding grudges from decades past. I am a lying man, always trying to mask just how furious I really am. I am an impatient man, the type who wishes to ram his car into another which cuts him off, merely out of spite. I am the type of man who at an instant can burst into a fit of rage so intense that with it I might strike the fear of God into all who witness the rampage.
There you have it. I try to seem easygoing, humorous at times, at least neutral to a degree. But it is all an illusion. I am simply angry at the world. Angry at the entire world. The rich and the poor. The young and the old. The strong and the weak. The intelligent and the ignorant. The fat and the thin. The men and the women. The black and the white. The gays and the straights. The theists and the atheists, although more so the atheists. The liberals and the conservatives. The Americans, Mexicans, Canadians, Salvadorians, Cubans, Britons, French, Germans, Russians, Iraqis, Iranians, Egyptians, Israelites, Palestinians, Indians, Native Americans, Namibians, Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, the Hawaiians.
You're reading the words of a man who's entire day can be ruined from a headache out of bed and a long line at the convenience store. And yet, I'm at my core non-violent and walk the Earth with the patience of Job. Somehow, a festering kettle pot of unadulterated vindictive energy can function in this world. Somehow I interact with these people, even though I hold back a torrent of vomit every time they open their horrific mouths and spew their nonsense.
The thing that makes me angry most of all: I, potentially one of the most raging and hateful persons on the face of the Earth, is more respectful of individuals than the most pure intentioned do-gooder who manages to grace us with their presence. I wish to allow individuals free reign over their lives, as long as they don't directly harm another, even though the direction they take their lives disgusts me, fills me with fury. As idiotic as everyone on this planet is, I can only assume I am dumber than they. And the thought of my potential inferiority in intellect, again, makes me angry.
This is one reason you'll squeeze no story from me. I'm just too damn angry. Another reason, is with your potential criticism, I might be driven more furious. You're probably thinking, "this isn't creative writing though, we can't critique it. This is a glorified diary entry." I don't give a damn, you fool. This is just as creative as telling a story of two deep-dicking hillbilly Kansas City faggots cocking off in the plains. Bleeding Kansas, a bit too rough maybe. Or that old chestnut, the cat lady and her friend. Or that shit that reminded me of my dead-ass brother, that was a pleasant day.
What's funny, I've essentially no more school work. I had longer than the entire break to work on this story and postponed it. My creative juices are running dry. And the fact that you might pass judgment on my work, you know who you are, makes me less enthused. What a boring life. This is what it's all about, the pursuit of knowledge. Stuck in a rinky-dink shack of a room with a pack of illiterates, too impressed by try-hards. Art for art's sake, an empty phrase as they say.
And let me tell you another thing. No one cares about your personal life. No one. Not a soul. I can assure you, this is not just me. All of you. Anyone who brings up their personal life just serves to irritate the entire class. And another thing, although I never buy overpriced milkshakes disguised as high-class coffee drinks, I was quite offended when the story of polluting the drinks was told. What a betrayal of trust! How immoral does one have to be? The customer makes a transaction in good faith, and you defraud them with every tainted distribution of purchased goods. How revolting. And they call me a bad person because of my constant rage. What a joke.
The words from Network keep coming to mind. "You've got to get mad! You've got to say, I'm a human being, God damn it! My life has value!" The words have been moved around a bit in the quote. And I'm mad that the entire monologue has been hijacked by the Zeitgeist-conspiracy kooks. I don't know what else to say. I'm simply angry. I'm writing this late, I'm sitting in my room, typing away. And a lot more though is going into this than you think, you son of a bitch!
That's all I have. I'm angry. Angry at History, at English, especially at Women's Studies. Angry that those cocksuckers down at the advising center are always packed by mini-cocksuckers. First year Freshman faggots who can take any fucking class and fulfill some requirements. Meanwhile, I'm five classes from graduating and I want to be sure all the requirements are being filled. Fuck, shit, ass, bitch, God damn it. I feel like I should throw the word twat or cunt into the mix, but that might be too much.
And there you have it. A free flow of concentrated anger, creatively placed on the page. I took my medication for my high blood pressure, caused by my endless rage, when I started this, I've mellowed out a bit. So, without anger to drive my writing, I've nothing. I'm through, finished, done. And even after the vent writing provides, I'm still angry. More numb now than anything else. And no one can help me, not you, not them, not even myself.
