EXCUSE THE DUST ON MY BLOUSE

Published December 8, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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.

136 words? That’s 36 more words than required in Friday Fictioneers. Naturally I’m compelled to share a flash fiction. Couple that with the fact that I read on Google this morning that this is the anniversary of the lady’s birth. Happy 155th Birthday, Camille Claudel!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 136

EXCUSE THE DUST ON MY BLOUSE

“It’s wrong for a girl to dirty her fingers in the mud.” Mère chided little Camille. “It’s against nature.”

Auguste stroked his thick beard. “You are a wonderfully talented sculptor, Camille. Quite a talent indeed. I shall make you my apprentice—take your gift to new heights.”

The nineteen year-old flushed. She couldn’t believe the great Rodin should consider her work worthy of his time.

Now her mother would eat her words.

Auguste pressed his lips against Camille’s neck. “You are as beautiful as you are gifted.”

She melted into his arms. “Mon cher professeur I love you.”

“Alas I cannot leave my Rose.”

Mère fumed. “I always knew you’d bring us shame.”

Camille left Auguste’s studio. Her work became her barricade against pain.

One critic described her as “A revolt against nature: a woman genius.”

To know more CLICK

6 December 2019

Published December 4, 2019 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 © Fatima Fakier Deria

SWIM ALONG WITH FROGGIE -CLICK!

Genre: Non-Fiction Out of Mind Experience

Word Count: 100

OUT THERE

Laps. Freestyle. I count backward from esreem v’arbah…backstroke, veintitres,…breaststroke, esreem v’shtayeem…and so on. The water’s rhythm sets my mind and spirit free. Free-flowing.

Somewhere around shtem-esrey, I lose count and go into some sort of trance. A waking dream. Keep swimming. Lights flash. Mirrors, as if on a carousel, spin about me. They reflect golden walls with Egyptian drawings. What side of the pool is this? Keep swimming. Gazing though the watery ceiling, I flip, change direction and dive under. Visions of nothing-in-particular bombard me.

Gertrude was right. “When we are in the water, we are not in this world.”

* Note: I can’t explain what happened, I can only tell you that this happened recently on Monday, October 28. At least this is the best way I know how to describe it.

Note 2: I count backward from 24 (3 sets of 24 actually, making it 72 lengths or 36 laps–a mile) alternating Hebrew with Spanish. It helps to keep me focused.

*

THE AMERICAN DREAM

Published December 1, 2019 by rochellewisoff

“Today Pegman visits the corner of Tulsa’s Greenwood Avenue and Archer Street.

The Greenwood district was a thriving African-American community with luxury shops, restaurants, grocery stores, hotels, jewelry and clothing stores, movie theaters, barbershops and salons, a library, pool halls, nightclubs and offices for doctors, lawyers and dentists. It had its own school system, post office, a savings and loan bank, hospital, and bus and taxi service

This is an unusual prompt today because it’s focused on a specific time and place, and as such is sort of an experiment. We at Pegman encourage you to look into this mostly-forgotten tragedy and write something about it, but as always you can write anything about Tulsa that strikes your fancy.”

CLICK THE FROG TO READ AND COMMENT ON THE STORIES OF OTHERS (AND TO ADD YOUR LINK 😉 )

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the Pegman Challenge. I couldn’t very well resist a challenge that includes history. My heart goes out to the people of Greenwood. I dream of a day we can appreciate each other’s differences instead of trying to snuff them out.

The aftermath. 35 city blocks were razed to the ground.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

THE AMERICAN DREAM

I knew nothing of the so-called race riot that took over 300 lives in our district of Greenwood until 1996 when the Today Show ran a story. After seeing it on television, my 80-year-old grandfather agreed to let me interview him for a school report.

“You must understand,” he squeezed my hand, “my memories are those of a five-year-old.”

I poised my pen over my notepad. “Go on, Poppy.”

His faded gaze looked past me. “Four men ran toward the house with guns and lighted torches. Bam! My daddy fell.” A tear streamed down a crevice of Poppy’s leathered cheek.

“Mama yelled to us kids, ‘get up under the bed.’ Which we did. My sister clapped her hand over my mouth when one of the men tromped on my finger. I can still feel it. They set fire to the curtains. Life as we knew it went up in smoke.”

29 November 2019

Published November 27, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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Happy Anniversary to Jan Fields, my first husband for 48 years as of November 28!

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 © C.E. Ayr

CLICK ON THE FROG TO JOIN

Genre: Historical Fiction circa late 1800’s

Word Count: 100

DIRECT OUR PATHS

“Dear Lord, we thank you for the bounty we are about to receive…for the Pilgrims and their faith…the first Thanksgiving…”

Folding her hands, ten-year-old Wawatseka renamed Victoria by her teachers, shut her eyes while Reverend Prichard droned on.

Grandfather’s stories wafted through her mind—a distant memory. “They feasted after each massacre of our people.”

Wawatseka’s ears ached for Mother’s songs and Father’s drumbeats. Detesting white gravy and mashed potatoes, Wawatseka longed for savory corn stew.

Thick fingers thumped her head. “Victoria! We’ve finished grace. What do you say?”

She glared at the reverend and, through clenched teeth, whispered, “Amen.”

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT – LONGEVITY

Published November 23, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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.

Although it doesn’t always, my title does factor into my word count this week.

My little attendants have grandchildren of their own.

