It was my American Literature teacher, that haggard old fuck how I wished I could have been there to see her face when she got fired for striking a student over something petty, I can only imagine it was a lot like the look she gave me when I thanked her for her words but better. She didn’t like my paper over whatever we were reading, Thoreau probably. I take the critique as seriously now as I did then. Greatly flattering.
For brevity, which when I am reminded to be incapable of; prides me instead of delivering a bruising jab, and to underscore my points.
Purple prose is flowery and ornate writing that makes a piece of text impenetrable. It is characterized by long sentences, multi-syllabic words, excessive emotion, and a plethora of clichés. It’s typically melodramatic and often too poetic.
In a nutshell, me. As a non-native English speaker this is the greatest honor that has been bestowed upon me and I accept it with much gusto. I am honored that the way I convey my thoughts is as foreign and alienating as I feel, have felt, will continue to feel. I am glad that my voice conveys and does not betray my nature. That in absorbing this text you experience a part of me and for the moment we truly share in this intimately. I don’t blame you if you don’t find the sensation altogether pleasant and if what I have to say jives, we vibe and good or bad thank you for your time.
Couldn’t turn it off even if I wanted. I can’t stop breathing.
Back to my American Literature teacher, she really only had the American Public school system to blame. Give you two guesses where I spent meal-times and periods of recreation. Yes obviously and that’s right the classics. I wouldn’t tell you her name and I can’t because I don’t remember and won’t be bother to look it up, not going to admit to how long that memory is either but it is well worn and faded. I’ll paint that picture anyhow, the wry smile and gleam in her eye when she was finally ready to release the stored venom when I asked what she meant that my prose was purple.
The worst compliment I have ever received was being compared to John Lennon. Talk about a bolt out the blue to where you store the feels. Fucker.
Share with me a time an insult warmed your heart or a compliment shattered your perception.
tldr; if you have encountered me before and did not like me then, you won’t like me now. I still encourage you to say hi, I hate an echo chamber.
While my prose isn’t as purple as yours, my experience with literature teachers is quite the same! I think it was middle school, i was a voracious reader and you’d think that was a good thing, but my teacher thought differently. I remember she specifically accused me of losing touch with reality because i read to much.
It’s funny because they’ll tell you to find your writing voice and when it’s not the one they want they get mad.