Sometimes I’m reminded of my high school creative writing class. I tend to write in a fairly straight forward fashion, even when it comes to poetry. I had come to disdain the over-use of metaphors back when we’d read been tortured by A Farewell to Arms. As far as I’m concerned, Hemmingway can go die. In the rain.
She’d read the peice and then hand it back to me, full of excited commentary about my use of metaphor and symbolism. I’d tilt my head and wonder what on earth she was smoking while she graded papers, becuase fuck if I’d intended any of the stuff she read into my work.
Sometimes, GMing gives me the same feeling.