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I was nine years old when I saw Day of the Triffids, a movie about man-eating plants. They crashed through windows and chomped off heads of unsuspecting humans, engulfing the world in an avalanche of terror.
Eighteen years ago, after surgery, my husband was gifted with a houseplant. Pothos—known for its tenacity. It grew from one end of our living room to the other, until an accident broke off its long tendrils.
Still, it thrives.
Maybe it’s my wild imagination, but should I be concerned about those chomping noises I sometimes hear in the middle of the night?
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.
I’m indulging in a bit more of an intro than usual. I want to share how I got from Jen’s photo to the story I ended up with. At first, I zeroed in on the game Sorry which I played a lot when I was a child. Later, I would play it with my kids. So naturally I Googled the history of the game and came up with George Swinnerton Parker, founder of Parker Brothers and inventor of such games as Sorry, Tiddly Winks and Monopoly. Then as I was playing Scrabble on my iPad, which I do several times a day, it occurred to me I was following the wrong thread. This story is based on my own family history. 😉
Genre: Anecdote Word Count:100
GAME ON
In 1948 James Brunot redesigned the game Criss Cross and renamed it Scrabble. It was first marketed in Great Britain in 1954.
My parents played on otherwise quiet evenings.
Mom was an avid crossword puzzle worker. Dad’s vocabulary didn’t compare to hers.
She spelled out, “QUA”
“What the hell is that? I challenge!” Flipping through dictionary, he muttered, “Oh, here it is, ‘being; in the character of’” Then he played his tiles. “SCREAM. Double word. Beat that, Mrs. Know-it-all.”
Mom added five letters to QUA to form SQUABBLE. “Triple word and my name for this game. I win. I quit.”
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.
“Something’s happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.”
My thoughts scatter this morning like bits of flotsam, jetsam and lagan. The news blares in my ears and assaults my mind. Opinions swirl and spin with tornadic force. As the saying goes, everybody has one…nu?
Meanwhile, I’m gagging on social mediafast food.
Yes. I have my own views. I don’t care to get into a virtual shouting match. Speak to me in private. I’ll say what I think. Or maybe I won’t. I hope we can still be friends. If not, perhaps we were never friends to begin with.
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.
If this photo prompt looks familiar to you, it’s because it’s a rerun from Aptil 2016. I’m sort of rerunning my story from that week although it needed tweaking. 😉
Genre: Fact and Fiction Word Count: 100
SOURCE OF KNOWLEDGE
At a critique group I shared an excerpt from my historical novel set in 1904.
“‘…The taller officer, an imposing presence with dark skin, fascinated Havah. Although she had read about them in Professor Dietrich’s books about Africa and American history, she had never met a Negro face to face.’”
“I hate to burst your bubble,” said another writer with self-assured conviction. “I doubt there would’ve been a black officer back then.”
Returning her smug smile, I opened my Kansas City history book to a photo of Lafayette Tillman on horseback. “Second one on the KC force.”
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.
It is true that I’ve always loved purple—all shades of it, from pale lavender to deep violet.
It’s more than a color, or colour, depending on your locale. In North Carolina there’s even a boutique called, of all things, Purpleologist. They sell everything from knickknacks to jewelry, sunglasses, and clothes.
Twelve years ago, at a writer’s workshop, we bloggers were encouraged to create a memorable title to build our brand. “Addicted to Purple” was born—a bit of humor that seems to have caught on. That’s all.
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.
I purchased my tickets last March, for my annual North Carolina, “sibling revelry” visit, dreaming of sunshine, beach combing and ocean swimming.
August came. In anticipation, I boarded my flight in Kansas City. My thirty-minute layover in Charlotte turned into two and a half hours in a thunderstorm. After a thirty-minute flight I was greeted by my brother and his wife in Wilmington after midnight.
Lost luggage, computer glitches, Hurricane Debby (not to be confused with my gentle sister-in-law Debbie), and a rained-out concert made for a challenging “getaway.” And that, my friends, is how I spent my summer vacation.
