‘Patterns of Recognition’: Story Accepted by Fiction365

Out of my many unpublished pieces, ‘Patterns of Recognition’ (not to be confused with William Gibson’s very fine novel Pattern Recognition) is one of my personal favorites, but along the way acquired a few rejections. Very happy this morning, however, to report that it’s been accepted by online journal Fiction365, which publishes a short story every day.

I first wrote the piece in 2008 and revised it a few times, including one polish last year as part of my general roundup/cleanup of unpublished short pieces. Many more of these are circulating right now; hope to report back soon with yet more acceptances.

Here’s what the editor had to say in his acceptance email: “This is very compelling prose—it creates a very strong impression of a difficult-to-grasp emotional state, and doesn’t let go. We’ll be glad to publish it.”  Nice way to start the day.

While it will be a few months until publication, for now here’s a tease of the intro. The story’s about a man on the way home from a vacation, but not certain to what life he’s actually returning.

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PATTERNS OF RECOGNITION

Seth Goodal’s had a good time all week on his overdue beach vacation, one that he’s needed for so long—relaxation and rest, the order of the day. But only until the last night, and the lunar eclipse. The moon’s gravity, affecting more than the tide. Dragging and pulling at his anxiety, quelled and in hiding. For now. 

Seth suggests to his wife before nightfall that, for old times’ sake, they do a couple of what he calls screamers. Party like back when they were in college, he argues; live it up one last time before returning to the prosaic, workaday world. His wife Alise, noting the fact that not only hadn’t they known one another in college, she neither experimented with mind alteration then, nor has any intention of starting at this late date. Her refusal posed as query: “Are you kidding?”

So, Seth, alone on the beach, mesmerized and tripping out all on his own. Sickened. Panicked. The umbral moon, swollen and shaded brick as though inflamed with disease, hanging over the indistinct line of the nighttime oceanic horizon. Mottled. Mocking.

Keeping all the pain and fear to himself.