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.
Another trip around the sun is complete. I’ve welcomed the new year. Resolutions? No. Like Christmas toys they’re, more-often-than-not, abandoned by February first. Goals? Yes. For one, I’m shooting for two-hundred swim miles by December.
Other goals include releasing a new novel.
Scrolling through a lengthy list of my publisher’s suggested edits, I fight the urge to turn off the computer and hide under my bed with the dust bunnies.
Steady girl. You’ve got this. There are paintings to be painted and an important story to tell.
A milestone birthday and new chapter of life loom large on my horizon.
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.
This year has zipped by and now we are ready to take the final Friday Fictioneers challenge…of the year. 😉 To find my story I did a Google search of famous people born on the first of January. This is where it led me.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
TRUE CHARITY
In our home in Jerusalem, we celebrated holidays according to the lunar calendar. Rosh HaShana, which fell in autumn, was the beginning of our new year. However, my grandfather raised a glass of champagne every January 1st.
“To Chiune Sugihara, a true hero.”
“What did he do, Saba?” I asked.
“What did he do? Funny you should ask.” Saba’s eyes misted. “Mr. Sugihara was the Japanese consul in Lithuania. He issued visas to some 6000 Jews. Thanks to him we escaped the Nazis.”
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.
“‘The sun is shining, the grass is green, the orange and palm trees sway—’” Kent looked up from his book. “The song wouldn’t have been the same with those opening lines.”
Shelley yawned. “What song, O master of entertainment trivia?”
“White Christmas of course.”
“Tell me more. I’ll pretend to be interested.”
“Irving Berlin wrote it for “Holiday Inn,” and snagged the Oscar for best song of 1942. Bing Crosby’s recording of “White Christmas” hit the top of the charts by Halloween. Can you imagine the holidays without it?”
“He was Jewish, you know.”
“Crosby?”
“No, Einstein—Irving Berlin.”
Just for fun here’s the song with the original first verse:
And here’s the song as sung in the movie “Holiday Inn.”
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.
“What do you think, Tante Margarete?” Richard Steiff held up a stuffed bear. “His arms and legs move. He’s soft and cuddly mohair.”
Richard’s creative aunt who’d been paralyzed by polio as a toddler had against all odds, founded Steiff Manufacturing in 1880. Her felt elephants and other animals were favorites of thousands of German children.
She took the bear in her arms. “He is darling. But will he sell?”
“May I enter him in the Leipzig toy trade fair?”
“Viel Glück.”
Margarete’s question was answered in 1903 when an American trader ordered 3,000 bears and renamed them Teddy Bear.
*viel glück – good luck in German
Conflicting stories abound when it comes to the Teddy Bear named for President Theodore Roosevelt. This one seems feesible to me. CLICK HERE to learn more about this remarkable woman.
CLICK HEREif you’d like to read the other side of the Teddy Bear’s history. I don’t propose to know which story is true. One thing is for sure and certain and that’s the popularity of the Teddy bear.
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.
81 years ago today, December 7, 1941, the Japanese launched a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. President Franklin D. Roosevelt proclaimed it a “date which will live in infamy.”
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
Click below to hear the author (me 😉 ) read:
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
A few flakes floated by the window and colored lights reflected in the glass. Dennis Day sang a romantic tune on the radio. Laura sipped hot chocolate and read Fred’s letter at least a tenth time since it arrived Friday.
“November 26, 1941
My dearest,
Happy Thanksgiving from the USS Arizona! I sure do miss your cooking. I swear our gravy was mixed with fuel oil.
I hope my presents get there on time. You’d love Hawaii. The flowers. The beaches. But, golly, it won’t seem like Christmas without snow and my best girl.
“Ladies and gentleman, a special announcement…”
*No, it wasn’t happy news. There were a total of 2,335 military personnel killed, including 2,008 navy personnel, 109 marines, and 218 army. Added to this were 68 civilians, making the total 2403 people dead. 1,177 were from the USS Arizona.
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.
How did we get to December already? I want to take a moment to thank all of you who’ve contintued with Friday Fictioneers. You’re all a gift to me.
My story below is pure non-fiction. Rarely has a patron of an art fair followed through with “I’ll definitely get back with you about a commission.” Rarely? Now that I think about…never. I really thought this one was a sure thing.
Genre: Just the Facts Word Count: 100
HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL
She held up her iPhone with a photo of a windmill at sunset. “Have you ever painted a scene like this?”
The brilliant oranges and golds spoke to me. “Could you text it to me?”
Her face lit up. “Done. Let me know if you paint it.”
