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.
BY DEFINITION
Breathing in the volume’s musty aroma,
The secondhand bookstore patron opens a volume.
Rife with intricate engravings and photographs
It tells stories of long ago.
She relishes the feel of pages between her hungry fingers.
Tattered leather bindings with embossed titles entice her.
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.
This month marks my 9th year as FFFacilitator. Something I never expected when I asked creator, Madison Woods how to join. It was love at first write. A great way to learn word conservation. 😀
Genre: Memoir Word Count: 100
STARGAZING
The closest I’ll ever come to space exploration came through Douglas MacIlroy who used to be a nighttime Keck Observatory tech.
Soon after he commented on a piece I’d written I noticed his green dot at 04:00 on Facebook and said, “Hello.”
Between my early rising and his all-nighters, our online friendship grew.
One morning, Doug messaged me. “Did you get her email? Madison’s stepping down as facilitator.”
“What will I do without Friday Fictioneers?”
“You should take it on.”
“I’m no leader.”
My husband chimed in. “Why not you?”
The rest of the story is written in the stars.
Doug and me a few years ago when he came here for a disc golf tournament. Blogging can lead to unexpected and lasting friendships.
Apologies for the tardiness of this post. As most know, I schedule ahead. It turns out I scheduled for the wrong day. Again my humble apologies for the error.
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 ever so clever Keith Hillman designed this one and I had to snag it! CLICK TO JOIN
Genre: Realistic Fiction Word Count: 100
I’LL HAVE WHAT SHE’S HAVING
“You can’t beat us Jews for food.” Rochelle bit into a thick pastrami on rye and savored the salty meat, slathered with mustard. She wiped the dribbled juices from her chin. “It’s almost a religious experience.”
“Where’s the mayo?”
She slapped Jan’s hand. “Don’t you dare, Goy Wonder.”
“May I, at least, have ketchup on the fries?”
“Katz’s Delicatessen was established in 1888 by Eastern European immigrants Morris and Hyman Iceland. Their cousin Sam Katz joined them in 1903. Eventually, they shortened the name from Iceland and Katz to the present one.
“Do you charge extra for the history lesson?”
* * *
You’ll find Katz’s Deli on Houston Street (that’s pronounced HOWston). Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal shared lunch there in the movie “When Harry Met Sally.” CLICK to watch.
I’m here to tell you, the pastrami is amazing! If you’re ever in New York City, you owe it to yourself. Don’t forget the pickled tomatoes and seltzer.😉 Remember to leave a tip.
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.
Life is made up of challenges, isn’t it? What more can a person do than play the hand she’s been dealt?
My mother often spoke of the vicious morning sickness she suffered during her pregnancy in the 1960’s.
“My doctor called it a miracle drug,” she said with tears streaming. “One little pill cured my nausea.”
You would think I’d be used to the gawking stares. Born with fingers protruding from my shoulders, I resigned myself to the merry-go-round of prosthetics and wheelchairs a long time ago.
Nonetheless, I dream of winning a foot race.
If only I had feet.
* * * Some may remember the Thalidomide scandal in the UK in the 1960’s. In England the drug was called Destival. Taken by pregnant women for morning sickness, it caused horrendous birth defects. It’s only recently come to light that, while the drug wasn’t approved by the FDA in the States the Wm. S. Merrell Co. distributed it.
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.
Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100 PHOTOGRAPHS AND MEMORIES
“Antique photographs fascinate me.” Rochelle rinsed her paintbrush. “Wouldn’t you love to know what the people in them are thinking?’
Russell scratched his chin as if deep in thought. “The kid is probably wishing the photographer would hurry up and get it over with. His father’s thirsty for a tall cold one.”
“The woman wants to loosen her corset.” Dale leaned back in her chair. “Can you imagine being imprisoned in one of those contraptions?”
“Dear me, no,” said the grandmother of nine. “I wonder what Zing and Zang would say?”
“There you go.” Rochelle grinned. “Our next photo prompt!”
