Love and more love

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Creation in Confinement

Published May 23, 2020 by rochellewisoff

I could begin this post will all kinds of platitudes about the strange new world that’s upon us but there are others who are doing a fine job of that. Which is not to say that I’m thumbing my nose at the powers that be, carrying a protest sign or refusing to wear a mask. None of the above need apply. I will admit to the strong desire to take a sledgehammer to the television when the news comes on. Yes, I want to stay informed, just not 24/7. 

The toughest part of shelter in place for me has been the closure of my fitness center. More specifically the lap pool. The last mile I swam, at this writing, was Friday, March 20 at 11:00 AM, but who’s counting? Not being able to go shopping (aside from grocery shopping) has been a minor inconvenience. Yes, I’ve missed going out to eat, but we have enjoyed carry out from some of our favorite places. I’ve been cooking more, and, truthfully enjoying it more. My blog challenge Friday Fictioneers, continues to thrive with plenty of loyal participants. 

As an introvert who enjoys alone time, particularly in the wee early morning hours before the sun inches over the horizon, I’ve continued to write and paint. There’s no greater joy than enjoying a cup of hot, black coffee while communing (or wrestling with) the muse. 

Swimming has been replaced by long walks and I continue my three-mile workouts on the elliptical trainer.  However neither form of exercise does it for me like an hour of swimming. It’s hard to explain that to non-mermaids. 

I will admit to panic buying the day before our town shut down. But not what you might think. It wasn’t toilet paper, but watercolor paper. I realized I only had two sheets of my favorite left. This would never do. Wasting no time, I pointed my little Chevy in the direction of the closest arts and crafts store. 

For the duration of the quarantine my easel has not been empty or my head so full. Any subject is fair game. To start off this season of obsessive rendering, my husband helped me set of a still life, featuring his new obsession; an autographed Zager guitar.

Olive’s birthday present. A portrait of her and her dog, Poppy. One of my favorite photos of the two of them.

My granddaughter Olive, who is a budding artist in her own right, was about to turn nine at the end of the month. (Bragging rights. 😉 ) Since she seems to like her bubbie’s art work, I set to work on a special birthday present for her. I had a print made for our wall, but send the original to her.  

What to do next?

I have the good fortune of being blessed with friends who know which end of a camera to use. Sometimes, they offer their photos and other times I…uh…erm…borrow them. The following painting is from an award winning photo taken by Ricky Yates.

Posting my process and the finished painting, has helped boost sales for prints and note cards. Not to mention it keeps me entertained.

Two more of my photographer friends, Dale and Marie Gail, loaned challenging photos that I couldn’t resist. In fact I had prints sold of the beach picture and following two before I ever made it to the printer:

From photo by Marie Gail Stratford

From a photo by Dale Rogerson

And then there were the ones I did from my own photos. 

I took this on the beach in NC last summer thinking it would make a good painting.

Am I the only person who takes pictures of the drinks when they go out to eat?

In the midst of this, I did have a commission, but am not at liberty to share that one. 😀

Then there was the day thunderstorms raged. I had to capture the shelf cloud caused by cool and warm air colliding. 

Meet Ruth Bear Starfire, one of the main characters in my novel, represented by Diane Nine at Ninespeakers.com. Hopefully she’ll find a home for WHAT THE HEART WANTS soon.

Here are the final three painted this past week: 

Granola passed away about 15 years ago. I still miss that silly girl.

Meet Liza Jane who owns Russell Gayer. What’s so Funny?

Before you ask, yes, I have another picture started. And, yes, prints will be available for sale.

Shalom,

Rochelle

22 May 2020

Published May 20, 2020 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 © CEAyr

Come on along and click the dancing frog to join the fun!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE LEADER OF THE BAND

Cossacks torched the shtetl of Tolochin. Flames shot up from Cantor Beilin’s home. Five-year-old Israel choked on the billowing smoke, huddled in a ditch with his brother and sisters. He had never seen Papa weep so.

A ship carried the Beilins to America. In New York’s Lower Eastside, Izzy discovered his talent and at thirteen sang on the streets for thrown pennies.

Music and America. His love for both welled up inside of him and spilled over in the songs he wrote.

Composer Jerome Kern said of Izzy, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American Music.”

***

Born in 1888, Irving Berlin lived to be 101. Trying en-capsulize him in 100 words is no easy task. While you might not be familiar with name, I’ll bet you’re familiar with his music. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (Scandalous in 1911), “Easter Parade,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “God Bless America,” and that seasonal favorite “White Christmas” to name a few. 

Irving Berlin 1906

August 18, 1790

Published May 17, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to America’s smallest state, Rhode Island. As always, feel free to stroll around until you feel inspired to write up to 150 words. When you’re finished, post a link to your story on the InLinkz page to share with the other contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on the other stories is a big part of the fun!

