25 September 2015

Published September 23, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell us in one hundred words or less.

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

UNINVITED

‘Ezra the guardian,’ showed up at Jenna’s reception carrying his file, a tattered notebook full of yellowed newspaper clippings and dog-eared photos.

“What’s that screwball doing here?” I laughed at his sky-blue suitcoat and checkered trousers.

“Ask him to dance.” Jenna winked.

Ezra smiled at me and my scalp tingled.

“I’d sooner die.”

***

In my hasty getaway I collided with an oncoming semi. My windshield exploded, sharp pain shot through my chest and then all feeling ceased.

***

“Shall we dance?” whispers Ezra the guardian.

His smile brings me peace as we hover, hand in hand, over my mangled mortal coil.

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*Note: In Hebrew Ezra (עזרא) means ‘help’ and is similar to Azriel (עזריאל) which means ‘God’s help.’ Azriel the Archangel of Death. My story is in no way meant to promote a particular belief system, it’s merely the product of my imagination.

18 September 2015

Published September 16, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Does it speak to you? What does it say? Tell me in a hundred words or less.

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

PRICE OF A DREAM

At thirteen Myung Hee was three years older than the rest of my students. Despite my many scoldings, they laughed at her and called her babo.

One day I found her weeping in the schoolyard.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

“My baby brother and I escaped Kim Jong-il’s prison camp but two days later I buried him in the desert with only the stars to see. I thought South Korea would be the center of my dreams, but they lie with my brother in darkness.”

Myung Hee’s words resonated deep within me and, in that moment, the teacher became the student.

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11 September 2015

Published September 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell us a story in a hundred words or less.

Note: It’s friendly gesture, if not common courtesy, to acknowledge the photographer.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

MY COUNTRY ‘TIS OF THY PEOPLE YOU’RE DYING

Eighty winters have passed on Colville Reservation since Chief Joseph told us stories of our people, but his face is ever before me.

“My heart is sick when I remember their good words and broken promises,” he said. “They confiscated our land and pursued us for three moons until we were only forty miles from Canada and freedom.”

My twelve-year-old heart thumped wildly. “Why did you surrender?”

“Our children were freezing and their mothers had no food.” Chief Joseph’s weary eyes became distant clouds without lightning or thunder, heavy with rain. “I will fight no more against the white man.”

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Chief Joseph and Family c. 1880

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Nez Perce Canoe

This is kind of long but worth the listen if you have the time.

That’s Life

Published September 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

THAT’S LIFE

It isn’t often that my birthday falls on a Friday. In 1953, September 4^th also fell on Friday and I made my debut at 3:59 a.m. Perhaps that’s why I’m such an early riser.

I’ve been privileged to celebrate sixty-two birthdays, for the most part, in good health. When I was a child 62 meant Mah Jhong, rocking chairs and Geritol. But as I celebrate this, the beginning of my 63^rd year, it’s not old at all nor do I own a rocking chair. In fact 2015 has been, as Frank Sinatra sang, a very good year.

A ten-year journey has led up to this very good year, beginning with my first draft of PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME and soon after that, its sequel, FROM SILT AND ASHES. Writing quickly became my passion.

Along the way, I’ve had the good fortune of having mentors who taken the time to help me hone my craft. In the midst of it, Louella Turner, the owner of High Hill Press invited me to write and publish a short story anthology. THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER was released in November 2011 and features not only my short stories but my artwork as well.

Soon after that, I started a blog which, during its first year might have garnered ten views and three comments. One day as I surfed the net, I came across Madison Woods’ post with an open invitation to join a short story blog challenge called Friday Fictioneers.

How was I to know on April 12, 2012 that writing one hundred word flash fictions would become a magnificent addiction from which I do not care to recover? Nor did I know that within the inside of six months I would become the facilitator of Friday Fictioneers.

That same year, I signed a contract with my agent Jeanie Loiacono, president of Loiacono Literary Agency for my first novel.

