12 December 2014

Published December 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is this week’s PROMPT. What stands out? What type of story does it tell you? Tell us in a hundred words or less.

My story comes after the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and crit. The artwork afterward is original and used for the sole purpose of illustrating my story. Permission required to use it. Thank you and shalom.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Sandra Crook

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

GRACE

In the midst of running, swimming and daily calisthenics, all at a frenetic pace, I fantasized about onion rings and fried chicken. Low numbers were all that mattered. One hundred calories per meal. Twenty pink pills to purge them. The scale hovered between eighty-five and eighty-four.

“You like my new jeans?” I asked my friend Linda. “I can’t believe they fit.”

“What size?” Her ice-blue gaze met mine.

“Zero.”

“You’ll look nice in your child-size coffin.”

__________

Now I run and swim at a comfortable pace and not a day goes by that I don’t thank Linda for my life.

Author’s Note: After I made the difficult decision to move on, Linda and I tossed those skinny jeans down the trash compactor in the backroom of our store. I don’t tell this to garner sympathy. It’s something I went through and have conquered with the help of excellent therapy and good friends. Life is all grist for the mill, isn’t it?

5 December 2014

Published December 3, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. What does it say to you? Tell us in one hundred words or less. And remember to

MAKE. EVERY. WORD. COUNT.

My story follows the prompt. I appreciate honest comments. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Janet Webb

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER, LONG AGO

“It’s so cold!” Marybeth shivered by the fireplace.

“This ain’t nothing.” Grandma Hattie’s wizened cheeks glistened in the flickering light. “1697, the year I turned twelve, winter commenced mid-November and by the last of March there was no sign of spring. The good Christians of Leonardtown blamed my teacher and friend Moll Dyer.”

“You knew her?”

“To this day I see them with their torches and tankards hollering, ‘witch! witch!’ as they set her hut ablaze.”

“They say she put a hex on the village, Grandma.”

“If anyone cursed them it was their precious God for slaying an innocent lamb.”

And

14 November 2014

Published November 12, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next PHOTO is the PROMPT. What kind of story does it tell you? Tell the rest of us in a hundred words or less. Would your story make sense without the photo?

My story follows the photo and the blue frog. I appreciate honest comments.

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FIRST DRAFT

“Can’t you imagine little Harry trying to climb the fig trees?” Ida’s eyes glittered. “He would’ve been three this year.”

“I miss him, too,” Harvey whispered.

Although his heart ached with loss, Harvey still counted his blessings. What could such a vibrant woman possibly see in him, a wheelchair bound invalid thirty years her senior?

“Maybe we’ll have another son. For now we have one hundred twenty acres of prime, undeveloped California land to subdivide.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with a kiss. “What shall we call our little town? Harryville?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s call it Hollywood.”

.

Daeida Hartell Wilcox Beveridge “The Mother of Hollywood”

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Harvey Henderson Wilcox

31 October 2014

Published October 29, 2014 by rochellewisoff

MAKE. EVERY.WORD. COUNT.

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Sit a while and study it. Does it tell you a story? Share it in 100 words or less.

PHOTO PROMPT-Copyright-Melanie Greenwood

There is only one PROMPT. Any sketches or photos following my story are meant to be illustrations for it.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 98

ROLE REVERSAL

“Your stepfather’s in this chair,” says Dr. Rice. “Talk to him.”

“I can’t. It’s empty. He croaked twenty years ago.”

“Try.”

I sit in the chair opposite my ‘stepfather.’ “You filthy pig.”

“Good start.”

“I’m glad you’re dead…Daddy.”

In that moment I’m thirteen. Just as he’s done since I was seven, he slips into my bed. I wrestle from his grasp.

“How did he die, Natalie?” asks Dr. Rice.

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I…” My hands sweat and shake. “I used his gun.”

“Tell me.”

“I’d do it again. He stole my life. I took his.”

.

Not the Photo Prompt. ORIGINAL ARTWORK – copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Keep it Legal

24 October 2014

Published October 22, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is this week’s PROMPT. What kind of a story does it tell you? Tell the rest of us in a hundred words or less.

