BIVOUAC

Published December 9, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Saskatchewan Canada. You may use the photo provided with the prompt or take to Google maps and search within the borders of Saskatchewan for your own inspiration.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. You may contribute poetry, prose, or essay. Once your piece is polished share with others at the link up below. Reading and commenting on others work is part of the fun.

Click frogs to enter the campground.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting the challenge.

I chose this idyllic scene to revisit a flash fiction I wrote in July of 2012 when I was just one of the Friday Fictioneers gang. I added 50 words and a new title. Voila!

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

BIVOUAC

“I detest camping,” said Ella.

Following a full day of hiking, two miles past the nearest service station, Geoff’s classic mustang stalled. Neither of their cell phones found a signal and the sun was setting. Resentment swelled her. Pain riddled her back and thighs as they’d hauled their gear to a nearby vacant cabin.

“You told me you loved camping, El.”

“I lied.”

He massaged her swollen feet. “Look at this magnificent view. Not to mention you’re in the company of your personal physician.”

How could she resist his brown-eyed, boyish pout? That same look coaxed her into matrimony to the impoverished med student a year ago. “Yes, it’s beautiful. I only hope the folks who own this place don’t come and have us arrested.”

“At least we don’t have to pitch the tent. See? Our luck’s about to change.”

“More than you can imagine, doctor. My water just broke.”

SPAM JAM

Published December 8, 2019 by rochellewisoff

I’m reasonably certain I’m not the only blogger who takes issue with spam. If you’re a Word Press blogger like me, I strongly recommend a daily sweep of your spam folder. Akisment does a wonderful job of keeping these unrelated “comments” from showing up on my post, but there are days I find up to 20 of them in my spam folder. Not to mention that, on occasion, valid comments find their way there, too.

I seriously do not understand what spammers hope to accomplish by littering my posts with links to porn sites or lengthy paragraphs that make no sense whatsoever.

Here’s one from this morning:

Do I need to explain why I can’t read this? Oh wait, I can read “ero-videos” toward the bottom of the comment.

I do not like spam, Sam I Am. I do not like it with toast and jam. Wham, bang, no thank you, ma’am.

Here are a couple from this afternoon. (Yes, I checked it twice today…10 this morning and 7 this afternoon.)

It’s nice to know this person loves junk food. But I’ve no clue what this might have to do with the post which featured a flash fiction about my brother’s difficulties with Latin in high school. CLICK HERE to read that story if you wish. 😉

My brother Jeffrey and his wife Debbie.

Then here’s this next little goody:

Of course I don’t read Russian either. Then I noticed the translate option at the top of the page.

Just what I want to see, right? NOT! Another thing I’ve noticed over the past few years of policing my spam folder is the majority of these annoyances show up on my November 26, 2016 post. I’ve never been able to figure the reasoning behind it, if there’s any reason to be had.

The post in question was a piece I did for Friday Fictioneers expounding on my great love for the color purple. CLICK HERE if you’d like to read.

For more on this nuisance, my fellow blogger, Dale Rogerson, shared some of her thoughts recently.

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.”

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT – MORPHOLOGY

Published November 30, 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.

GRAMMATACIDE 101

Thank John Garland for inventing the English dictionary and Al Gore for the internet. Without them I would or I’d never’ve known about morphology or free (bad) and bound morphemes (badly). Hence, this lunacy might’ve been unreadable.

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.

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.”

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

Make Every Word Count

All posts in the Make Every Word Count category

BIVOUAC

SPAM JAM

EXCUSE THE DUST ON MY BLOUSE

6 December 2019

THE AMERICAN DREAM

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT – MORPHOLOGY

29 November 2019

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