And that's why I named this paper Begging to be Butchered. Tear this sham of a creative endeavor apart, do it. It's not often that a God is insulted by insects. Plant your forked tongues against my paper like daggers between my ribs. I could use a laugh, to be critiqued by the likes of you, you worthless lot!
I'll close to dispel potential concern. Non-aggression principle is the one thing I hold as a moral philosophy, with self-ownership as a supplementary value. I long for a world of peace and love and prosperity and the like. Enjoy each other, enjoy life. Leave me be. A troll in a cave, a hermit in a shack in the swamp, a demon in the mountain. Benign in every way imaginable. Let my rage not frighten you! Sit and admire it! Is Job to be pitied, feared or admired?
Also, Morgana is better than Trist. Deal with it.
So, I'll write this. Sorry if it's not filled with expressions like "gelatinous sunlight," a stupid phrase from a stupider writer who I can only hope is rotting away in an unmarked grave, preferably shallow. No, no. None of that. I must admit, that single string of words infuriated me to a level none of you will ever understand.
I am not a sick man. No. I am an angry man. I am a petulant man. I am an unforgiving man, still holding grudges from decades past. I am a lying man, always trying to mask just how furious I really am. I am an impatient man, the type who wishes to ram his car into another which cuts him off, merely out of spite. I am the type of man who at an instant can burst into a fit of rage so intense that with it I might strike the fear of God into all who witness the rampage.
There you have it. I try to seem easygoing, humorous at times, at least neutral to a degree. But it is all an illusion. I am simply angry at the world. Angry at the entire world. The rich and the poor. The young and the old. The strong and the weak. The intelligent and the ignorant. The fat and the thin. The men and the women. The black and the white. The gays and the straights. The theists and the atheists, although more so the atheists. The liberals and the conservatives. The Americans, Mexicans, Canadians, Salvadorians, Cubans, Britons, French, Germans, Russians, Iraqis, Iranians, Egyptians, Israelites, Palestinians, Indians, Native Americans, Namibians, Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, the Hawaiians.
You're reading the words of a man who's entire day can be ruined from a headache out of bed and a long line at the convenience store. And yet, I'm at my core non-violent and walk the Earth with the patience of Job. Somehow, a festering kettle pot of unadulterated vindictive energy can function in this world. Somehow I interact with these people, even though I hold back a torrent of vomit every time they open their horrific mouths and spew their nonsense.
The thing that makes me angry most of all: I, potentially one of the most raging and hateful persons on the face of the Earth, is more respectful of individuals than the most pure intentioned do-gooder who manages to grace us with their presence. I wish to allow individuals free reign over their lives, as long as they don't directly harm another, even though the direction they take their lives disgusts me, fills me with fury. As idiotic as everyone on this planet is, I can only assume I am dumber than they. And the thought of my potential inferiority in intellect, again, makes me angry.
This is one reason you'll squeeze no story from me. I'm just too damn angry. Another reason, is with your potential criticism, I might be driven more furious. You're probably thinking, "this isn't creative writing though, we can't critique it. This is a glorified diary entry." I don't give a damn, you fool. This is just as creative as telling a story of two deep-dicking hillbilly Kansas City faggots cocking off in the plains. Bleeding Kansas, a bit too rough maybe. Or that old chestnut, the cat lady and her friend. Or that shit that reminded me of my dead-ass brother, that was a pleasant day.
What's funny, I've essentially no more school work. I had longer than the entire break to work on this story and postponed it. My creative juices are running dry. And the fact that you might pass judgment on my work, you know who you are, makes me less enthused. What a boring life. This is what it's all about, the pursuit of knowledge. Stuck in a rinky-dink shack of a room with a pack of illiterates, too impressed by try-hards. Art for art's sake, an empty phrase as they say.
And let me tell you another thing. No one cares about your personal life. No one. Not a soul. I can assure you, this is not just me. All of you. Anyone who brings up their personal life just serves to irritate the entire class. And another thing, although I never buy overpriced milkshakes disguised as high-class coffee drinks, I was quite offended when the story of polluting the drinks was told. What a betrayal of trust! How immoral does one have to be? The customer makes a transaction in good faith, and you defraud them with every tainted distribution of purchased goods. How revolting. And they call me a bad person because of my constant rage. What a joke.
