Ah, the Unknown Relative Syndrome. "Who's that?" "I don't know." "But Grandpa's got his arm around his shoulders." "Some buddy, maybe."

sj, I loved yours.

Heh. Connie, this was an oddity for me: total fiction, but transferring the woman in the photo to my grandmum.

We really did have a family photo, one of my father and my wicked cool Uncle Robert together, each of them with a hand lovingly on the shoulder of a boy about twelve years old. Not my brother Howard; not Rob's son Michael. I asked my mother who the kid was, after my father died and we were going through his photos; my mother adjusted her reading glasses, peered at the picture, looked baffled for a moment, and said something like "I haven't got the faintest idea."

No one else in the family recognised the kid either, including Rob.

sj, I loved yours.

Thanks, Deb. How have you been? I haven't talked to you in ages.

Me? Truly? It's been gruesome. Week nine or thereabouts of House Renovation Hell, plus we lost a beloved cat in the middle of it and it wasn't an easy death. But we're coping. Right now, awaiting Nic's arrival home so that we can jump in the car and do the feral rounds of the Park cats, and maybe the fox we fed the other night, plus some skunks and raccoons.

Plus, the House Hell has the end nearly in sight.

Sorry for the gruesome. I tried to post sympathy in your livejournal, but it wouldn't let me post that day for some evil reason. I am so sorry for your loss. Good luck with the House Hell.

Teppy, this is the best topic, ever. I haven't written a thing, of course, because it's been that kind of week, but thank you.

You have all given some great drabble. It's an extra treat to read Jilli, Jesse, and others who don't usually join in.

#9

1963.

My mom spent the first semester of her sophomore year at the University of Minnesota at Minneapolis diligently preparing for exams by sleeping eighteen hours a night. She slept through her art history slideshows and tried to sleep through her roommate playing that damned Dylan album over and over. She still flinches at Dylan decades later.

December 15, she bought a new winter coat. January 2, she took her spring tuition money and bought a one way ticket to Los Angeles. After she climbed aboard that train, she never wore that coat again.

(Fudged the dates a little and ignored the title. Mom is a redhead, had cats eye glasses and a very similar nose. )

I'm working on polishing my opening chapter to enter a couple of writing contests. And this sentence, on page 2, is driving me crazy.

The woman’s scream, coming from less than ten yards away, startled Anna back to Spain and the marching army.

Something about the "coming from" bugs me. It's not actually wrong, but I don't think it sounds as polished and professional as I want my writing to be. But if I take out the "coming from," it feels wrong, because it's not the scream that's within ten yards, it's the woman doing the screaming. I'm considering:

The screaming woman, less than ten yards away, startled Anna....

or

The screaming woman, who couldn't have been more than ten yards away....

Thoughts? Bear in mind that the screamer is hidden from view.

I'm probably overanalyzing this, but it's on page 2, and I'm getting sick of entering these contests without finaling.

I'd go with "couldn't have been" if she can't see her, Susan.

"Screaming woman", when the woman will turn out to be not visible, feels wrong to me -- needlessly confusing. You invoke the woman, I assume I can see her.

What is it about "coming from" that you don't like? Does it disrupt the flow of the sentence, or do you just think it's too mundane?

Are you totally committed to its being a woman's scream? I.e., would a high-pitched scream or a shriek do? Maybe varying that phrase will help you rearrange the sentence to your liking.