It's having to read the other stories. Now, I know I'm not a fantastic writer, but ye gods. Jesus Christ on a whole wheat cracker, these people are terrible. I know that for four-fifths of them (my optimistic estimate) this is their first attempt at writing prose. But shouldn't this sort of dangerous duty be handled by professionals? Wearing special protective gear? Goggles? Hazmat suits? Something? Apparently, that's one more thing that The Beast has cut from the post-secondary budget. These... "stories"... are handed out to the defenseless students, as if they were merely harmless packages of stapled paper. I am - I really, really am - aware of the necessity of the process of trial and error. You have to suck before you can... not... suck. But! Must I, in the process of their training, be exposed to this... this...
...words fail me.
I'd quote for your shared misery, but it's illegal, and I'm pretty sure Douglas could find me if they tried. Just... oi. The pain. It killed BigKim, even. Complete with the theatrical gagging and the collapsing onto the carpet. *shakes fist at the mediocre writers* You killed my roommate! Now how will I pay rent?
On top of this horror, the prof seems to support the self-esteem movement...
*moment of Bitter Glaring Disapproving Silence*
...and actually insists that we not be "too harsh" in our reviews (we have to write reviews for everything we read). Y'know. Harsh. Like... honest. At all. He enforces this by requiring us to sign our reviews. The which *I* have no trouble doing, but I don't want to be the *only* person making them cry, so I try to be diplomatic. Which means I can only be condescending, not blunt. You would not believe how many times tonight I've had to find synonyms for "clumsy", "boring", "cliched", "stupid"... the list goes on. Tact has its place, and its place is *not* within the pages of a literary review. Then again, I would not insult literature by affiliating it with... this.
Oh, damn. There goes another brain cell. That's my quota for the day. I suppose I should go to bed... or something.
(See? I don't need drugs. I can kill brain cells with bad amateur fiction!)
EDIT: The philosophy midterm (got an A- ! :) had three sci-fi references on it (Hitchikers', Orwell, and Brave New World). When we went over it in class, I was the only one who could cite all three. Or... any of them, actually. Don't people *read* anymore? o.O
SECOND EDIT: It is now officially October the first - which means I can wish dianahobart a Happy Big Giant Flaming Evil Monkey Boy Day! I hereby encourage all those who-know-what-the-hell-I'm-talking-about to follow my example. ;)
LAST EDIT (I PROMISE): Oh. Damn. Right. September doesn't have a thirty-first. Right, then, going back to re-date tomorrow's assignment... ;)