21 November 2014

Published November 19, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Whether you spell it ‘tire’ or ‘tyre’ doesn’t matter. What matters is what you see. Step outside the box. I dare you. 😉

My story is after the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and crit.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Claire Fuller

It has come to my attention through a myriad of enthusiastic and well meaning comments in my comment section that inLinkz is requiring a log in from those using the code. I apologize for any confusion and encourage you to contact inLinkz.com DIRECTLY for help. Also, I’ve been told that the blue frog does a disappearing act from this page for some. I don’t know why this happens nor is there anything I can do about it. If you want to vent about it feel free to email me at Runtshell@gmail.com. I’ll do what I can.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PATENT US 5104 A

After weeks of rolling waves and seasickness, Robert William Thomson arrived in America. Banished. A fugitive all because he refused to go to Seminary. Sentenced to apprentice as a merchant with his uncle in Charleston.

The weary boy tried to find a comfortable position in the carriage as it lurched and bounced along the rock strewn road. His back ached with each bump and he longed for his beloved Scotland.

“I couldn’t learn Latin either,” said his uncle with a wink. “What would ye really like to do, laddie?”

“I’d like to take the corners off these bloody wheels.”

.

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14 November 2014

Published November 12, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next PHOTO is the PROMPT. What kind of story does it tell you? Tell the rest of us in a hundred words or less. Would your story make sense without the photo?

My story follows the photo and the blue frog. I appreciate honest comments.

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FIRST DRAFT

“Can’t you imagine little Harry trying to climb the fig trees?” Ida’s eyes glittered. “He would’ve been three this year.”

“I miss him, too,” Harvey whispered.

Although his heart ached with loss, Harvey still counted his blessings. What could such a vibrant woman possibly see in him, a wheelchair bound invalid thirty years her senior?

“Maybe we’ll have another son. For now we have one hundred twenty acres of prime, undeveloped California land to subdivide.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with a kiss. “What shall we call our little town? Harryville?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s call it Hollywood.”

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Daeida Hartell Wilcox Beveridge “The Mother of Hollywood”

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Harvey Henderson Wilcox

7 November 2014

Published November 5, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Remember…

*IMPORTANT NOTE -Please use the photo prompt in some way shape or form. Printing “Friday Fictioneers” in your tags doesn’t necessarily make it so.

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Study it and let it speak to you. My story follows the blue inLinkz frog .

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PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Jean L. Hays

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN AN EARLIER LIFE

“Too much studying will ruin you. Carpe Diem. Let’s play catch.” Ted grabbed Douglas’ notebook and pressed a pie tin into his hand.

“Catch? With this?”

“From the Frisbie Pie Company. It’s all the rage on campus.”

For the next hour Douglas forgot about Yale, final examinations and commencement. Tension from late nights hunched over text books lifted off his shoulders and a sense of euphoria filled him as he and Ted flung the whirling dish back and forth.

“This is bound to become a national sport,” cried Douglas.

“Tin Tossing Tournaments?”

“Why not?”

“School’s finally driven you mad, MacIlroy.”

LOGICAL CONCLUSION

Have I gone too far off the beaten path with this one?

Scout’s Honor, I started with the pictured Ford Edsels. In fact, I spent a whole day researching Edsel Bryant Ford, the only son of Henry Ford. While I learned a lot, I just couldn’t eke out a story.

However, the Edsel made its debut on my fourth birthday, 4 September 1957. What else happened in 1957? An online timeline showed that before Buddy Holly and the Crickets went to the top of the charts with “That’ll be the Day” in February, Wham-O introduced the first Frisbee 13 January. For some reason, this piqued my interest.

If you’d like to know more now, click here for the History of the Frisbee.

Aloha!

10 October 2014

Published October 8, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the photo prompt for the week. What do you see? What do you hear? Tell me in one hundred words or less, then click the blue froggy fella and link your story. My story follows the linkz and prompt. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism.

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

The boy stared out the window beside his bed and listened to his Alyn Ainsworth record. He tapped his fingers on the night stand in time to the music.

Sentenced to the ‘greenhouse,’ a children’s sanitarium, he’d celebrated his fourteenth birthday with tea, boredom and Streptomycin. Yet, after a year of incarceration, the doctors still considered Ritchie too ill to go home.

“Join our band,” said a nurse. “Bring your new banjo.”

“I’d rather play drums.”

Ten years later Ritchie smiled over his drum set at a sea of screaming teenagers as Ed Sullivan cried, “Ladies and gentleman, the Beatles!”

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3 October 2014

Published October 1, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the prompt. Does it speak to you? What does it say?

My story follows the photo and the blue froggy fella. Comments and suggestions appreciated.