Happy Anniversary to Jan Fields, my first husband for 48 years as of November 28!

LONGEVITY

“He’s too wild. She’s only 18 and he’s 25. I give it six months.” My mother told her friends. To me she repeated, “If things don’t work out you still have a bed here.”

The day I announced my first pregnancy her invitations changed to, “You made your bed, now you can lie in it.”

48 years, three sons and two granddaughters later, I still wake up in my bed next to my wild man.

Jan.

22 November 2019

Published November 20, 2019 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 © J Hardy Carroll

CLICK ON THE FROG TO JOIN

Before beginning my rather somber story, I have some happy news. My WIP entitled “What the Heart Wants” is under contract with agent Diane Nine of Nine Speakers, Inc. To read more about it click here.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PROJECT PINK

Dedrick intertwined his fingers with Levin’s long slender ones and stared at the ragged nails worn down by hauling stones from the quarry. Dedrick remembered winter nights when those elegant hands, never meant for such cruel labor, prepared succulent meals that would delight a king.

Levin’s hoarse voice brought him back to Auschwitz. “Dedrick, I—”

Dedrick pressed his finger against Levin’s chapped lips. “Save your strength.”

Bruises marred Levin’s flawless complexion. One long-lashed eye had swollen shut. He reached out and touched the pink triangle on Dedrick’s striped uniform. “You must know…”

Kissing Levin’s palm, Dedrick whispered, “I do.”

For more on this lesser known atrocity CLICK HERE

ECONOMICS

Published November 16, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Shewdagon Pagoda in Myanmar. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write up to 150 words inspired by this week’s location. Feel free to use the image supplied in the prompt, or take to Google maps and find your own view with in the borders of Myanmar.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the linkup below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this round the world blog challenge.

CLICK THE FROG TO JOIN

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 150

ECONOMICS

Muu Yi tugged at the wang around her neck. “It makes my shoulders hurt, Aahwarr.”

“You only have five coils.” Her grandmother glanced up from her loom and grinned. “Wait until you have eighteen like me.”

“Why do we wear them when a lot of the women in the village don’t?”

“Modern girls. They care nothing for tradition.” Aahwarr hunched over her weaving and clucked her tongue. Then she straightened. “Listen. I will tell you a story. Thousands of years ago, a sorcerer fell in love with and married a dragon. The dragon laid three eggs which became the Pa-Oh, the Karen and our tribe the Padaung. To honor our dragon mother we make our necks look like hers.”

“I am proud to wear the rings.” Muu Yi clapped her hands. “I like that story.”

“So do the tourists, little one.” Aahwarr patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “So do the tourists.”

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT – DRACONIAN

Published November 16, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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.

AROUND THE BLOCK

At her insistence I rose before the sun came up every morning. Throughout the day she sent me message after message. No matter what I did or where I went, she was ever-present, giving directions, barking orders.

“Not that way. Go this way.”

“Now?”

“Right now!”

She was relentless, never allowing me to sleep, flooding my mind with her words. The voices never ceased. Strangers stalked me. Images plagued me.

“Write every word I say.”

Now I strain to hear her assignments. There’s a story deep inside me, waiting to be burst forth. Why is my draconian taskmistress of a muse ignoring me?

15 November 2019

Published November 13, 2019 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.

Hop right up and Click the Frog

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

O MEIN PAPA

Papa belted out prayers with off-key passion. A few small congregations who couldn’t afford real cantors hired him as a ba’al tefillah.

Shabbos mornings, Natty Birnbaum stood close to him and sang. He’d bask in Papa’s approving smile. It was the only time he ever saw it.

When Natty was seven Papa passed away while reading prayers.

Nearly 100 years later, Birnbaum, better known as George Burns, remembered with a wry smile, “After he sang in one little synagogue, the following synagogue, instead of hiring him, they kept it closed during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.”

Natty never forgave God.

Wanna know more? Got 10 minutes? To watch the video CLICK HERE

WHITE NIGHTS

Published November 9, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman goes to Guyana, South America. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by this week’s location. Feel free to use the image supplied with the prompt, or zoom in to Guyana on Google Maps and find your own inspiration. Warning, there are not a lot of photo spheres, but the more you zoom around the more you’ll find.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the link up below. You may contribute, poetry, prose, or essay–or whatever the location inspires you to write. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

click the frog. You know you want to.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this challenge.

The following is an expanded version of a story I posted 4 years ago in Friday Fictioneers. For those of us who remember…let us never forget.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHITE NIGHTS

Like a frightened animal, the girl huddled in the darkest corner of an abandoned shack on the beach. I offered her refuge in my winter home in Bridgetown. After much coaxing she accepted.

“Where are your parents?” I asked. “Do they know where you are?”

She fell into my arms, shaking with anguished sobs. “Dead. Everyone’s dead.”

I embraced her, unable to stem my own tears. “You’re safe now.”

“He promised us a rainbow family in Paradise,” she whispered the next day over lunch.

“We saw the bastard on the news. How did you escape?”

“I told the guard Father wanted flowers for the meeting. I hid under bushes all day, ran all night and then stole a fishing boat. I floated a long time.” She licked her blistered lips.

“Scorcher today.” My husband burst onto the patio, pitcher in hand. “Kool-Aid anyone?”

“No, thank you.” She choked. “Not ever.”

DRINKING THE KOOL-AID