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments.

😀 This week marks my second anniversary as your fearful leader. My first story as facilitator can be found here. Thanks to all who write, submit photos and support me week after week. I’m looking forward to a third great year. 😀

Shalom,

Rochelle

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright- The Reclining Gentleman

*Note: There is only ONE PHOTO PROMPT. Any photos or artwork following my story are meant to go with my story. Period!

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE OCEAN OF THE LORD

A winter wind blew across the pond. Trina huddled close to Brian on the bridge as a flock of ducks fought for the breadcrumbs he threw.

“Remember our wedding?” he asked. “Flowers in your hair. This same park.”

“Forty-five years ago.” She shivered. “In June.”

“I read where a pair of swans in England divorced.”

“I thought they mated for life. What happened?”

“Failure to breed.”

“Are you saying you want a divorce because we couldn’t…?” She held her breath.

He smiled and took her hand. “Let’s go home, my beautiful swan…”

With love and affection, Trina whispered, “…and practice.”

ORIGINAL ARTWORK. Copyright- Rochelle Wisoff-Fileds. Use by express permission only. Thank you.

AUTOMATIC BLUES

Published October 20, 2014 by rochellewisoff

I GOT THEM STEADILY DEPRESSING, LOW DOWN MIND MESSING, MY CAR’S IN THE SHOP AGAIN, BLUES.

This past year has not been the best year for my car. In fact I’m beginning to think it’s the incarnation of the Li’l Abner character with a cloud over his head. Remember him? For those of you who don’t…never mind.

In the midst of our frigid Missouri winter, my Chevy Cruz’s heater went out. So it spent some time in the shop. Due to the lack of a small part that had to be ordered my car was MIA longer than expected.

My joy at being back in my little car was short lived. The day after getting it back it died in the parking lot after work. This time it had to be towed to the dealership but not before I spent an hour in the car keeping warm and bandying words with the dingbat at the dispatch center. It seems she sent the tow truck driver to Lee’s Summit, Missouri when I’d specifically told her I was at 23^rd and Lee’s Summit Road in Independence, Missouri.

After another week in the shop, my car was returned in perfect working order. End of story? I wish.

About a month ago, on the way to work, a deer on a suicide mission ran out in front of me. While I was shaken by it, I wasn’t hurt and the car was drivable. Thank God for insurance and a $100 deductible.

Front end after hitting the deer.

A week ago last Thursday we were on our way home from an event when the driver of an SUV decided he needed our lane on the freeway as well as his own. He sideswiped us and barreled down the road not so gently into the rainy night.

Of course, the car’s back in the shop. Because we filed a police report and it’s a clear case of hit and run it won’t count against us on our insurance. I’m also grateful to be here. It could’ve been so much worse.

My story doesn’t end here.

I’m part of a dying breed of people in the United States who prefer a standard transmission as opposed to an automatic.

It wasn’t always so, but circumstances thirty-five years ago dictated.

When Jan taught me to drive a stick he assured me coordinating my left foot and right hand would become second nature. I had my doubts as I popped the clutch and bounced down the street like a rubber ball.

It happened as he said, though not overnight, it happened. Since then every car, I’ve owned has been a standard.

Ever hear of a loaner car with a standard transmission? I shouldn’t complain, right? It could be worse. At least I have a car.

An automatic requires intense concentration. When coming to a stop, my left foot trembles and my right hand wanders aimlessly. More than once I’ve slammed both feet on the brake and nearly catapulted myself through the windshield.

Tonight, I hope, my car’s coming back home, with luck, slightly worse for wear and virtually unwrinkled. I might take her for drive to experience the sheer joy of downshifting to a stop.

I hope my brake lights work.

17 October 2014

Published October 15, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the prompt. There’s much to look at. What do you see? Tell me in a hundred words or less. Then click the blue froggy guy after the prompt and link your story URL.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

HIBAKUSHA

When I was five my father opened our home to his widowed aunt.

“Why can’t Obasan live with her own children?” I whined and stamped my foot.

