Maybe I should just go back to my roots and write horror stories. I’m too easily led astray by what I read in contemporary literary fiction to be satisfied. I was all set to send one out that I’ve worked on almost non-stop for a month and now, after reading what’s being published, mine looks hokey in comparison. Old fashioned. Dopey.
So, of course I brought it up on the screen, and started throwing in feelings. Showed more depth of the relationships in dialogue and flashback. Described the damn parlor to set the stage. Added more words and muddied the action. I don’t like it anymore.
This long morning has probably answered the questions raised originally by Steve Clackson at Sandstorm about reading while you’re writing. Maybe the answer is: Don’t.
In the meantime, I have a killer cover letter all done for a story that’s evidently…not.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology