People who think they're amazing writers: throw a bunch of descriptive words and two paragraphs of bore-me-to-death on a page, and expect the world will fall in love. Just because you can describe a scene for a couple of pages, doesn't mean anyone wants to read it. Seriously. Just because you know how to write, doesn't mean the stories are better. I'd rather read a story like this:
Amy shuddered at the creak. She wasn't scared of the dark, not at all; she was scared of the shadows. The very thought sent her mind into a scramble. Which was how she felt right now, only the room seemed to be shaking along with her head, almost in rhythm. It can't be midnight yet. I should be asleep by now. No, it isn't, I'm sure it's not. Amy lay paralyzed and sweating on the floor as her imagination taunted, teased.
Rather than this:
Bones ran down to the creek in a desperate search for some berries. It was Scruffy again, who on this crisp spring morning had somehow managed to pick up a cough that was loud. His heart beat like crazy as the water drew closer. Bones was scared because Scruffy was his only friend and without him he would be alone. The forest was a scary place, with tawny Grey owls who made eerie noises in the night, and nasty foxes who's dark red pelts shone like beacons. He himself had a moist nose, silver white fur and years of youth left.
I quickly wrote those paragraphs just as examples. I'm not pointing a finger at anyone in paticular, but it annoys me to see people who right the same yawner-stories about some wolf who was perfect in every way and he had to save the clan, yadda yadda yadda. And the second paragraph, although crappy, is probably better than a lot of those 5 minute "masterpieces" that I see people write everyday. Which is sad because not many things are worse than that.