Toward the end of January 2015, I received an email from her, saying she thought she was close to selling PSKFM and did I have FSAA ready to go? After three weeks of going over FROM SILT AND ASHES with fellow writer/editor/brutally honest friend, Douglas MacIlroy, I sent the manuscript to Jeanie.

https://ironwoodwind.wordpress.com/

March 13^th, Friday the thirteenth, if you will, I received an email from Jeanie that began, “I hope you’re sitting down…” William Connor of Argus Publishing wanted both novels!

PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME, also whipped into shape with help from Doug, was released May 8, 2015. So far, I’m pleased with the responses to it.

As many know I’ve been counting the days to my retirement, slated for October 4 of this year. I’ve been looking forward to switching gears from job to career which seems to have come sooner than later after a fashion.

One morning in June I woke with a sore spot on my gum. Thinking I’d rubbed it raw with my new electric toothbrush I ignored it. After two weeks the sore had swollen and my tooth ached. I finally went to the dentist who treated it with medication which didn’t help. By the end of July I discovered a white spot which turned out to be bone poking through. The dentist referred me to an oral surgeon who told me it needed to be taken care of immediately.

The beginning of August I had the surgery which did bring considerable relief. Happily I went for my follow up appointment only to be told that I’d developed Osteomyelitis, a bone infection, in my jaw.

To quote John Lennon, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I now find myself on six weeks short-term disability leave with a picc line in my arm and daily IV infusions of antibiotics.

It’s not nearly as horrible as it sounds and proves that blessings may come in strange disguises for I now have more time to spend with my husband Jan as well as time to pursue a dual career as author and illustrator.

In my mind I hear Old Blue Eyes singing and I smile and say, “Yes, Frank, that’s life.”

http://a-argusbooks.com/ http://www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com/ http://www.highhillpress.com/

***

Check out my author page on the Loiacono Website. Also Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Art and Blogs.

Available Internationally on Kindle and in Print

If you’ve read and enjoyed, please leave a review on one of these sites. It helps sell books. 😉

Shalom,

Rochelle

ANGUS & ROBERTSON AMAZON B&N BAM BOOKWORLD FISHPOND SHELFARI BOOK DEPOSITORY WATERSTONES GOODREADS IDREAMBOOKS

4 September 2015

Published September 2, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Tell me in a hundred words or less what story this tells you.

Note: There were quite a few who went over 100 words last week and felt that they couldn’t cut the excess without sacrificing their stories. I challenged one writer to cut 20 words and he rose to the occasion with skill. Trust me, it can be done.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

SEPTEMBER 4, 1953

Warmed by the breeze wafting through the open kitchen window, Evalyne read the Kansas City Star headline.

“Florence Chadwick swam the English Channel Friday,” she said and turned from the sports page to the crossword puzzle.

“The same day as our little girl’s birth,” said Bob. “Maybe she’ll beat Miss Chadwick’s record someday.”

“One across—six-letter word for storyteller—author. One down—six-letter word for painter—artist. She might be one of those.”

The baby cried. Bob jumped up, hurried to the next room and returned with their daughter in his arms.

“The future’s wide open for our Princess Rochelle.”

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No plans for the English Channel

Best two out of three.

***

Click to learn more about Florence Chadwick

28 August 2015

Published August 26, 2015 by rochellewisoff

*Note: It is also common courtesy to give the contributor of the photo credit in your post. The next photo in this gallery is the PHOTO PROMPT. Does it suggest a story to you? Tell us in one hundred words or less. My story will follow the inLinkz icon. I enjoy honest feedback and comments.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Claire Fuller

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

HAINING, JANE; PRISONER NUMBER 79467

When I was six they sent me to the girl’s home where I found Jane Haining the house matron. Sometimes I had trouble understanding her brogue-accented Hungarian but her love transcended all language barriers.

She mothered each of us as her own “wee bairns”, whether Jewish or Christian.

When the Nazis took over Budapest she disobeyed orders and refused to return to Scotland, saying, “If these children need me in days of sunshine, how much more in darkness?”

***

I study the numbers tattooed on my arm and I’m haunted by the question, “Why did I live and that angel die?”.

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21 August 2015

Published August 19, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. In a hundred words or less, what story does it tell?

