A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s comment section.
CHASING WATERFALLS
“What’s the secret to happy life, Grandma?”
“Never stop pursuing your seemingly quixotic dreams. Work hard. Play harder.”
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.
On their flight to Oslo, Sonja rested against Niels’ shoulder. “My hero, my big brother taught me to fall. Leif said, ‘You fall the way a length of rope drops.’
“Good advice.” She giggled. “I fell on my bum in my first Olympic competition. Finished last. Only injured my pride.”
“I remember,” said Niels. “You were only eleven. Four years later you won your first Olympic gold medal.
“Figure eights.” She yawned. “Leaps and spins. The world was mine.”
“Still is, my love.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Sleep now.”
Fifty-seven-year-old Sonja Henie closed her eyes and skated to her final arena.
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section.
IT BEGAN IN 1971
(IN 71 WORDS)
“You’re not in love.” My mother fumed. “You’re in lust. Only eighteen. Too young to know your own mind.”
Nonetheless, I dug in my heels. My dad walked me down the aisle, a sorrowful expression on his face and tears in his eyes. “You can always come home if it doesn’t work out.”
“I give them six months,” said my aunt.
A paradox in progress.
Forty-nine years later, we’re still married.
This photo is only 15 minutes old at this posting.
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.
Adolescent Arthur Fellig rented a pony and took pictures of neighborhood kids with his secondhand View Camera.
“I wipe their faces and give ‘em a ride.” He winked. “Then sell their folks the photos.”
Years later, armed with a police-band radio, Speed Graphic camera and a makeshift darkroom in his trunk, he lurked in the shadows of New York. His black and whites captured the city’s seamier side like no others.
“You’re always on time.” Amazed reporters shook their heads. “You must have a Ouija board or something. What’s your secret?”
“Ain’t no secret.” Weegee shrugged. “F/8 and be there.”
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section.
THE CHILDREN’S MARCHING SONG
“Stupid song.” My brother turned the dial.
“It’s not your radio.”
“Is, too.”
Today, any wrangle is settled with a grin and
“It wasn’t your radio.”
“It was a stupid song.”
“Was not.”
I’m happy to report that sibling rivalry has turned to sibling revelry. Although both of us are still as ornery as we ever were. Blame it on our dad.
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 final Yuletide of the 19th century is upon us. What will the 20th hold? Perhaps we women will be allowed to vote.” Maud settled back against her pillows. “We’ll make it happen.” Light snow fell past her window. Nearby carolers sang, “Silent Night.”
Her latest illustration sat unfinished on her easel.
“Salutations, my little masterpiece.” She studied the infant in her arms. “I daresay those dark blue eyes shall turn brown. What a dear subject you’ll make, my Humphrey baby.”
“Humphrey baby indeed. Come to Papa, my son.” Maud’s husband Belmont lifted the child. “Merry Christmas, Humphrey Deforest Bogart!
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section.
This past week I posted a flash fiction of a granddaughter’s devotion to her grandmother who was a Holocaust survivor. I wrote it as a sequel to a story I posted the week before. One of our participants, an Israeli herself, Na’ama Yehuda, told me she knew someone who had done what the granddaughter did in remembrance. CLICK HERE TO READ
After one commenter asked about the configuration of numbers, I went to You Tube to find video footage to back my story. This video is a brilliant illustration of a phenomenon among children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors. I’m so touched by this I must share.
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.
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section.
This one’s fiction for me…but tragically not for everyone.
REPARATION
Each time he’d wail and beat his chest. “It’ll never happen again.”
Histrionics and lies.
Cosmetics couldn’t conceal the vicious truth.
Her flight left at 06:30.
At 10:00 they found the gun in his hand.
“Suicide,” said police.
Gazing out the airplane’s window, she smiled. “Nope. Never again.”
