My fiction writing class has come and gone. I exercised an absolutely ridiculous amount of restraint, and still got nasty/death glances from one of the writers, as well as a few choice final comments from said author, during which I was reduced to "You" and "Her" (yes, with the capitalization) in a very pissy tone.

Wonderful. I try to help literature and I make enemies. I just can't win.

*sigh*

I discovered today that nothing - nothing - drives me into a homicidal rage faster than shitty, shitty writing. Except, perhaps, shitty shitty writing that I have to read because I am required to workshop my classmate's stories as part of my grade. Also, I have a fierce internal editor that I cannot shut off, even when the stories are beyond saving. I edit and edit, and it's like performing CPR on the left femur of someone who's been blown into pieces by a bomb. Utterly pointless, no matter how much effort I put into it.

*stabs self in eye*

*edit* Wait! I thought of something that I hate EVEN MORE than shitty shitty writing that I have to read because I am required to for class.

Shitty, shitty writing that I am required to read for class THAT BLATANTLY RIPS OFF MUCH BETTER BOOKS/AUTHORS.

*dies*