![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Apr. 26th, 2007 09:41 amTeen arrested as a result of creative writing exercise.
When I think about the stuff I did in my adolescence, it's hard not to reflect that for the same things, in the current environment I would be so busted. Though honestly, my actions were pretty well informed by an understanding of what I could get away with, so I probably would have avoided major problems. (As it was, the only time I can remember any kind of discipline issue at school, I was given lunchtime detention for failing to turn into assignments for a reading class. Hm. In fact, I'm not sure I *ever* did any assignments for that class.)
A couple of times teachers were disturbed by things I wrote. I remember Mrs. S being fruck about a poem I wrote about a concept in the five dimensional math I was playing with at the time, which of course I hadn't bothered to explain to her, and in retrospect I have some sympathy. And then there was the summer camp creative writing teacher who thought I was suicidal... (I was housed in a barracks with a whole bunch of other kids, I was wretchedly insomniac, and I hadn't slept for three nights. It wasn't death imagery, I really just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. It sounded *wonderful*.)
Saved again by early college admittance. By the time I was going through my phase of writing poetry and short fiction from the points of view of unusual narrators, my professors seemed to be sympathetic to my artistic goals. And I worked *hard* on the piece in the voice of the serial rapist. And I still kind of like the one written from the standpoint of a blood-soaked altar stone.
When I think about the stuff I did in my adolescence, it's hard not to reflect that for the same things, in the current environment I would be so busted. Though honestly, my actions were pretty well informed by an understanding of what I could get away with, so I probably would have avoided major problems. (As it was, the only time I can remember any kind of discipline issue at school, I was given lunchtime detention for failing to turn into assignments for a reading class. Hm. In fact, I'm not sure I *ever* did any assignments for that class.)
A couple of times teachers were disturbed by things I wrote. I remember Mrs. S being fruck about a poem I wrote about a concept in the five dimensional math I was playing with at the time, which of course I hadn't bothered to explain to her, and in retrospect I have some sympathy. And then there was the summer camp creative writing teacher who thought I was suicidal... (I was housed in a barracks with a whole bunch of other kids, I was wretchedly insomniac, and I hadn't slept for three nights. It wasn't death imagery, I really just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. It sounded *wonderful*.)
Saved again by early college admittance. By the time I was going through my phase of writing poetry and short fiction from the points of view of unusual narrators, my professors seemed to be sympathetic to my artistic goals. And I worked *hard* on the piece in the voice of the serial rapist. And I still kind of like the one written from the standpoint of a blood-soaked altar stone.