Copyright-Kent Bonham

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

REQUIEM IN C MINOR

“You must practice an hour a day,” said Mama. “People will come from miles around to hear you play. You have a gift.”

“I hate the violin,” I yelled. “I don’t want to be a musician.”

Once Mama made up her mind she only heard what she wanted to hear.

What choice did I have? I was only six.

Eight years later Mama’s prediction came true. People came from miles around to hear me play. My music was the last thing they heard on their way to the gas chambers.

Sweet music, the only color in Theriesenstadt, saved my life.

Author’s note for those who may ask how I arrived at this.

At first glance, this photo said nothing to me other than, “Yuck. Where’s the story in this and why did I choose it for a prompt?” At second glance I thought ‘dead bird.’ Nah. Trashed lollipop? Okay, forget about the articles, what about color? I didn’t see much of that. My mind went to the Holocaust, a part of history I think of in shades of gray. (Not the racy novel 😉 ) Next, Terezin, a town in Czechoslovakia that was turned into a ghetto and renamed Theriesenstadt came to mind. There the Nazis made a propaganda film to show the outside world their kind treatment of the Jews, when, in reality, it was a holding place on the road to extermination for most. My research path ultimately inspired me to write REQUIEM IN C MINOR. Thank you for reading.

Shalom,

Rochelle

26 September 2014

Published September 24, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo you see is the PROMPT. Study it. What does it say to you? Tell me in a hundred words or less.

My story follows the prompt and the link. Click on little blue froggy fella and add your link. If reading and commenting on every story is daunting, try reading the five prior to yours and the five following. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 98

HELLO, MY NAME IS BILL

Against the cold wooden floor, labor pains wracked Emily’s back. One after another they came, each harder than the last. She closed her eyes to shut out onlookers’ stares but couldn’t block out their voices.

“Helluva place to have a kid.”

“Pour me another, Fayette.”

“Whaddya think, Gramps? Boy or girl?”

“Quarter says ‘boy.’”

“Pay them no mind, Emily,” said Mama. “Push!”

Over the din of cheers and clinking glasses William Griffith Wilson made his howling presence known.

“Born behind Grandpa’s bar,” whispered Emily as she cuddled her newborn. “Don’t suppose it’s some kind of omen, do you?”

Epilogue

12 September 2014

Published September 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Take time to think and reflect. How does it make you feel? What do you see?

Copyright – Janet Webb

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Genre: Smoke and Mirrors

Word count: 100

HARRY’S FIRST TURN

“Things were supposed to be better in America,” said Rabbi Weiss. “’Too old fashioned’ the congregation I built says, and just like that, I’m a pauper with nine mouths to feed.”

“It’s because you don’t speak English, Papa.” Ehrich looked up from his book.

“What’s this you’re reading?”

“The Book of the Sacred Magic.”

“Better you should study the Torah.”

“That didn’t do you much good, did it?”

“Impudence! To your room!”

Half an hour later Ehrich strolled into the parlor smiling triumphantly.

“How?” Rabbi Weiss gasped. “I locked you in.”

“My brain is the key that sets me free.”

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Click link for more info- Harry Houdini 1899

15 August 2014

Published August 13, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT

Let it speak to you. Does it tell you a story?

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

HOME FIRES BURNING

“Nights are long and my bed ever so cold…”

She stopped writing, crumpled her letter and recalled their conversation the day before he left.

_____

“The last time you went for six months it turned into four years.”

“I am needed there.”

“You are needed here.”

“Debbie, my dearest.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. “Accompany me. You will love London.”

______

Deborah Franklin laid another sheet of parchment on the desk, dipped her quill in the inkwell and wrote.

“Dear Benjamin,

I love you so. Had it not been for my ridiculous fear of the sea…”

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25 July 2014

Published July 23, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Let your imagination run free, free from the confines of the box. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

KONG FUZI

Like his imposing father, Qiu towered over most boys his age. Yet, unlike Shuliang He, he preferred serenity to battle.

“Eat.” Zhenzai stroked her son’s cheek and tapped his crooked nose. “Your rice is getting cold.”

He rolled his chopsticks between his thumb and forefinger, his gentle eyes filled with pain and tears.

“Mama, why am I so ugly?”

She hugged him. “Not so.”

“It is so.”

“Listen to me.” She tightened her embrace. “Someday you will be a great teacher.”

“No one will hear me. They will only see my face.”

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

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To learn more about Zhenzai click the Chinese calligraphy below.

**It seems that no two articles agreed on every point of the teacher’s life so all should be taken with an extra tablespoon of soy sauce and stirred with the proper chopsticks.

********

“The honorable and upright man keeps well away from both the slaughterhouse and the kitchen. And he allows no knives on his table.”

Kong Fuzi