Thank you! "Sympathetic vertigo" is the perfect phrase for it. That's the horror we're chasing, not just understanding Sarah's experience intellectually, but feeling it in your body. Appreciate you being here for the ride (or fall, as it were).
"The wind refused to scream" is a great opening—it earns the reader's attention by denying expectation. The embodied empathy protocol is a smart vehicle for psychological horror; you're essentially writing a possession disguised as therapeutic practice. I wonder if the staccato style could breathe a little more in the Marie sections—the contrast might sharpen the fall sequences rather than dilute them. Looking forward to the water!
Thank you for this is really helpful feedback. We were deliberately pulling back on the staccato in the domestic scenes to create that contrast you mentioned. Sarah's consciousness is fragmenting during the fall/horror sequences, but when she's with Marie, she's trying to hold herself together, stay present. The rhythm mirrors that effort. Whether it works or feels too diluted is something I'll be watching as the chapters stack up. Glad you're looking forward to the water!
That makes sense—the effort to stay present as counterweight to the fragmentation. I’ll be curious to see how the accumulation affects the rhythm across chapters. Following along.
This left me breathless. I became dizzy thinking about her unending fall.
Thank you.
This is visceral! My stomach lurches in sympathathetic vertigo. A vivid experience. Well done.
Thank you! "Sympathetic vertigo" is the perfect phrase for it. That's the horror we're chasing, not just understanding Sarah's experience intellectually, but feeling it in your body. Appreciate you being here for the ride (or fall, as it were).
"The wind refused to scream" is a great opening—it earns the reader's attention by denying expectation. The embodied empathy protocol is a smart vehicle for psychological horror; you're essentially writing a possession disguised as therapeutic practice. I wonder if the staccato style could breathe a little more in the Marie sections—the contrast might sharpen the fall sequences rather than dilute them. Looking forward to the water!
Thank you for this is really helpful feedback. We were deliberately pulling back on the staccato in the domestic scenes to create that contrast you mentioned. Sarah's consciousness is fragmenting during the fall/horror sequences, but when she's with Marie, she's trying to hold herself together, stay present. The rhythm mirrors that effort. Whether it works or feels too diluted is something I'll be watching as the chapters stack up. Glad you're looking forward to the water!
That makes sense—the effort to stay present as counterweight to the fragmentation. I’ll be curious to see how the accumulation affects the rhythm across chapters. Following along.