The words from Network keep coming to mind. "You've got to get mad! You've got to say, I'm a human being, God damn it! My life has value!" The words have been moved around a bit in the quote. And I'm mad that the entire monologue has been hijacked by the Zeitgeist-conspiracy kooks. I don't know what else to say. I'm simply angry. I'm writing this late, I'm sitting in my room, typing away. And a lot more though is going into this than you think, you son of a bitch!
That's all I have. I'm angry. Angry at History, at English, especially at Women's Studies. Angry that those cocksuckers down at the advising center are always packed by mini-cocksuckers. First year Freshman faggots who can take any fucking class and fulfill some requirements. Meanwhile, I'm five classes from graduating and I want to be sure all the requirements are being filled. Fuck, shit, ass, bitch, God damn it. I feel like I should throw the word twat or cunt into the mix, but that might be too much.
And there you have it. A free flow of concentrated anger, creatively placed on the page. I took my medication for my high blood pressure, caused by my endless rage, when I started this, I've mellowed out a bit. So, without anger to drive my writing, I've nothing. I'm through, finished, done. And even after the vent writing provides, I'm still angry. More numb now than anything else. And no one can help me, not you, not them, not even myself.
And that's why I named this paper Begging to be Butchered. Tear this sham of a creative endeavor apart, do it. It's not often that a God is insulted by insects. Plant your forked tongues against my paper like daggers between my ribs. I could use a laugh, to be critiqued by the likes of you, you worthless lot!
I'll close to dispel potential concern. Non-aggression principle is the one thing I hold as a moral philosophy, with self-ownership as a supplementary value. I long for a world of peace and love and prosperity and the like. Enjoy each other, enjoy life. Leave me be. A troll in a cave, a hermit in a shack in the swamp, a demon in the mountain. Benign in every way imaginable. Let my rage not frighten you! Sit and admire it! Is Job to be pitied, feared or admired?
Also, Morgana is better than Trist. Deal with it.
We all have to spend a few minutes talking about this story, and I just don't know what to say. I mean I want to tear him a new one, but we are in a classroom setting. I literally am at a loss. Any tips on how to proceed would be mucho appreciated. Thanks.
I hate you and you hate me.
billwill on
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Although he is somewhat of a talented/hilarious writer. I'm going to start using the phrase "It's not often that a God is insulted by insects" somehow.
All kidding aside, I used to write stuff in a similar vein (minus the profanity) to an English teacher I despised in high school. It was to shock her, and it worked - she had to give it to our history teacher to grade because she couldn't process it. Probably the best way to take the wind out his sails is to treat it like any other paper. Did it fulfill the assignment's requirements? It's not very well written, but hell.. college writing. The writer has already sent it to the class, there's really no way to get around addressing it.
My take is the kid is stressed and lashing out, might suggest counseling.
In one of my creative writing classes, we had one girl submit what amounted to the summary of a story as her story. That was uncomfortable to comment on.
It's not completely without some merits of creative writing. There was one small section that called to mind the psychopathic narrator in Poe's Tell-Tale Heart, in fact.
To be honest, the guy sounds like he's doing this to try and push some buttons in the class. He's trying to be as 'non-compliant' as possible but still provide something to talk about. Maybe he really is as bitter as he says he is in that piece, as angry. But, if he were that discontented with the world, I feel that he might not have made it to his senior year in university.
Spend a few minutes talking about it? Sure. He's got some interesting diction choices, his pacing is actually fairly good, and it reads like something that at times could have come from a Poe short story and at other times the start of a manifesto explaining why he just shot up an entire shopping mall of people.
View it analytically, do not get emotional about it, do not get too deep into the piece. He has decent pacing, a good grasp on his diction, and he knows his target audience. Enough to the point that he was able to elicit a reaction, which is really all he was trying to do.
Approach it like you would any other academic piece and then move on.
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I'd ask him to clarify his intentions.
The world isn't begging for you to raise your paddle and prominently smack down every douche walking among us. But then, you know that already. Did it feel good to publish his/her work on the Internet?
"The speaker in this piece seems to hint at larger psychological problems, which is a theme that could probably be explored a little bit more. There's also an issue with the character's righteousness; we're simply told that he's kinder than well-meaning people, but we never really see it. Perhaps if we were shown some actions, we would be able to buy into the character's claims. Then there's the issue of the character speaking from a place of superior wisdom and intelligence -- dramatic grandiose advice like, 'Enjoy each other, enjoy life' have to be earned in order to be believable."
You know those people in your class that write thinly veiled versions of themselves as the main character, but you can't say that, because who really knows? What if you treated it like that?
Another alternative is to use all the vacant Creative Writing Workshop criticisms in the book: "I want to find out what the character does for a living!" "What does this good look like? What color is his hair?" "Maybe we could see his family in the story."
I would treat it as if it were a character. Say that the writer has clearly portrayed a deeply confused and angry character. One that, as another poster pointed out, dismisses others personal lives while elevating his to godlike status, the only one of importance.
And so on, critique it as if it was a character. You truly have a unique chance to tell the guy what you think about him under the premise that he only wrote a character. Say that you think it was an excellent character exercise that lets you see into the mind of someone with anger issues.
but they're listening to every word I say
I disagree strongly. Poe tells a story. There is no story here. This is just the petulant rant of a narcissist who didn't want to do the assignment and decided to troll the class instead.
F-
Treat the narrator as a character, discuss the strengths and weaknesses of the writing. There's plenty to say about it. If it didn't meet the contours of the assignment, say that. If you go off about how it's inappropriate or whatever then you're just giving him the shocked response he's aiming (clumsily) for.
and I disagree with you. Please note that I didn't compare the whole thing to Poe, as doing such would be beyond stupid. But there was a bit, maybe two or three sentences that made me think of the main character in Tell Tale Heart.
Something about that, at first, struck me with a remembrance of "But you say that I am mad?... Oh how slowly, how cleverly I planned it all" that is present for that main character. The whole, "I am not mad, I am a genius! You just can't see it!"
It's interesting that most of you guys are willing to just dismiss this as a rant, and not look at it from the idea that maybe this is all a character.
And if the guy is like this, then feeding into it isn't a good thing obviously. But he's not unintelligent, and the piece has some... value to it.
But arguing and discussing it is not quite on topic.
Seriously though, OP, just do what the majority are saying, treat it as though it was a piece of fiction.
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Pretty much. Sometimes rants can be interesting. Who is to say they are 'wrong'. Approach it from the objective standpoint of the goals of the assignment.
Should we dismiss a piece of art because it just looks like a bunch of squares? Just because one persons writing is different from your own, and a person as an individual is different from you does not always make his style incorrect. Different is not wrong. Angry is not wrong. Defiant is not wrong. This is writing. Did it achieve its goal?
Imagine if Steven Fry was reading it, would you really think its a 'waste of time'.
I think he achieved his goal. I think his goal was to make you angry, just like he is angry.
Truth be told, his writing isn't the worst in that class by a long shot. But he's such a dick that I really don't want to say anything of the sort to him. I would like to point out the multiple hypocrisies in the piece, though, so I'll probably do what you some of you are saying and treat it like a character.
I also considered (only half-kidding) emailing the entire class with a sappy romantic story my girlfriend wrote some time ago, telling them to ignore what he sent, print out what I attached, and pretend that's what we got from him this Thursday instead. Picturing his reaction makes me smile.
EDIT: Unless he's deliberately going for the "ebonics" approach, which is unlikely.
If thats the case I really dont see him as being outside the parameters of the assignment, and thus you should hold your end and spend your time going over his piece critically as you would any other. Welcome to work, you don't have to like it, but you have to do it. It isnt a waste of time because you are getting graded are you not? And when you pass this class you are a step closer to graduating are you not? So this is not a waste of time and you should not treat it as such.
Well, it's not a story. It's an essay. There is no conflict, resolution, rising action, etc. The narrator (the only character I might add) doesn't even experience change. This is a piece of a story.
Blatantly attacking your audience is a really odd choice, too. We write so that others read. There needs to, by definition of the work we're doing, an audience for your work to truly exist. Preferably, not a captured audience such as he's found.
Yeah, except for the whole not-being-a-story part, it's completely within the already ridiculously loose parameters of this assignment.
And I never said I wouldn't comment on it. I was just having trouble figuring out how to approach it.
Right? I don't know how to approach it when he's referred to us as "insects" and "fools." He obviously doesn't care about our opinions.
If you felt belittled and needlessly attacked, and that it made you uninterested in reading the story, then say so. This was written by a character. It is a first person narrative (using that term loosely).
So, I'll write this. Sorry if it's not filled with expressions like "gelatinous sunlight," a great phrase from a smarter writer who I can only hope is well. No, no. None of that. I must admit, that single string of words infatuated me to a level none of you will ever understand.
I am not a sick man. No. I am a loving man. I am a sincere man. I am a forgiving man, never holding grudges from decades past. I am a truthful man, always trying to mask just how loving I really am. I am an patient man, the type who waves another car to pass him, merely out of care. I am the type of man who at an instant can burst into a loving smile so intense that with it I might invoke the love of God into all who witness the expression.
There you have it. I try to seem easygoing, humorous at times, at least neutral to a degree. But it is all an illusion. I am simply showing love to the world. I love the entire world. The rich and the poor. The young and the old. The strong and the weak. The intelligent and the ignorant. The fat and the thin. The men and the women. The black and the white. The gays and the straights. The theists and the atheists, although more so the atheists. The liberals and the conservatives. The Americans, Mexicans, Canadians, Salvadorians, Cubans, Britons, French, Germans, Russians, Iraqis, Iranians, Egyptians, Israelites, Palestinians, Indians, Native Americans, Namibians, Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, the Hawaiians.
You're reading the words of a man who's entire day can be lifted from a ray of sunshine peeking through the blinds as he gets out of bed. And yet, I'm at my core non-violent and walk the Earth with the patience of Job. Somehow, a festering kettle pot of unadulterated loving energy can function in this world. Somehow I interact with these people, even though I hold back a torrent of love every time they open their mouths and share their thoughts.
The thing that makes me the most loving of all: I, potentially one of the most loving and caring persons on the face of the Earth, is more respectful of individuals than the most pure intentioned do-gooder who manages to grace us with their presence. I wish to allow individuals free reign over their lives, as long as they don't directly harm another, even though the direction they take their lives disgusts me, fills me with empathy. As different as everyone on this planet is, I can only assume I am dumber than they. And the thought of my potential inferiority in intellect, again, makes me happy.
You need to stop thinking of the guy that wrote it as the narrator and you need to stop thinking about your class as the target of the rant. The author created a fictional character ranting at a fictional english class.
Discuss things like how well the author communicated the emotional state of this fictional narrator and how well (or not) characterized the narrator is as a person. Discuss how word choice and punctuation added to the characterization of this fictional character. Discuss how the narrator relates to the fictional english class. Discuss whatever you discuss in critiquing the other stories from your other classmates.
I can has cheezburger, yes?
1) they actually are having some kind of nervous breakdown and this how they are attempting to cope (or possibly was a dear john email not meant to actually be sent)
2) They're entitled/rich/depressed enough that they don't care how they do in the class
3) they think this is some kind of ironic response to whatever the prompt was, and that you'll get the joke
The only way to really know is to talk to the student about it (or maybe you already know based on prior interaction.)
If it's 1), try and get them to some kind of an academic advisor so that they can work it out.
If it's 2) or 3), just grade it and move on. Possibly ironically, i.e. "A grade? You want a passing grade from me? Well fuck you, I used them all up on students whose work doesn't suck."
Pluto was a planet and I'll never forget
It would have taken effort to be more lazy and predictable than this junior-high level tripe. It reads like the blog of a 15 year old.
This would warrant a response of 'awww, umad bro?' if you weren't evaluating it for a class.
Pluto was a planet and I'll never forget
In terms of critiquing it I suggest what others hear have suggested. Treat is as if it is the internal monologue of a character. That way you remove him from the equation and can say whatever you want about it.
He's not being experimental or anything. An asshole for the sake of being asshole. The story would've actually been great, and exactly what you're all describing, had it not been for the 4th paragraph from the bottom. That's not creative, that's someone being a pissant.
But I just want to say you should be honest. Say what you felt. There's no reason to play games, to limit his ego or try to avoid the control he's trying to exert over you with obvious mind-games.
Just say what you thought and felt, honestly.
Or something like that.
It may have been written to get a rise out of the class, but it's well written. I would just look at the piece objectively and keep emotion out of it. In a sense he did what he set out to do by getting a reaction out of the class.
Give him an objective look at his work and go from there.
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