3 January 2025

Published January 1, 2025 by rochellewisoff

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025, FRIDAY FICTIONEERS! HERE’S TO ANOTHER TWELVE MONTHS OF STORYTELLING!

Note: To anyone who has photos you think are prompt-worthy, please send them my way.

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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Non-Fiction
Word Count: 100

SOGGY HOLIDAY

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.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM BENJI, PIP AND DIVA.

27 December 2024

Published December 25, 2024 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 © Jennifer Pendergast

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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!

In Loving Memory of John Scheuch.

13 December 2024

Published December 11, 2024 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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Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

PACKRATS AND OTHER HOARDERS

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.”

6 December 2024

Published December 4, 2024 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

I
EXCEPTING ALICE

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. A whimsical 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:

This is a phoo of one of Alice's painted rocks. She enjoyed leaving them around for others to find and enjoy.

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.

CLICK to know more.

And if you really want to step back in time, (or have eighteen minutes with nothing better to do) here’s the song about Alice…and the restaurant:

15 November 2024

Published November 13, 2024 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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THE ANONYMOUS BATTLE RAGES ON!

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. 😀

11 October2024

Published October 9, 2024 by rochellewisoff

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he 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 © Mr. Binks

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

THREE STEPS AND A HOP

Ettore patted Jerry’s head. “How’s it going small fry?”

Twelve-year-old Jerry squared his shoulders, stretched to his full four-foot-three-inches, glaring up at his six-foot-tall eighteen-year-old brother. “Who you calling ‘small fry’?”

The youngest of eleven siblings, he’d always be the shortest.

Over the years his lack of height served him well as an actor and a stuntman. His hand and footprints appear in front of the famous Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood.

Puffing on his cigar, eighty-year-old Jerry Maren reminisced about his part in The Wizard of Oz. “Great times. That mangy mutt made better money than us Munchkins did.”

4 October 2024

Published October 2, 2024 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Science Fiction
Word Count: 100

GORT! KLAATU BARADA NIKTO!

My brother has always had a vivid imagination and a penchant for fabricating tall tales. This time I thought he’d gone too far.

“Too many sci-fi comics, kiddo,” I said. “If extraterrestrials had arrived on this planet, it would be all over the news.”

“I saw their spaceship land. They’ve set up weapons of mass destruction.”

At his insistence, we hiked to the site where I expected to have the last laugh. But now both of my hearts stand still as I watch the two-legged creatures in shiny suits lumber about their craft.

“Perhaps they come in peace,” I whisper.

And just for fun:

27 September 2024

Published September 25, 2024 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.

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Genre: Histrionic Fiction
Word Coutnt: 100

TWIXT WOOD AND LAUGHTER

Mae West said I was all wood and a yard long. Don’t remember her? Use your little fingers and do a Google search. That is, if you’re smart enough to use a computer.

(And they call me the dummy).

I don’t say much these days. I just watch the passersby at the Smithsonian Institution. I miss my buddy, Edgar who passed away in 1978. He treated me like a son. Some say he treated me better than his own daughter. To be fair, he only included one of us in his will. I’d be upset, too, if I were her.

CLICK HERE to learn more about Edgar Bergen

13 September 2024

Published September 11, 2024 by rochellewisoff

Please, please, sign your comments! Most of your names are coming through but there were at least five last week that were marked “Anonymous.” I really like to know to whom I’m replying. 😀 Thank you for your participation and reciprocation. Shalom, Rochelle

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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.

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THE BOX HEARD ‘ROUND THE WORLD

Dale folded a blanket and laid it in a box of linens. “I hate moving.”

Rochelle taped the top of another box and labeled it Bedroom with a marker. “Ever wonder who invented them?”

“Invented what?”

“Cardboard boxes.”

“No.”

“Robert Gair, who came to the United States in 1853 from Scotland on a ship by himself. He was only fourteen at the time. Can you imagine what that must’ve been like? Later he fought in the Civil War and after that, he worked in a paper factory.”

“So how did he invent the box?”

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of words.”

CLICK for a lot more about Robert Gair

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

It’s still summer! 😉

9 August 2024

Published August 7, 2024 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.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

Clarabella climbed onto Alfred’s lap. “Tell me about Jacob, Grandad.”

“I was a lad in 1842, not quite nineteen, serving with the Coldstream Guard in the Canadian colonies. One of me mates had rescued a goose from a fox whilst on sentry duty. After that, the bird made himself quite at home, so we named him Jacob.”

Clarabella clapped her hands. “One night, Jacob spied some French rebels sneaking through the snow to attack. He squawked and flew at them. Your regiment showed their gratitude by making hiim an officer.”

“I’ve told you this story before, haven’t I?”

“O-Yes, Grandad.”

Some things you just can’t make up. CLICK HERE to meet the real Jacob