We made it to the beach…once…for an hour. After that the heavens opened once more.
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.
Happy holidays to all who celebrate at this time of the year! In light of that and the fact that I’ve been battling some kind of sinus crud, today’s story is a rerun. However, the prompt is new. 😉
Genre: Pure Fiction Word Count: 100
SUBJECT TO CHANGE
Ted set up a row of chairs in the reception hall. Jessica plopped down on one and pouted. “This is all-kinds-of wrong.” “Hey sis, ever hear of John Cram?” “No.” “Lemme educate you. John Cram patented the folding chair in 1855. Then in 1947 Fred Arnold created the first aluminum one and by 1957 his company was manufacturing—” “Ooh, cram your history, Mr. Wikipedia.” Jessica gritted her teeth. Tears stung her eyes. “It’s just not fair.” Ted hugged her. “You’re going to be a gorgeous bride tomorrow.” “What about my garden wedding? It’s not supposed to snow in May!
We celebrate both holidays in our house! Happy Merry from us to you!
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Dennis looked over Charlotte’s shoulder at her bulky pickup list. “Wrecked bicycle. Check. Commodore computer. Wait! Not my bench!”
“Anyone who sits on it risks getting a butt full of splinters.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He sank down. “This is where I used to sing Abby to sleep, help her with her homework, and wait for her to come home from her dates. My claw marks are still on the armrests.”
A small boy crawled onto Dennis’s lap. “I want to sit on Grandpa’s special bench, too.”
Charlotte crossed out bench. “You win.”
Dennis frowned. “Now, about that Commodore computer.”
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.
Despite my husband’s protests, I gather seashells along a Massachusetts beach. They are my favorite souvenirs from my travels.
I pick up a rock and hold it in the palm of my hand. Awhimsical drawing of a cat smiles at me.
Later as we have lunch at Theresa’s Stockbridge Café, I show my find to our server.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “You don’t see many of those on the beach these days. That’s an Alice original.”
My heart pounds. “You mean as in the Alice?”
“Yes!”
Suddenly I find myself singing, “You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant.”
The photo prompt this week is mine and while it’s true that I can’t resist collecting shells on the beach, the ones pictured came from St. Thomas, Florida, and Wilmington NC. I’ve never been to Massachusetts. 😉
Click the images below for the full pictures:
Genre: Tribute – Non Fiction Word Count: 100
II REMEMBER ALICE?
Alice’s Restaurant wasn’t really a song about Alice—or a restaurant. It’s just the name of the song.
As the story goes, “It all started two Thanksgivings ago…”
Rock stations across the United States play Arlo Guthrie’s classic narrative every Thanksgiving which falls in late November.
While she enjoyed cooking, Alice Brock never expected fame or fortune to come of it. In recent years, she reminisced how, thanks to her “funny looking friend with the guitar,” and his eighteen-minute ramble, she became the “living legend Earth Mother.”
She left us this year, a week before Thanksgiving. Rest in peace, Alice.
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Please, be a pal, and identify yourself in your comments. I kind of like to know to whom I’m replying to. Thank you. 😀
Genre: Hysterical Faction Word Count: 100
HONEYMOON PHASE
I gave my parents a tour of the apartment and said, “Only $85.00 a month.” Mom glared through tears at the black and red kitchen cabinets. “It’s a dump. You’re only eighteen. Please reconsider this.”
After our wedding, my husband and I moved into our first home—a four-room apartment in the attic of a turn-of-the-twentieth-century two-story brick house. The paper-thin walls allowed us to hear every word spoken by our pothead next door neighbors—usually uttered after midnight.
I could be a romantic and say that to us it seemed like a palace. Nah. It really was a dump.
This is the only picture we have that was taken inside the apartment. (December 1971) Sadly you can’t experience the end tables made of old barrels (speakers inside them) with cast-off marble tops. Between those was the green naugahide couch. Across from them was the portable black and white TV on rough board shelves propped up on cinder blocks.
Once satisfied that I wasn’t in a family way, our parents gave us six months….53 years ago. 😀
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 