PHOTO PROMPT – © C.E.Ayr

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Genre Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BEFORE KILROY

“Papa, tell me about your crazy friend Joseph Kyselak.”

“Not crazy, eccentric, Ilsa.” I squeeze my daughter’s hand as we walk down the street. “You’ve heard this story a hundred times.”

“Tell me a hundred and one.”

“Very well. Joseph bet me that within three years he would be famous all over Austria.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

I miss his easy laugh, sense of humor, and adventurous spirit. Cholera took him last year, but not before he won the wager. If you visit Austria you’ll see his name everywhere.

Ilsa traces the letters Joseph engraved on a nearby wall. “Kyselak”

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Father of Graffiti

14 August 2015

Published August 12, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Again, this is another blast from the past which, to most of you, will be a new one.

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There are some flash fictions of mine that I like better than others. This remains one of my favorites. It’s one of the first ten that I wrote when Madison was the chief cat herder. 😉 You can find the original post here.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

RENDEZVOUS

Golden arches and a drive-through replaced the baroque beacon on the hill. The French restaurant where we often met is long gone.

At our special table we shared crème brulée, class notes and anecdotes. Our careers left no room for marriage. He went his way and I went mine.

Two years later the embossed invitation came. Birth announcements and commencement notices followed me around the world.

Thirty summers passed.

When I read his wife’s obituary I wept.

***

I reminisce in McDonald’s parking lot. Someone taps my windshield.

Ink-black hair turned bone-white, Bordeaux in hand, he grins. “You saved our table.”

Character Study – Anzya

Published August 10, 2015 by rochellewisoff

“‘Stir the stew every ten minutes, Princess. Don’t let it burn.’ With a threatening scowl Anzya shoved past her nearly upsetting the laundry. Her mouth made a thin line under her narrow nose. She secured a black shawl over her kerchief.

“The sour woman seldom spoke and never smiled. Perhaps she had no teeth. When Havah asked Ulrich about her he said she was as much of a mystery as when she first came to work for him a year ago.”

~~Taken from Please Say Kaddish for Me by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ulrich’s kitchen is completely Kosher because he’s given his Jewish cook, Anzya, free rein. For reasons Havah, doesn’t understand, he is compassionate toward the bitter woman even though she returns his caring with animosity.

Anzya regards Havah with disdain and sarcastically calls her Princess.

At one point in the story, in a fit of anger she asks Havah, “How can you be so friendly to him? How can you let him touch you?”

“Ulrich? Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s a goy. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Anzya will soon understand that Ulrich isn’t just another gentile, nor is Havah a pampered princess.

***

Check out my author page on the Loiacono Website. For all of the character studies thus far, click on the link Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Art and Blogs.

Available Internationally on Kindle and in Print

If you’ve read and enjoyed, please leave a review on one of these sites. It helps sell books. 😉

Shalom,

Rochelle

ANGUS & ROBERTSON AMAZON B&N BAM BOOKWORLD FISHPOND SHELFARI BOOK DEPOSITORY WATERSTONES GOODREADS IDREAMBOOKS

7 August 2015

Published August 5, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. A few of you may recognize it from three years ago, although for most I think it will be new. Due to a current emergency, I’ll be recuperating from oral surgery by the time this post goes live. Next week will also be a repeat to allow more time to visit with out of town guests. So if I don’t answer your comments right away or comment on your story, you’ll know the reason why. Thanks to all of you for your understanding.

Shalom, Rochelle

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I posted the original version of this story May 11, 2012. I’ve taken the liberty of reworking it. The beauty of writing is that there’s always room to grow. If you’d like to read the original click here.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SLEEPWALK

Like a pearl brooch pinned to mottled velvet, the moon shone through a web of tree branches. A desperate voice yelled her name.

It was always the same dream. Kanzie would wake with a scream to everyday shadows and feel relieved by her comfortable darkness.

Then one night she woke up outside. Mississippi air stuck to her skin like a damp cloak. For the first time in twenty years she saw the trees rustling in the wind. Memories seared her.

Why did white-robed ghosts put that rope around her gentle Daddy’s neck? His terror-filled eyes drilled her.

“Kanzie, don’t look.”

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