Someone sent me a link to this essay (and subsequently, the rest of your essays on craft). "Called out" is what came to mind first when reading them, but having reflected on it, I feel challenged. I'm seeing the next summit and I think I know how to scale it (for want of a better metaphor).

she pulled the strings that made them ring and made a full recovery

Or, a microfiction example, Virginia Woolf's Green and Blue:

www.bartleby.com/lit-hub/mond...

Never does the narrator look east and lament how the green vista was a profound koan that reminded her that she should be seeing red.

I can think of some very florid passages in literature that still achieve something—like how Mervyn Peake describes Gormenghast:

www.mervynpeake.org/gormenghast/...

Everything here's part of the same narrative thread, everything's worldbuilding. No mixed metaphors for the sake of sounding poetic.

Prose, good prose, has to do more than just describe. Otherwise, you've got baubles: shiny, hollow; they catch your eye, alright, but they're functionally quite useless.

This is a hunch of a vibe of a gut feeling, but I think because of LLMs, baubles like these, left unedited, are in bad odour.

no miser