Autobiography

All posts in the Autobiography category

30 March 2018

Published March 28, 2018 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 © Fatima Fakier Deria

My weekly admonition to over 70 participants. Please keep your stories to 100 words or less. Thank you for your consideration. 

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

SUITABLE FOR FRAMING

            I spent my twelfth summer with my aunt and uncle in Monticello, NY.

            Uncle Harold won my heart, not just because he showered me with attention and frozen custard, but because he was an artist. While he never achieved national acclaim, he did win a few awards in local shows for his impressionistic works.

            I cherish memories of painting with him on the patio.

            “A masterpiece,” he proclaimed my robin watercolor.

            Today, as I put the finishing touches on my latest opus, I almost hear Uncle Harold say, “Good job! Let’s go for a frozen custard. Don’t tell Aunt Lu.” 

***

Nothing fictitious about this story. 😉

This painting holds a special place in my office/studio.

Never heard of frozen custard? CLICK HERE

frozen-custard-buffalo--niagara-falls

I personally favored chocolate.

15 December 2017

Published December 13, 2017 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 © Sandra Crook

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Genre: Realistic Friction

Word Count: 100

HONESTLY

Today my muse has taken a break, leaving my brain to slosh about my skull. Ideas float in bubbles and pop into nothingness, with no beginning, middle or end.

So, I’ll share a bit of nonfiction.

April 12, 2012 I joined Friday Fictioneers. Straightaway I became addicted in 100 words or less. Months later, Madison, FF creator, appointed me to be her successor as leader of this global community.   

I enjoy our various cultures and would love to comment on each and every story. With life’s busy-ness, am I wrong or unreasonable to only do so with those who reciprocate?

BE IT EVER SO DYSFUNCTIONAL…

Published May 22, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks through  Portal, ND

Bizzy bizzy weekend so I’m late for the party, but I just can’t seem to avoid it. I’m not sure if it’s the lure of choosing my own prompt, since I choose the prompts for Friday Fictioneers. 😉 Nonetheless, it’s different and if the muse tells me a story I havta write it. Write? Of course, write! 

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Many thanks to J Hardy Carroll and K Rawson for hosting.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

The photo is a house in North Portal, Saskatchewan. My choice from Pegman’s smorgasbord.

Genre: Historical Faction

Word Count: 150

BE IT EVER SO DYSFUNCTIONAL, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE EMOH

Elise picked up a magazine from the end table and flipped through the pages, stopping at an article about Portal, North Dakota.  “Lovely place. Looks safe.”

“Let’s start where we left off.” Audrey peered over her reading glasses. “Tell me more about your childhood.”

“Idyllic. I drank from garden hoses and bought spoon malts from the ice cream man.”

Audrey’s mouth twisted to one side. “Last week you told me your uncle forced you to—”

“Did I ever tell you about my dog Ami? Odd little Beagle. Hated to be petted.”

“Evasive.” Audrey wrote on her clipboard. “Tell me more about the fights at the diner.”

Memories flooded Elise. Four years old again, she huddled under a table.            

Dad lunged at Mom. “You selfish bitch!”

Mom hurled a napkin holder, clipping his forehead. “I hate you!”  

Elise bit her trembling lip. “Aside from that, I had a perfect childhood.”

 

14 April 2017

Published April 12, 2017 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 © Dale Rogerson

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Please be considerate and try to keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.. 

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

HAND-TOSSED

            Monticello, a town in Upstate New York, is where we spent the summer of 1965, the last summer of my childhood, with my aunt and uncle. Having never traveled far from Kansas City, this was the adventure of my eleven-going-on-twelve-year-old lifetime.

            Unlike KC, restaurants like the pizzeria where I had my first ever, true pizza, stayed open all night.

            My brother handed me the red pepper. “Try this.”

            Aunt Lu scowled. “Go easy, Rochelle.”

            Did I listen? 

            Although the gooey cheese and sauce melted in my mouth, the pepper burned all the way down—and all the way back up. 

 

SCHUHLEDER

Published March 4, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks through a St. Louis neighborhood.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Since I chose the destination this week, I had no choice but to write a story. Right? Of course, right! 

Even at 150 words…50 over my normal flashes, I found myself wishing for more. 😉  Below is my choice of prompt. It brought back some wonderful childhood memories.

st-louis-home

Genre: Mostly Memoir-Some Fiction

Word Count: 150

SCHUHLEDER

            Compared to our ranch-style house in Kansas City, George Weinberg’s two-story in St. Louis seemed a veritable palace. I looked forward to sojourns with our cousins in the early 1960’s.

            Although George’s wife Carla, a German refugee, was generous and an impeccable housekeeper, her cooking left something to be desired—taste.  We didn’t dare complain. Carla had survived unbelievable hardship and she meant well, but how can a person ruin hamburgers?

            The summer I turned fifteen, Mom had dental surgery. Granting her request to be left alone, Dad took me to our favorite getaway for an overnight.

            It was dark when he woke me. “There’s a great diner around the corner.”

            Alas, Carla stood at the foot of the stairs, platter in hand. “Guten morgen!

            “Pancakes?” Dad’s stomach let out an audible whimper. “You shouldn’t have.”

            “Nonsense. I should let my guests leave hungry?”

            What’s the German word for ‘cowhide?’        

21 October 2016

Published October 19, 2016 by rochellewisoff

ANNOUNCING  GREAT NEWS!!!

Alicia Jamtaas has been published! Her short story, “A Private Death” has been included in the fall issue of  “Sweet Tree Review.” aliciaWay to go Alicia!

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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 © Claire Fuller

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Fuller

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Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

PENNY-ANTE

            Sunday was “Fan Tan” night when I was eight. My family played the card game for pennies.    

            “Where’s that seven of hearts?” Dad tossed a copper on the table with mock disgust. “Shelly? You only have one card left?”

            “The little brat’s got it,” said my fourteen-year-old brother pitching his coin.

            I batted my eyelashes. “Why, Jeffrey, whatever do you mean?” With a dramatic flourish, I laid down the seven. “I win!”

            It’s not the victories I remember as much as the unprecedented peace between my parents, my father’s relentless teasing, and laughing so hard I nearly wet my pants.

.

.

.jeff-and-rochelle-circa-1960-with-border

12 February 2016

Published February 10, 2016 by rochellewisoff

NEWS FLASH!!!

Last week we had another short story winner. Margaret Leggatt in Australia. 

To read her award winning story click 

HERE

Margarette

CONGRATULATIONS, MARGARET!

****

 

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette. 

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count. 

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

WHEN THE SUN CONCEIVED A WOMAN

            I tasted dusty tile floor. Aware of prying stares, lying in my own filth, I wished I could dissolve between the cracks of the thrift shop floor.

            A paramedic struggled to insert an IV into my collapsed vein. “What year is it?”

            “1996.”

            “Do you know your name?”

             My doctor’s words haunted me.

            “You’re going to end up dead on the bathroom floor like Karen Carpenter and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

             Was this the legacy I wanted to leave my children?

            Infused with renewed will to conquer the beast, I answered the EMT. “My name is Rochelle.”  

****

*Footnote-This was a major wake-up call and the first day of my decision to live. The following sketch is part of a series I did to go along with an inner child story I wrote while in treatment, entitled The Magic Daffodils. 

Bubblle Blowing

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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