13 September 2013

Published September 11, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

😀 Be sure to wish Jackie P and Perry Block a happy birthday this week! They both celebrate Thursday the 12th. 😀

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

MOTHER OF EXILES

“Rachel, would you please read this sentence for us?” The English teacher’s intense gaze shot through the young woman as she pointed to the page.

This new land with its unfamiliar ways and language challenged her. She’d dreamt of freedom. Instead, New York’s Lower East Side bore much similarity to her poverty-stricken village in Moldavia.

“I try, Miss Lazarus.” Twisting and untwisting her shawl fringes, she read, “‘Ve holt dese troots’…Ikh ken nit…I cannot…”

“‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men’…all people…‘are created equal.’” Emma Lazarus took Rachel’s hands in hers. “You can. You will. You must.”

______________

While you may never have heard of Emma Lazarus, if you’re a U. S. citizen you’re probably familiar with, at least, a portion of her poem inside the base of the Statue of Liberty:

THE NEW COLOSSUS

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

To read about this amazing woman click here.

This article is only the tip of the iceberg. If you’re interested do a Google search to learn more. I did. 😉

Voice of a Spanish Dancer-Birthday Strokes

Published September 4, 2013 by rochellewisoff

With each swim stroke I stretch and roll my body from side to side, releasing tension into the water. It’s my birthday. Number six-oh on the hit parade. At the end of the first length I somersault, flip onto my back and push off the side of the pool wall.

My parents gave me a Chatty Cathy for my sixth birthday. Ever notice she had the same voice as Talking Tina on the Twilight Zone?

I reach the opposite end of the pool, turn slowly and deliberately, allowing the water to suspend me. The sun shines through the liquid ceiling and bathes the concrete and mosaic lines with refracted light. I push off the wall with my feet.

On my tenth birthday, my dad opened a bank account for me with a dollar for each year. I felt very grown up with my passbook in hand.

Missing the pool’s edge I falter in the next flip-turn. Water fills my nose and stings for a moment. A few strokes later the sensation passes.

One chilly afternoon, almost three months after my first two-digit birthday, the world changed with the president’s assassination. Months later the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan and puberty appeared on my horizon.

Right, left, breathe to the right. Left, right, breathe to the left. There’s a rhythm to everything.

My sixteenth birthday passed without notice. No party. Hardly a nod from my parents. Why does this still hurt? It happened over half a century ago. Get over it, old girl. Move on.

Two laps, then three, I switch to a new stroke at each turn. Freestyle. Backstroke. Breast stroke.

At twenty one, I held my six-month old son in my arms. By my thirtieth we’d multiplied that number by three sons.

Back to freestyle stroke I swim the length without taking a breath.

The Gulf War called my husband back to active duty Navy. The boys grew in his absence without taking a breath. Upon his return, I found a job as a cake decorator in a grocery store. My boss hid in the walk-in cooler to decorate a cake for my fortieth birthday.

I submerge and turn in the water, then surface for a gulp of air. Swimming on my back, I count strokes and ceiling tiles so I don’t bump my head on the pool’s edge.

My fiftieth birthday came and went virtually unnoticed. My middle son married, a year later the eldest also married. The youngest left home to pursue his music. We were blessed with a granddaughter. In the midst of it all I discovered my latent passion for writing.

Like water, life rushes by. I don’t feel older, but my mirror tells a different story.

One last time I flip, dive underwater, skim the pool floor and ask myself, “What will I be when I grow up?”

.

Beside my special birthday this week, Diana Nyad, an incredible woman realized her dream at the tender age of 64. Four previous failed attempts didn’t deter her. I doff my swim cap to your, Diana! To read more click here.

Thank you, Diana, for the birthday gift of hope and determination. You made my day!

6 September 2013

Published September 4, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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In celebration of my big birthday which is happening as this page goes live, I chose one of my own photos. Lots to see and write about here. My response time will probably be pretty slow this week since I’ll be on vacation (on holiday for all our UK friends 😉 ). Also Yom Huledet Samayach to Randy Mazie who shares the same birthday.

On Monday, 20 May 1957, an F5 tornado leveled Ruskin Heights, a suburb of Kansas City, MO. Thankfully our subdivision, although fairly close, was not effected. However, impressions of the day still remain.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNDER THE RAINBOW

One Monday afternoon in 1957, four-and-a-half-year-old Glinda filled glass creamers in Daddy’s restaurant. If there were enough, Mommy let her save one for Spike.

A customer pointed to the window. “Twister weather.”

Outside the sky had turned greenish-yellow.

“Take cover!” cried the voice on the radio. “Touch-down. Ruskin Heights.”

“Daddy… Spike?”

