Intermediate undergrad who writes short stories about a violent, retributive pedophile-killer named Thornhead. Never mind the student’s own anger, fears or fantasies; he doesn’t see connotations of the name, says he doesn’t even know where he got it. Angrily insists it and the story are meaningless; he just wanted a bunch of things strung together with no purpose. I suggest tape-recording an hour of background noise at Cold Stone Creamery and turning it in to workshop next time (after screening it for stories). It's difficult to be meaningless.