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge. 

Click the frog to join the fun. 

With all the beautiful pictures of Providence on the Google maps menu, my research road took me about 39 miles south of Providence to Newport.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUGUST 18, 1790

Twelve-year-old Jacob squirmed on the wooden seat between Papa and Grandpapa Aaron. The warm August breeze through the synagogue’s open windows made him sleepy. “Why must we be here today? It’s not Shabbat.”

            His grandfather patted his knee. “I came to this country when I was your age, you know.”

           “Yes, Grandpapa.” Jacob rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard how his grandfather came to the colony of Newport, Rhode Island to escape oppression in Brazil? “I know.”

           “What you don’t know,” Grandfather pointed to a tall man sitting in the seat of honor, “is today is the day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

            Twenty years later, Jacob held his son on his lap. “I will never forget the day President Washington spoke at Jeshuat Israel and said these words, ‘The government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution, no assistance.’”

*

*

Nu? How could I resist the first synagogue in America. Established in 1763? (Guess you could call that providence. 😉 )

Click to know more

Weekend Writing Prompt – Fade

Published May 16, 2020 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.

Counting on my fingers, to make sure I had the right number of syllables…I give you Haiku

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Flower petals fade

Shriveling blossoms will fall

The artist preserves.

(Realizes she has seven words left over.)

Weekend Writing Prompt – War Wound

Published May 9, 2020 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.

WAR WOUND

In research for a character in my novel-in-progress, I’ve watched some You Tube interviews with Vietnam veterans. Recently, one in particular captured my attention. The gentleman, who’s had a successful career as an actor since his discharge, spoke candidly of his deployment and subsequent wounding.

“Thirty years later, after bouts of alcoholism and depression I sought help for PTSD and found healing.”

He shrugged. “Thanks for your service? What does that mean? I get it. You mean well.” His voice caught in his throat and my breath caught in mine when he said, “I like best what we vets say to each other since we didn’t hear it when we came back, ‘Welcome home.’”

8 May 2020

Published May 6, 2020 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

GO AHEAD…CLICK ME!           

The following story is a work of fiction. Sadly, it’s based on fact for too many people. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

DRIVING THE BUS

Amy brushed, flossed and swished Listerine around her mouth. Spitting it out, she watched the blue liquid swirl down the drain. She raised her head, stared at her reflection, baring her teeth. “Minty fresh. I really gotta stop this ralphing crap.”

            She took a mental inventory of everything she’d eaten. Basically, she cleaned out the fridge. Twinkies, two toaster waffles, a banana, a cheese ball, three hardboiled eggs and so on.   

            She’d gotten the idea of taking Ipecac from a recovering bulimic’s book, meant to be a testimony of her victory over her eating disorder.

            “Handy little ‘how-to’ manual, eh?”

*Glossary:

Ralph is slang for vomit. Driving he Bus is slang for the same. 

Ipecac is a substance used to induce vomiting. Parents of small children keep it in the medicine cabinet in case of accidental poisoning. I had to use it once when my son was two.

Listerine, for those unfamiliar, is a brand of mouthwash popular in the States.

                           

Paradise Misplaced

Published May 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Dominican Republic. The island is rich in culture and heritage, chock full of wonderful possibilities for the alert storyteller. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to wander around until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then link your post using the blue frog below. Remember that reading and commenting on fellow contributors’ work is part of the experience.

Do your best, and have fun! Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting.

Genre: Fiction (probably someone’s reality)

Word Count: 150

This story stands alone, but is also a sequel to my Friday Fictioneers offering this week. Couldn’t help following Mr. and Mrs.Hap 😉

PARADISE MISPLACED

Basking in the ocean breeze, Gretchen stood on the balcony of their hotel suite gazing at the clear blue Caribbean waters. Although her marriage to Jared had a rocky beginning with him blowing a rod on the way to their wedding, she had no doubt the honeymoon would be perfect.

“La Rupiblica Dominica. I can’t wait to swim. I’m glad I took español in school. Didja notice how the waiter smiled when I ordered our dinner in his language?”

Behind her, Jared playfully nibbled her neck “That chicken dish was scrumptious but not as tasty as my bride.”

Gretchen’s stomach gurgled. “Speaking of food.”

“You’re looking a little green, darlin. I’ll go buy some 7-Up to settle your tummy.”

A cramp seized her. The floor tilted as she made a mad dash to the commode.

In the other room, Jared slammed drawers and wailed. “Hells bells, someone’s nabbed my wallet!”  

***

*Note here’s a LINK to the story I wrote when Pegman visited the Dominican Republic two years ago. I almost reposted and then decided not to.

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