Creative writing is basically pointless to teach in school. Most teachers have no fucking idea about writing and they'll critique the grammar endlessly without touching structural or stylistic issues.
I remember all through grade school and into high school being encouraged to write purple prose.
The strange thing about purple prose is there is very little middle ground regarding its quality. Some authors can go on extended, flowery, rococo descriptions of scenes and the text flows beautifully, while others attempting to do so cause borderline nausea. Ray Bradbury, when he was on a binge, was
very, very good at purple prose. Two examples that come to mind:
“It was the face of spring, it was the face of summer, it was the warmness of clover breath. Pomegranate glowed in her lips, and the noon sky in her eyes. To touch her face was that always new experience of opening your window one December morning, early, and putting out your hand to the first white cool powdering of snow that had come, silently, with no announcement, in the night. And all of this, this breath-warmness and plum-tenderness was held forever in one miracle of photographic is chemistry which no clock winds could blow upon to change one hour or one second; this fine first cool white snow would never melt, but live a thousand summers.” -Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
“There was a smell of Time in the air tonight. He smiled and turned the fancy in his mind. There was a thought. What did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. And, going further, what did Time look like? Time looked like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theater, one hundred billion faces falling like those New Year balloons, down and down into nothing. That was how Time smelled and looked and sounded. And tonight—Tomás shoved a hand into the wind outside the truck—tonight you could almost touch Time.”
― Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles