I remember as a 6 year old kid, writing a story about a pilot who was shot down by an unknown enemy. He bailed out at an incredible height and minutes went by until he was able to get his parachute to open. In the story, I conveyed this by writing half a page of... down he went, down down down down [and so on]. I was called to the teacher who sent me to the headmistress who castigated me for wasting paper. Years later, while reading a story as a change from cramming Environmental Science BSc, I came across a descriptive section of a bird that was shot and fell down, down down [and so on]. I was a cult story, well appreciated by the public and critics alike. In the Arts, rules are merely a guide.