“Pikadon took them,” said Chichi. “We are her children now.”

“But she scares me.”

I soon saw past Obasan’s scarred face. Her stories delighted me. She taught me how to construct flapping birds and intricate shapes from colored paper.

One night she lay down to sleep and returned to the source.

Every year at O-Bon I honor her with mukae-bi, dance and sake.

Her elegant spirit surrounds me like a thousand winds.

.

Pikadon.

O-Bon

3 October 2014

Published October 1, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the prompt. Does it speak to you? What does it say?

My story follows the photo and the blue froggy fella. Comments and suggestions appreciated.

Copyright-Kent Bonham

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

REQUIEM IN C MINOR

“You must practice an hour a day,” said Mama. “People will come from miles around to hear you play. You have a gift.”

“I hate the violin,” I yelled. “I don’t want to be a musician.”

Once Mama made up her mind she only heard what she wanted to hear.

What choice did I have? I was only six.

Eight years later Mama’s prediction came true. People came from miles around to hear me play. My music was the last thing they heard on their way to the gas chambers.

Sweet music, the only color in Theriesenstadt, saved my life.

Author’s note for those who may ask how I arrived at this.

At first glance, this photo said nothing to me other than, “Yuck. Where’s the story in this and why did I choose it for a prompt?” At second glance I thought ‘dead bird.’ Nah. Trashed lollipop? Okay, forget about the articles, what about color? I didn’t see much of that. My mind went to the Holocaust, a part of history I think of in shades of gray. (Not the racy novel 😉 ) Next, Terezin, a town in Czechoslovakia that was turned into a ghetto and renamed Theriesenstadt came to mind. There the Nazis made a propaganda film to show the outside world their kind treatment of the Jews, when, in reality, it was a holding place on the road to extermination for most. My research path ultimately inspired me to write REQUIEM IN C MINOR. Thank you for reading.

Shalom,

Rochelle

19 September 2014

Published September 17, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell me your story. 😉

NOTE: All are welcome to participate but please tell the story on your blog page not in my comment section.

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

BY WAY OF JERICHO

“They say the minerals are curative.” My sister pointed to a picture of the Dead Sea. “Come with me.”

“You want salt?” I said. “I’ll buy you a box of Morton’s.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d rather visit Australia.”

“Be a pal. Think about it.”

___________

“I knew it wasn’t a cure,” my sister whispered from her hospice bed. “I just wanted to visit the Holy Land before I died.”

____________

The water’s buoyancy made it fun for us to swim but I’ll always prefer the Hebrew name Yam HaMelach, Sea of Salt, to Dead Sea.

I swim with her still.

.

“We have returned to the cisterns
To the market and to the market-place
A ram’s horn calls out on the Temple Mount
In the Old City.

And in the caves in the mountain
Thousands of suns shine –
We will once again descend to the Dead Sea
By way of Jericho! “

-from the song “Jerusalem of Gold.”

29 August 2014

Published August 27, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. This photo from Madison Woods sent a few squeamish writers running from their keyboards. If you’re an FF veteran, you may already have braved this slimy picture and written a story. It’s perfectly legal to repost or write a new one if you like.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Madison Woods

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By the time this page goes live I will be on a farm in upstate New York visiting my son and daughter in law. To learn more about what she does click here. I’m told the internet connection isn’t very good up there so chances are I won’t be doing much reading or commenting.

My story is from August 2012 when Madison was queen of this tangled grapevine.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

WILD LIFE

Half naked Himba people in Nambia, a sweaty camera crew and millions of TV viewers witnessed our marriage vows.

I willingly followed Trevor up the Himalayas, drank sun-scorched canteen water instead of Cabernet and swatted mosquitos in the Amazon.

In Nepal he slipped on something and narrowly escaped being trampled by a choleric elephant.

“I’m done,” he whispered later. “Let’s go home.”

“You are my home.”

Back in the states, safe from cheetah attacks and hippo stampedes, Trevor’s mangled body lies on a cold steel table. The driver, texting on her cell phone, never saw him cross the street.

As it appeared originally.