Sight Unseen was not-accepted. I think I mentioned that. I managed to stuff whatever reactions I had to that until I had written; if I had the reactions first, I was fairly certain I wouldn’t write for a few days while I tried to pull my head out. So. Wrote. Good for me.
This morning reaction set in. My spine’s natural shape was like that of a shepherd’s crook, and the world was gray, gray, gray. I worked through with clenched teeth; I was unwilling to give in to the doldrums. I continued Lisa’s method of synopsis -> draft; I wrote bare-bones statements blocking the movement in the story. “Herman walked to the edge of the gazebo. He leaned on a post. He nursed his rum.”
Not what you would call exciting writing, but the better part of the first scene was laid out in detail in about ten minutes. Some description slipped in when I wasn’t looking, and some reactions. I wrote another 200 words — and escaped the killing calm indifference of the post-rejection doldrums.
I think I may be in sufficient repair that, tonight, I can rewrite Sight Unseen as a cyberpunk story (thanks for the suggestion ) which will take it out of the difficult-to-accept “psychological almost-horror” genre and move it more firmly into “science fiction”. Or I may yet send it off again, unchanged. I will undoubtedly find out when I sit down to rewrite it.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry