When this semester began, a shrill substitute teacher barked at us to complete work. She instructed us on one particularly horrible day to write a ten-page short story set ONLY in a detention hall. Our hands suffered but we ultimately completed our task. When our regular teacher returned once more, we had long forgotten this strenuous assignment, treating it as disparaging nothing long buried in our respective pasts. Oh, how wrong we were. Soon afterwards, we had to have finished a lengthy script based on this short story using the program Celtx.
Did I already mention that the permanent callous located on my right ring finger was left aching for a day or so? Normally I do not regard writing as a chore but my hands are but weak creatures and they are pampered as say, a Persian prince. Overall, I took delight in creating my own characters but I felt that the setting was far too constricting and it was difficult to stray from the cliches that the “high-school-detention-oh-lord” genre had set long before I was born. (I’m looking at you, Breakfast Club) I also did not include nearly as much characterization as I wanted to come into light, seeing as I killed off most of the cast due to laziness. I also felt that my dialogue was far off the mark in perfectly capturing the strange dialect that is the teenage drawl.