Later he turned into their debris-strewn, houseless driveway. Mommy shook her head. “Poor Spike, I’m afraid he’s…”

“No!” Glinda sprang from the car, ran to a pile, dropped down and held out the creamer. “Here kitty.”

With a loud meow, Spike peeked out, purred and hungrily lapped the cream.

I really did fill creamers at my dad’s restaurant “Bob’s Place”. This may be the pitcher I used.

30 August 2013

Published August 28, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

get the InLinkz code

This week’s photo was taken inside Union Station in Washington DC. So from there I boarded the train to my hometown of Kansas City, Missouri. Our Union Station opened its doors with a grand celebration 31 October 1914. Preserved today as a museum, it was the hub of departure and reunion through the two great wars to end all wars.

Perhaps one such departure went like this:

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WE OWE GOD A DEATH

“Is this your thanks for a career with the Kansas City Star?”

“Tis a great life, Uncle Ty. Thanks to you I can tell chianti from claret, tell mayors to go to Hell and slap police commissioners on the back.”

Tyler Hemingway’s cheeks blazed. His voice echoed off Union Station’s high ceiling and roared in his own ears. “Ernie, this is no time for jest. I made your father a promise. What if you’re killed?”

“Every man’s life ends the same way.” Ernie’s keen, dark eyes flashed. “It’s only how he lived or died that distinguishes one man from another.”

___________________

Below is a young Ernest Hemingway months after he left Kansas City in 1918.

To learn more about Alfred Tyler Hemingway click here.

23 August 2013

Published August 21, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright –Claire Fuller

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 99

VESTIGES

The day Eleanor entered the convent her parents wept. No amount of pleading would change her mind.

“It’s my calling to live my life for Him.”

With bridal joy, she hid her cropped auburn hair under coif and veil and pledged her troth to God until death.

Years passed. Her faith waned and the church, once her safe haven, became a stone-walled Purgatory.

Her reflection’s faded brown eyes scrutinized her from the cracked mirror. Headpiece abandoned and threadbare habit a crumpled heap on the floor, she smiled at her silver-gray locks.

With renewed purpose, she faced the future.

Dancing into Writing

Published August 19, 2013 by rochellewisoff

As a mime and interpretive dancer I’ve had some interesting opportunities over the years, from performing at outdoor festivals to prisons.

How would this lead to writing? Perhaps my title is misleading.

The following video, now on You Tube, was the introduction to a play I co-wrote with my cousin, Kent Bonham, entitled The First Nights of Hanukkah. Both of us took on many roles ranging from actor to director. The dance number, filmed by Kent, opened the production. If you look through the black and white blur you might recognize the dancer.

Act one of First Nights is set in 1930. Hence, the reason the banner at the beginning of the film says “Kansas City 1930” (I’m not really that old).

Our somewhat rough collaboration was an exhilarating experience. Hours of character development and dialogue writing over Greek food and Turkish tea with a side of laughter heralded the beginning of my writing career. My first novel Please Say Kaddish for Me was originally to be a prequel to the play. As often is the case, the characters wrote themselves in quite another direction. Hopefully the manuscript, in my agent Jeanie Loiacono’s capable hands, will soon find a home while I edit the second novel, From Silt and Ashes.

Meanwhile, after eight years, my passion’s unbroken, my yearning’s unending.

Voice of a Spanish Dancer

Published August 17, 2013 by rochellewisoff

Today, 17 August 2013, I’m dedicating this page to a kindred spirit, 17 year-old Leahi Camacho of Kailua-Kona, Hawaii. This lovely athlete is on her way to becoming the youngest person to swim the 26 mile Kaiwai Channel from Molokai to Oahu.

My heart and prayers go out to her. Although I’m 5,000 miles away, I’m with her in spirit and look forward to cheering her victory at her journey’s end.

Today Leahi Camacho set a record. Yes! She did it.

16 August 2013

Published August 14, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

********

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count. However, I respectfully ask for your consideration. Please refrain from taking the liberty of posting 200 words or more as a Friday Fictioneers story. Thank you.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOT IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
***********************************************************************

😦 Note: Please limit your entries to 100 word stories that pertain in some way to the prompt, Last week I pulled one links that had nothing to do with Friday Fictioneers.

************************************************************************
- Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Roger Bultot

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

ONE TIN SOLDIER

Dear Hank,

Remember how we saw Billy Jack four weekends in a row? I always thought you imagined yourself to be a bad-ass who could kick the hell out of injustice. And with the black belt you earned in Taekwondo, perhaps you could have.

After graduation our paths diverged. Letters, phone calls and occasional visits kept us connected.

When I learned of your fatal crash I reeled with disbelief.

