Once upon a time, eight years ago to be exact, I was a fledgling author with a newly published short story anthology. I’d recently started a blog and occasionally received more than two comments on my posts! Sigh.
One April Wednesday morning in 2012 as I scrolled through my Facebook feed I saw a notice on the Ozarks Writers League, OWL, page from someone named Madison Woods. It was a reminder that it was time for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly blog challenge that would change the course of my life.
(I had a lot to learn about commenting and reciprocation 😉 )
Who knew that six months later I’d be adopting Madison’s baby? Enough of that! The purpose of this post is to introduce you to the lady, author and artist who birthed the idea of Friday Fictioneers.
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:
HERDING CATS
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…
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.
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.
I love putting more than faces to names, don’t you?
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. From left to right: Beth Carter, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Madison Woods, Janet Webb, Karen Nelson, Russell Gayer, Jan Morrill and Kent Bonham.
Some 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. 😉
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.
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.
Allan sucked in his lower lip. Did Mom really say, “Your father and I are getting a divorce. Which of us do you want to live with?”
“Rose, the boy’s only eight,” said Dad.
Looking from one parent to the other, sensing no affection from either, Allen blurted out, “I want to live with Grandma and Grandpa Sherman. They love me.”
In the midst of his warped and disjointed world, being shuffled from house to house and school to school, Allan Sherman found comfort in food, writing and humor.
In 1962 his writing and humor made him an overweight success.
***
Allan Sherman’s bright star fizzled after President Kennedy’s assassination. In 1973 his poor life choices caught up with him and he passed away ten days shy of his forty-ninth birthday.
Allan Sherman has been called Weird Al Yankovic’s “Founding Faddah.” Reportedly, President John F. Kennedy was a fan of Mr. Sherman’s parody songs. To know a little more about the man under the beanie CLICK HERE.
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.
Yes, it’s one of “those” stories from me. (No apologies). The subject is heavy on the mind of Kansas Citians this summer as the Auschwitz exhibit “Not Long Ago. Not Far Away.” is at our Union Station until September. Not to mention, this weekend is Tisha B’av or the 9th of Av when, historically, many calamities befell the Jews, including the fall of the temple in 70 C.E. and the deportation from the Warsaw Ghetto (July 23, 1942) to Treblinka. It is observed with fasting as one of the saddest days on the Jewish calendar.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
THE HYENA
“The train took us to Auschwitz.” Marta tried to still her voice echoing in the microphone. “From there they forced us to walk to Bergen-Belsen.”
“How old are you, Marta?”
“Seventeen, sir.”
The lawyer pointed at the group of numbered defendants. “Are any of these familiar?”
A young woman glared at her with ice-blue eyes. Marta shuddered. “Number nine. She tormented starving children with scraps of food and whipped them to death when they cried.”
“I’ve heard Irma Grese laughed on her way to the gallows,” said Marta seventy years later. “Now I can laugh as she rots in hell.”
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.
A few might remember a longer version of this story I posted for “What Pegman Saw” in 2017. With the summer being as busy as it is, it seemed like a good time to share a rerun. 😉
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
COUNTRY ROADS
“My dearest Jimmy,
Remember 1971? The year we came back from Vietnam. John Denver must’ve written his hit with you in mind.
“‘Pineville, West Virginia,’ you whispered low and sweet. Your eyes shone like the stars over the Shenandoah River. You laughed. ‘Just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’
Nonetheless, to you it was ’almost heaven’.”
Sharon tucked the note inside his guitar and leaned it against his headstone. “I kept my promise to meet you here, Jimmy.”
Forever she would carry his face in her heart and hear his last words, “Nurse, please don’t let me die.”
***
In this image provided by the U.S. Army, the 2nd Brigade was faced with a new problem at their Bien Hoa, Vietnam base: from Fort Rilay to Vietnam come the 93rd Evacuation Hospital complete with nurses on Dec. 19, 1965. The problem of getting a private shower for the girls fell to Company B 1st Engineer Battalion. In the interests of the health, welfare and cleanliness of the nurses, the men of Company B decided to give up their own air-conditioned shower. The dressing area of the shower was boarded up and the entrance-way closed off. An appropriate “Off Limits” sign was made and posted. (AP Photo/U.S. Army)
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.
“He drove that VW Microbus with “Love is progress—hate is expensive” painted on the back from St. Johns Island to Charlotte.” Grandma Selma’s dark cheeks shone. “Thanks to him I earned three diplomas.”
“Who?” asked Tanisha.
“Who indeed? Girl, he should be in your history books. When he was just a little boy, he had to quit school after the 4th grade, but he still found ways to further his education. And then made sure us kids did the same. Took us to school or anywhere else we needed to go. Esau Jenkins was the wheels beneath our wings.
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.
Avraham set the seedling in the hole he had dug. “Blessed are You, Master of the Universe, Creator of life. May the memories of my Sarah and our little Isaac be blessed.”
Hannah helped Avraham cover the tender roots with sandy soil. “May the memory of my Shmuel also be blessed.”
Under Israel’s hot summer sun many others had come to plant. Their goal was to raise six million trees, one for each life taken.”
Avraham placed his hand on Hannah’s belly and smiled through his tears when their unborn child kicked. “By their deaths, they commanded us to live.”
The six million trees, planted in 1951 by Jewish National Fund, World B’nai Brith and immigrants, are a living monument of eternally green memorial candles for the six million of our people who perished during World War II.
Friday Fictioneer
