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Guess Blogger: Friday Fictioneers

Published April 9, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Many have read my story of my Friday Fictioneers beginnings before. For those who haven’t, my thanks to Phyllis for inviting me to do a guest blog.


Friday Fictioneer is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field. She posts a photograph and the challenge is to write a 100 word short story.

I asked Rochelle if she’d like to give us the history of how she became involved and eventually the host of FF. Here is her story:


Six years ago, as a newly published author of a short story anthology, writing and rewriting my first novel, I didn’t have much of a direction for my blog. The few articles I posted were met with overwhelming disinterest.

One April day I noticed a Facebook post by someone named Madison Woods on the Ozarks Writers League page announcing the time had come for Friday Fictioneers. I found the title intriguing so I asked her about it.

She explained that every Wednesday she put up a photo and each participant was to insert it into…

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World Travelers: Friday Fictioneers

Published July 18, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Every week at least one hundred global writers shorten the distance by sharing  their flash fictions based on a single photo prompt. I have the honor and privilege of  hosting the Friday Fictioneers challenge created by Madison Woods three years ago. I’ll probably never meet each one face to face, although I’ve been able to meet up with a few.

This past week, Friday Fictioneers Bill and Janet Webb had lunch Sandra Crook and her husband Neville on their boat in France.

The Crooks and the Webbs

From left to right: Neville and Sandra Crook, Janet and Bill Webb (who resembles neither zombie nor zed).

Also among our world travelers is Dawn Landau who lives in Washington state met with fellow fictioneer Björn Rudberg for lunch in Stockholm.

Dawn and Björn

I love putting more than faces to names, don’t you?

When Friday Fictioneers Meet

Published November 21, 2013 by rochellewisoff


If you came here expecting a 100 word flash fiction, you might be disappointed. While I realize I’m breaking my own rule by linking something other than a short story I thought this post would be of interest to Friday Fictioneers. It may not be a short story, but as you can see there is a short facilitator. 

Friday, November 15, 2013 at Ye Olde English Inn in Branson, MO, the entertainment capitol of the Midwest eight of the, sometimes, over one hundred writers met face to face and person person. photo_1From left to right: Beth Carter, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Madison Woods, Janet Webb, Karen Nelson, Russell Gayer, Jan Morrill and Kent Bonham.

photo_3Some of you may remember K.D. McCrite who wrote for Friday Fictioneers until success as an author has whisked her from our midst. She was the speaker for our morning session. She left us without excuses. 😉

photo_3 (1)



Published October 18, 2012 by rochellewisoff

It’s with mixed emotions I post my story inspired by Ron Pruitt’s photo prompt. This is Madison’s last week as Friday Fictioneers leader and my last week as one just of the gang. She will be one tough act to follow.  Click here for other FF stories. Enjoy! 

My offering this week is a tribute to Madison and our diverse global community that I hope continues to grow and flourish. 

*Note: I don’t think I can put the linkz tool on my blog without upgrading. So it looks like we’ll be back to posting our blog addresses here and in our comments. I’m open to any and all feedback or instruction on this. 


copyright-Ron Pruitt

Apprehensions whelmed the new driver. How could she steer this behemoth? Her feet barely reached the gas pedal.

A lithe maiden with pointed ears and iridescent wings floated past her.  Next was an imposing man whose black silk cape skimmed the floor. One by one, diverse passengers stowed their baggage and found their seats.

“Welcome,” said the last in line. “I’m Russell.”

Warmed by his congenial smile she tried not to stare at his plastic clown nose and grasped his offered hand.

Zzzzzzt! His joy buzzer sent shockwaves to her shoulder.  

He chortled. “Are we there yet?” 

29 May 2020

Published May 27, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

Click the Frog…you know you want to. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


“How are you, GI Joe?”

Even though we listened to her every day, nobody took her seriously.

“They have forgotten about you back home. Your sacrifice means nothing to your people.”

Let her spout her bullshit, we looked forward to the music from home.