You were the epitome of masculinity, but you were never afraid to cry. Your tears at my attempted suicide infused me with an indomitable will to survive.

Thank you.

Love,

Roach

9 August 2013

Published August 7, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

***********************************************************************

😦 Note: Please limit your entries to 100 word stories that pertain in some way to the prompt, Last week I pulled two links that had nothing to do with Friday Fictioneers. 😦

************************************************************************

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count. However, I respectfully ask for your consideration. Please refrain from taking the liberty of posting 200 words or more as a Friday Fictioneers story. Thank you.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
- Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
*******
Like us on Facebook
My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright -Renee Heath

get the InLinkz code

For posting and linking tutorial click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GkHVLkS3mH4

*********

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

IN BOND SHIPMENT

With a wary glance over her shoulder, Laura rushed into the general store, her lungs burning. She thrust a basket into the shopkeeper’s arms.

“Hold this until the train comes.” She dropped a dollar on the counter. “I’ve more if necessary.”

Just then, a barrel-chested man with savage blue eyes burst in, cracked a horsewhip and bellowed, “That’s my property. This Quaker witch is a thief!”

A calm smile on his face, the shopkeeper reached into the basket and caressed the mulatto infant’s light-brown cheek. “Your son, sir?”

“How dare you!”

The shopkeeper winked at Laura. “No charge, Mrs. Haviland.”

********

A GLIMPSE INTO MY PROCESS

Renee snapped this week’s photo in Tecumseh, Michigan where she lives. By the architecture I could tell that the building is old. How old I wasn’t sure but looks like 19th century. So I began the journey on the Google super highway which led me to the Underground Railroad. Tecumseh, for the most part, was anti-slavery and helped many an African American on the journey to freedom. Among these unsung heroes was Laura Smith Haviland. A champion abolitionist, she did have some slave owners angrily on her trail. To Tecumseh’s credit, there’s no record of any escaped slave ever being returned to his or her owners.

Laura Smith Haviland

For more info on this courageous lady click here.

Voice of a Spanish Dancer

Published August 2, 2013 by rochellewisoff

GROWING UP WET

When I was six, we joined the Jewish Community Center which boasted an Olympic size swimming pool. Immediately I was drawn to the water and the diving boards at the deep end. Since I couldn’t swim the lifeguards didn’t think this was in my best interest and returned me, repeatedly, to my mother.

Not long after that, she signed me up for lessons for which I will always be grateful. The water became my safe haven. I pretended the pool was the ocean and imagined myself as a mermaid surrounded by sea creatures.

Nine years ago fantasy became something of a reality when my husband Jan and I had the joy of attending our eldest son’s wedding in St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands.

Since Shannon proposed to Sayda there they decided it was the perfect place for their simple ceremony. He jokingly said they chose a spot on one of the island’s mountains so I wouldn’t swim away during their vows.

As we made the descent into St. Thomas, I gazed at gleaming white sand and water so clear I almost believed I could see the ocean floor from the plane. My skin tingled with anticipation. I could almost taste saltwater.

For eight days we ate, drank and made merry in a tri-level villa on St. John we shared with a few members of Sayda’s family. Sauvignon Blanc and seared Ahi were plentiful.

Each day we took the ferry from St. John to St. Thomas for sight-seeing. Lush hills and mountains surround the islands like an imperial crown.

Although I’ve swum in the ocean before and in lakes, nothing compared to the thrill of snorkeling along the underwater nature trail in Magen’s Bay in St. Tomas or exploring Water Lemon Cay in St. John. While I didn’t physically become a mermaid, the sea became a place of enchantment.

My eyes feasted on purple fan coral, yellow tangs and crimson starfish. As water takes on the shape of its container, I took on the shape of the water in an indescribable oneness. Unfettered by the mundane, I embraced the sea and it welcomed me home.

After the wedding, we said our farewells to our children, newly extended family and the Virgin Islands to return to jobs and everyday life. I still swam every morning at the YMCA but it would never be quite the same.

As my passion for writing grew, along with a series of novels, I found less and less time for swimming. Without realizing what I was sacrificing, I let my 24 Hour Fitness membership lapse and stopped swimming altogether.

As good fortune has it, life has balanced out some and there’s a fitness center less than a mile from our house replete with a lap pool. For now I don’t have time to go more than once or twice a week but it fulfills a deep need. It took less than a month to rebuild my stamina.

Landlocked in the Midwest, I head for the pool as often as I can and dream of the ocean. While I’d prefer to be snorkeling among the fish and coral, swimming is my greatest pleasure. Never am I more aware of myself. Every bone, tendon and muscle is engaged. Once more I’m a child and the water is my safe haven.