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.
Seven years ago, after a long silence, Linda called me. “I need to hear your voice, Rocky. Are you okay?”
I laughed, happy to hear her voice. “Those eating disorder days are way behind me.”
We called her Mother Tucker. She was a platinum blonde firebrand who never suffered fools gladly. No one saw through my lies faster, loved me as fiercely or hurt me as deeply.
“I’m your bad habit.” She’d say, her eyes flashing ice-blue flames.
Recently I learned the damned virus took her. I whisper through tears, “I need to hear your voice, Linda. Are you okay?”
***
I worked with Linda Tucker in the late 90’s. She saw me through the worst of my eating disorder. She’s also the one who nicknamed me “Rocky.” No matter how I fought it, the name stuck. My former coworkers still call me Rocky. For a time Linda and I parted ways (a story for another time…or not 😉 ) We hadn’t spoken for years when she turned up on Facebook and then called. R.I.P. Mother Tucker.
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.
“Don’t go, Elisha. Please.” Elizabeth grasped his arm. “Don’t make me a widow.”
He caressed her cheek. “Have faith, Lizzie.”
Sweat beading on his forehead and sluicing between his shoulder blades, he stepped onto the platform.
As it rose higher and higher, he gazed over the edge at the hushed crowd and questioned his own sanity.
He called out to the axe man. “Cut the rope.”
A collective gasp erupted from the audience. Elisha Otis’ stomach somersaulted as the platform dropped, then halted. Thunderous applause exploded in his ears. His safety locking mechanism worked, and the modern elevator was born.
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 was the early 70’s. I guess you could’ve called it our…
HONEYMOON SUITE
“The rent is $85.00 a month,” said the landlady, cuddling her Schnauzer. “No pets allowed.”
What can I say about that ramshackle, third-floor walkup comprised of four rooms and one closet? It was our first home together and within walking distance of my school, the Art Institute.
A former tenant had painted the kitchen cabinets red and black. Try waking up to that every morning.
The walls must have been constructed of foam core board, held together with masking tape. We heard every clever word our next-door neighbors uttered such as, “Oh wow, man! What a rush!”
This is the only picture I have of our first apartment. The rest I leave to your imagination. 😉
The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT, a cool picture for hot days, depending on your side of the globe. Where does it take you? Tell us in a hundred words or less.
I’m doing it again. Taking a story out of mothballs and republishing it for Friday Fictioneerswith a new photo prompt.It’s proving to bea crazy-busy summer and my muse is giving me the silent treatment. A few of you might remember this one from 2013.
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100
ORDINARY GIRL
The surgeon told her she’d never walk again.
Not long after that, Grandpa Farthing came for a visit. “How’s my favorite cyclist?”
“Crippled.”
“Pity-party? Here, celebrate with this.” He tossed a book into her lap. “I enjoyed it as a boy.”
“‘Around the World on a Bicycle’?”
“By Thomas Stevens. Rode it on a big-wheeled contraption called a Penny Farthing.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
Two years later, inspired by Stevens’ determination, she labored to prove the doctors wrong and registered for her first Penny Farthing race.
The official stared at her signature. “You’re joking.”
“Nope, Miss Penelope Farthing at your service.”
You can find more about Thomas Stevens who rode what was then known as an Ordinary Bicycle by clicking here . For more in depth reading the book is available on Amazon.com.
The ordinary bicycle was nicknamed “Penny Farthing” for its shape:
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.
HOLDING HER HAND
Wayne urged me to get in touch with my inner child.
“It hurts,” I whined.
“It’s the path to healing.”
One day, on the way to my appointment, I stopped at a thrift store. Spying a hand amid a pile of pre-loved stuffed toys, I pulled out a doll with a familiar face. I hugged her soft body and was comforted.
Wayne smiled at her. “She’s you.”
Coincidence? I think not.
“Hold the hand of the child that lives in your soul. For this child nothing is impossible.” Paulo Coehlo
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 