Pictures of my mom and me at about age 12 could be the same person, in different clothes. As adults, the resemblance is definite, mind you, but not doppleganger.

erika, the change in her wasn't so much physical as it was emtionally and spiritually profound. It wasn't so much that the girl in the photograph was pretty, or vibrant, or the usual stuff; it was that she was someone else entirely. She was eyefucking the photographer like a hot date; the picture oozes pure sexuality. She flaunted it. It was fucking beautiful.

And I have no idea who that girl was. The woman I knew was cold, distant, shuttered, physically occasionally violent, and very unstable.

Deb, she could make lightbulbs shatter, couldn't she?

Deb, insent.

Deb, she could make lightbulbs shatter, couldn't she?

And books pop off shelves. She remains the only evidence of telekinesis I've ever come across; when she got genuinely angry, lightbulbs would pop, all across the house. She also had the habit of phoning up her children and telling them what they were wearing; with me, at least, she never missed, even at a distance of several thousand miles.

She was genuinely freaky. I wonder what she was like when that photograph was taken. I hope I don't end up as unstable as she was. Of course, in astrological terms, she was bizarro wet dream anyway: six planets in Pisces and a leap year 29 February baby.

And Kristin, backsent, with major kudos.

Squeaking in under the wire... I love what everyone has done with this topic. It's a powerful one, all right.

Challenge #33: The Passage of Time

The day crawled. Huge, hollow hours stretched out with only the smallest tasks to fill them—trying on my dress, calling the bakery, checking with the florist.

Napping was out of the question. I was one great jangling nerve, pacing and tapping and flipping the pages of an out-of-date magazine with cheerful violence, as if I could move the clock hands through sheer will.

But when the time came, the ceremony warped into a mere blur of words and music and the heavy scent of roses, so brief I remember only the warm, solid weight of Stephen’s hand in mine.

But when the time came, the ceremony warped into a mere blur of words and music and the heavy scent of roses, so brief I remember only the warm, solid weight of Stephen’s hand in mine.

I love this last line, AmyLiz. So honest and so evocative.

I'm there with you in this drabble, and I really like it. I have to ask, though, have you tried this in present tense? I have a feeling it might be even more powerful.

In MEME news, I want to thank Deb, dcp, Bev, and Sunil for thoughtful comments on that teaching essay. I didn't immediately want to hear all of what you had to say (and of course I didn't take every single suggestion anyway!), but your comments greatly improved the essay overall. I'm working now on some nitpicky details (removing a couple of cliches, looking for sentence fluency, etc.), but I think it's almost done.

I was wondering, though, if I could ask the thread at large for some wording suggestions about a couple of paragraphs?

Can I post a few paragraphs and ask some specific questions?

Edited to remove unecessary emoticon. I blame too much turkey.

No. We are an unhelpful lot.

Heh. Go for it.