Within days, the painting was done—one of my best according to my husband. I sent a jpeg to my potential client.
“I want it.” She replied. “How much?”
She agreed to the price. I packaged it with receipt and certificate of authenticity.
A sure sale? Ha! I never heard from her again.
Not to despair. Although the original still languishes in my studio, wrapped and ready to roll, I’ve sold many prints and note cards with this picture. Nothing’s wasted. 😉
For listings of my original paintings or signed prints CLICK HERE
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 and story look familiar to you, thank you for being a Friday Fictioneer for at least seven years. It’s a rerun from 2015. This Thursday, November 24th is the holiday we in the States call Thanksgiving. Being thankful for what we have is a good thing. Celebrating with family and friends is also a good thing. I’m looking forward to spending time with family and eating the traditional bird along with trimmings.
It is also Native American Heritage Month. Let’s not forget at what cost our freedom came.
Genre: Somewhat Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
KESHAGESH
“The Pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower onto Plymouth Rock,” Matthew read aloud. “Friendly Indians helped them plant corn and—”
“They should’ve been called Pillagers.” Rita fumed, snatched his paper and ripped it apart. “We’re indigenous and this is not India.”
“Mom, that’s my homework.”
She handed him another sheet of paper. “Write this, Matthew Thundercloud, not what you think your teacher wants to hear.
“They robbed graves, stole our land, enslaved us, murdered our children, forced their Christian religion upon us and gave us smallpox.”
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.
The following story is 100% true. Should you care to read the expanded blog post from 2014 CLICK HERE (Boring really). At any rate this is my sordid story is inspireded by Stars’ photo.
Gnere: Embarrassing Anecdote Word Count: 100
FRACTURED FLICKERS
Until eight years ago I’d never broken a bone. Not even a pinkie finger. Sometimes I felt cheated. I never got a nifty cast for friends to sign.
One morning, heading to the kitchen for coffee I stubbed my big toe. After work I made a beeline for the doctor’s office.
An X-ray showed a fracture at the top joint.
To add injury to injury, before the left toe had a chance to heal, I fractured my right toe getting out of the bathtub.
They don’t set broken toes, but I did get a nifty orthopedic sandal and a boot.
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.
As we open this Wednesday, November 9, it is 86 year to the day since the violent Kristallnacht. This week I honor the often forgotten victims of the Holocaust.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
AMIDST THE SHADOWS
My parents met in a displaced persons camp after the liberation. Each of them had lost both a spouse and a daughter. Finding solace in each other’s arms, I think they married more for convenience than love.
Born in 1949, they named me Sarah-Elisheva after their slain children.
One morning when I was ten, I made breakfast.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dad grimaced. “My Elisheva never burned the toast.”
“I’m not Elisheva. I’m not Sarah! I’m me!”
He flew into a rage and slapped me. Mom screamed.
Obscured by my sisters’ memories, Auschwitz will forever be tattooed into my soul.
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.
November 9–10, 1938, Nazi leaders unleashed a series of pogroms against the Jewish population in Germany and recently incorporated territories. This event became known as Kristallnacht (The Night of Broken Glass) because of the shattered glass that littered the streets after the vandalism and destruction of Jewish-owned businesses, synagogues, and homes. This was only the beginning of one of the most barbaric and vicious times in recent history.
We say “never again.” But...
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
THE SPIRIT NEVER DIES
With eyes that pierced her soul, Dr. Mengele told 16-year-old Edith, “You’ll see your mother soon. She’s just going to take a shower.”
That same evening, he forced her to dance for him.
For decades she grappled with guilt. “Why me? Why did I live?”
When her patients, Vietnam veterans, would ask her the same question she realized, as a clinical psychologist, she’d never found the answer for herself.
In 1990 she returned to Auschwitz where she allowed her mother’s final words to heal her soul. “No one can take away from you what you put in your own mind.”
If you have a few minutes to spare, you can listen to Dr. Eger’s story in her own words. HERE
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HAPPY NEWS!
My work in progress, LAST DANCE WITH ANNIE, is under contract with Ozark Hollow Press!
Short Summary
Elise, a military spouse and mom in the throes of midlife, dances three times a day with the most relentless partner, her secret nemesis she’s nicknamed “Annie Wrecks-Ya.” Will Elise’s strive for perfection kill her, or will she learn to let go and face the truth: she’s an addict. At the same time, her devoted husband Tony feels helpless to save her as he battles demons of his own that followed him home from war.
Can Elise and Tony join forces and defeat these threats to their lives and their marriage? And can Elise learn to dance again, this time with the carefree joy she experienced as a child.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 