“Your great nation has abandoned you.”

After months of being shot at by the VC and suffering jungle rot, my orders came. I was headed for home!

At Travis I was met not with ticker tape and hurrahs, but with protesters screaming, “Get back on the plane, baby killer!”

Hanoi Hannah was onto something, after all.


Click for more info. 

Creation in Confinement

Published May 23, 2020 by rochellewisoff

I could begin this post will all kinds of platitudes about the strange new world that’s upon us but there are others who are doing a fine job of that. Which is not to say that I’m thumbing my nose at the powers that be, carrying a protest sign or refusing to wear a mask. None of the above need apply. I will admit to the strong desire to take a sledgehammer to the television when the news comes on. Yes, I want to stay informed, just not 24/7. 

The toughest part of shelter in place for me has been the closure of my fitness center. More specifically the lap pool. The last mile I swam, at this writing, was Friday, March 20 at 11:00 AM, but who’s counting? Not being able to go shopping (aside from grocery shopping) has been a minor inconvenience. Yes, I’ve missed going out to eat, but we have enjoyed carry out from some of our favorite places. I’ve been cooking more, and, truthfully enjoying it more. My blog challenge Friday Fictioneers, continues to thrive with plenty of loyal participants. 

As an introvert who enjoys alone time, particularly in the wee early morning hours before the sun inches over the horizon, I’ve continued to write and paint. There’s no greater joy than enjoying a cup of hot, black coffee while communing (or wrestling with) the muse. 

Swimming has been replaced by long walks and I continue my three-mile workouts on the elliptical trainer.  However neither form of exercise does it for me like an hour of swimming. It’s hard to explain that to non-mermaids. 

I will admit to panic buying the day before our town shut down. But not what you might think. It wasn’t toilet paper, but watercolor paper. I realized I only had two sheets of my favorite left. This would never do. Wasting no time, I pointed my little Chevy in the direction of the closest arts and crafts store. 

For the duration of the quarantine my easel has not been empty or my head so full. Any subject is fair game. To start off this season of obsessive rendering, my husband helped me set of a still life, featuring his new obsession; an autographed Zager guitar.

Olive’s birthday present. A portrait of her and her dog, Poppy. One of my favorite photos of the two of them.

My granddaughter Olive, who is a budding artist in her own right, was about to turn nine at the end of the month. (Bragging rights. 😉 ) Since she seems to like her bubbie’s art work, I set to work on a special birthday present for her. I had a print made for our wall, but send the original to her.  

What to do next?

I have the good fortune of being blessed with friends who know which end of a camera to use. Sometimes, they offer their photos and other times I…uh…erm…borrow them. The following painting is from an award winning photo taken by Ricky Yates.

Posting my process and the finished painting, has helped boost sales for prints and note cards. Not to mention it keeps me entertained.

Two more of my photographer friends, Dale and Marie Gail, loaned challenging photos that I couldn’t resist. In fact I had prints sold of the beach picture and following two before I ever made it to the printer:

From photo by Marie Gail Stratford

From a photo by Dale Rogerson

And then there were the ones I did from my own photos. 

I took this on the beach in NC last summer thinking it would make a good painting.

Am I the only person who takes pictures of the drinks when they go out to eat?

In the midst of this, I did have a commission, but am not at liberty to share that one. 😀

Then there was the day thunderstorms raged. I had to capture the shelf cloud caused by cool and warm air colliding. 

Meet Ruth Bear Starfire, one of the main characters in my novel, represented by Diane Nine at Hopefully she’ll find a home for WHAT THE HEART WANTS soon.

Here are the final three painted this past week: 

Granola passed away about 15 years ago. I still miss that silly girl.

Meet Liza Jane who owns Russell Gayer. What’s so Funny?

Before you ask, yes, I have another picture started. And, yes, prints will be available for sale.



22 May 2020

Published May 20, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.


