Tuesday, April 17, 2007



following the revelation that the virginia tech shooter was an english major, a member of my writers' group asked each of us what we would do with a copy of a story of his, supposing we had been in workshop with him. burn it? sell it to the highest bidder?

i had to admit that while i like to think i wouldn't sell it, i would be tempted to write something about the weirdness of having such a thing in my hand, and the fact that people might want to buy it. and i wouldn't be above pitching it to salon in a timely manner.

this bugs me, though. there's something about everyone looking at this kid's "bizarre" writing and seeing a tragedy written there that just . . . it's like a bad combo plate of rubbernecking and subtle phillistinism. i would never say it wouldn't have been better had an intervention or referral stopped what happened from happening, but the easy one-to-one correlation of bizarro writing to criminal behaviour rubs me the wrong way. stay tuned; i'm sure it's only a matter of time before we're all privy to his am@z0n wishlist, itemized phone bill and childhood letters to santa.

i don't know. i'm being cranky; i'm no better than anyone else. i read it. and who am i to say it's not news, i guess . . . it's not evil to want to know why.

it just gives me the ick.


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