Come on along and click the dancing frog to join the fun!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


Cossacks torched the shtetl of Tolochin. Flames shot up from Cantor Beilin’s home. Five-year-old Israel choked on the billowing smoke, huddled in a ditch with his brother and sisters. He had never seen Papa weep so.

A ship carried the Beilins to America. In New York’s Lower Eastside, Izzy discovered his talent and at thirteen sang on the streets for thrown pennies.

Music and America. His love for both welled up inside of him and spilled over in the songs he wrote.

Composer Jerome Kern said of Izzy, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American Music.”


Born in 1888, Irving Berlin lived to be 101. Trying en-capsulize him in 100 words is no easy task. While you might not be familiar with name, I’ll bet you’re familiar with his music. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (Scandalous in 1911), “Easter Parade,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “God Bless America,” and that seasonal favorite “White Christmas” to name a few. 

Irving Berlin 1906

15 May 2020

Published May 13, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Click the Frog to Join the Party

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100


As a journalist, I’ve looked forward to my assignment in the island paradise of Tonga—interview deportees.

Uhila sets aside his machete. Sun through the palm trees beats down on his bare back littered with tattoos. “My dad was God. I couldn’t fight God, so I fought everyone else.”

Taking notes, I ache for the hurting child inside the man until he says, “I shot a guy for looking at me wrong—four times in the stomach. Now I’m the trash California State threw away.” He mops his brow with his forearm. “Here I don’t know shit about nothing.”

8 May 2020

Published May 6, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

GO AHEAD…CLICK ME!           

The following story is a work of fiction. Sadly, it’s based on fact for too many people. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100


Amy brushed, flossed and swished Listerine around her mouth. Spitting it out, she watched the blue liquid swirl down the drain. She raised her head, stared at her reflection, baring her teeth. “Minty fresh. I really gotta stop this ralphing crap.”

            She took a mental inventory of everything she’d eaten. Basically, she cleaned out the fridge. Twinkies, two toaster waffles, a banana, a cheese ball, three hardboiled eggs and so on.   

            She’d gotten the idea of taking Ipecac from a recovering bulimic’s book, meant to be a testimony of her victory over her eating disorder.

            “Handy little ‘how-to’ manual, eh?”


Ralph is slang for vomit. Driving he Bus is slang for the same. 

Ipecac is a substance used to induce vomiting. Parents of small children keep it in the medicine cabinet in case of accidental poisoning. I had to use it once when my son was two.

Listerine, for those unfamiliar, is a brand of mouthwash popular in the States.


Paradise Misplaced

Published May 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Dominican Republic. The island is rich in culture and heritage, chock full of wonderful possibilities for the alert storyteller. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to wander around until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then link your post using the blue frog below. Remember that reading and commenting on fellow contributors’ work is part of the experience.

Do your best, and have fun! Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting.

Genre: Fiction (probably someone’s reality)

Word Count: 150

This story stands alone, but is also a sequel to my Friday Fictioneers offering this week. Couldn’t help following Mr. and Mrs.Hap 😉


Basking in the ocean breeze, Gretchen stood on the balcony of their hotel suite gazing at the clear blue Caribbean waters. Although her marriage to Jared had a rocky beginning with him blowing a rod on the way to their wedding, she had no doubt the honeymoon would be perfect.

“La Rupiblica Dominica. I can’t wait to swim. I’m glad I took español in school. Didja notice how the waiter smiled when I ordered our dinner in his language?”

Behind her, Jared playfully nibbled her neck “That chicken dish was scrumptious but not as tasty as my bride.”

Gretchen’s stomach gurgled. “Speaking of food.”

“You’re looking a little green, darlin. I’ll go buy some 7-Up to settle your tummy.”

A cramp seized her. The floor tilted as she made a mad dash to the commode.

In the other room, Jared slammed drawers and wailed. “Hells bells, someone’s nabbed my wallet!”  


*Note here’s a LINK to the story I wrote when Pegman visited the Dominican Republic two years ago. I almost reposted and then decided not to.

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