Make Every Word Count

All posts in the Make Every Word Count category

2 September 2022

Published August 31, 2022 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 © David Stewart

Every writer has those days when their imaginary friends won’t come out to play. This has been my week. 😉

Genre: Hysterical Friction
100 Useless Words

DRAWING BLANKS

“I’m drawing blanks.” I stare at David’s photo. “I’m the leader. I can’t just post a photo prompt without my own story.”

“Drawing blanks is a good title,” says my good friend and nemesis Harvey Wingnut. “As an artist you should be quite adept at that.”

“You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

I beg my muse for an idea.

“Sorry, chick. You’re on your own,” she whispers. “I’m vacationing in the Bahamas.”

You get the picture.

I study the shadowy prompt and wonder who’ll be buried under that shed this week.

“You win, Harvey. ‘Drawing Blanks’ it is.”

It means nothing but, then, neither does my post. Fun stuff with our niece in July.
Thank you, Harvey Wingnut

26 August 2022

Published August 24, 2022 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 © Brenda Cox

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

POLITICALLY INCORRECT

“You’re opening a Chinese restaurant, Pop?” Noriyuki looked up from his homework. “But we’re Japanese.”

“The camps certainly taught me that.”  Tamaru shrugged. “Chinese. Japanese. We all look alike to them. Let’s go to the movies.”

Noriyuki stretched his legs. After spending his childhood in a body cast with no hope of healing, he relished a walk to—anywhere.

On December 7, 1966, stand-up comic, Pat Noriyuki Morita, sweat running down his back, said, “Before I begin, I just want to say I’m sorry for messing up your harbor.”

After a moment of thick silence, the audience burst into laughter. 

*Once billed as the Hip Nip, Pat Morita appeared in movies and television. You may remember him as Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid or as Arnold Takahashi on Happy Days. As a child he was diagnosed with spinal TB. The doctors gave him little hope of ever walking. Alas after a procedure restored his legs, he was taken from hospital to a Japanese internment camp.

*As for the photo, I believe that food court is Korean. 😉

Souvenirs

Published August 17, 2022 by rochellewisoff

Another idea came to mind so I’m double dipping this week. 😀

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

SOUVENIRS

“Half the fun of the beach is collecting seashells.” Relishing water and warm sand between her toes, Millie picked up a colorful mollusk shell. “Check out the reds and blues.”

“It will make a nice addition to our bowl,” said Carl.

“We should buy a few of those spirally ones at the souvenir shop. I never find them here.”

“No way. I’ll wager those don’t even come from this beach. Most likely they’re from India where they harvest them live, kill the resident creature with acid and polish them for tourists.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, raping the ecosystem is a lucrative business.”

She sells seashells by the sea shore. Click to learn more.

The model for the painting. A few souvenirs I picked up on the beach.

12 August 2022

Published August 10, 2022 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 © Roger Bultot

Genre: Hysterical Fiction
Word Count: 100

YOU TALKIN’ TO ME?

“Did you know…?”

Dale rolled her eyes as she unpacked the picnic basket. “I feel a history lesson coming on from Rochelle-A-Pedia.

“Ahem.” Rochelle ran her fingertips across the rough picnic bench surface. “The word table is derived from the Latin word Tabula and its earliest models were mostly used by ancient Egyptians. Betcha didn’t know that.  Furthermore, through the years, wood workers and manufacturers learned how to customize and adjust furniture used in—”

“Betcha I didn’t care.” Dale gently knocked on Rochelle’s forehead. “Yoohoo? I’m thinking of another term derived from Latin. Tabula rasa.”

“Whassat?”

“Look it up.”

5 August 2022

Published August 3, 2022 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 © Sandra Crook

Genre: Hysterical Faction
Word Count: 100

ROAD READY

My best friend and I took Driver’s Ed the year we turned sixteen thinking we’d get our licenses together.

I passed the written part with flying colors. Recognizing road signs and learning the rules of the road was a snap.

The actual driving part was another story. Both excitement and terror welled up as I gripped the steering wheel. Images of every traffic accident I’d seen on the news zipped through my mind.

My instructor shook his head at my attempt to parallel park. “Your final driving score is negative fifty-one. Might I suggest you purchase a lifetime bus pass?”

22 July 2022

Published July 20, 2022 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 © Fleur Lind

Genre: Hysterical Faction
Word Count: 100

CHLORINE DEPRIVATION

Retirement has certainly taken the sting out of Monday. Every day is a weekend. Monday’s one of my swim days. Fifty-four invigorating laps. This morning I tingle with anticipation.

Sipping my morning coffee, I check my emails which are mostly deletable spams.

“What’s this? A member announcement from my fitness center? Have my old-fogy dues gone up again?”

My breath catches in my throat as I read. It’s as if I’m staring down a tunnel with no light on the other side.

“ ‘The Indoor Pools, both lap and rec, will be closed until further notice due to lifeguard shortages.’

Nooooooo!”

15 July 2022

Published July 13, 2022 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 © Dale Rogerson

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

HE NEVER GOT A DINNER

Papa put the finishing touches on a straw hat, placed it on his head and, to little Aaron’s delight, broke into a soft shoe.

Mr. Jerwick applauded and laughed. “I’ll take the hat, Mr. Chwatt. But I’m no dancer.”

“Hey Pop,” said sixteen-year-old Aaron. “Check out my uniform for my new job.”

“Doing what? So many buttons.”

“I’m a singing bell boy.” Aaron raked his fingers through his wavy red hair. “Making people smile—like you, Pop. And how about my stage name?”

From Vaudeville to Broadway and film, history will forever remember award-winning entertainer Red Buttons with a smile.

Aaron Chwatt was the son of Jewish immigrants. His father, Michael Chwatt made his living as a milliner in New York’s Lower East Side who enjoyed entertaining his customers.

RED BUTTONS NEVER GOT A DINNER

8 July 2022

Published July 6, 2022 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

Genre: Fanciful Fiction
Word Count: 100

WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE

Gretta gazed at the mountain of wool beside her spinning wheel. How she longed to be outside with her friend Heinrich to watch the sheep and play with the newborn lambs.

“I would gladly trade my baby brother for some magic help.”

She yawned. The whir of the wheel lulled her.

“I’m here to spin this wool into yarn for you, little girl.”

Gretta rubbed her eyes and gasped to see a dwarf with pointed ears. “Yes!”

He laughed. “Your brother’s mine.”  

Mama shook her. “Wake up and get back to work!”

Gretta sighed. “Where’s Rumpelstiltskin when I need him?”

If you’re unfamiliar with Rumpelstiltskin CLICK HERE.

1 July 2022

Published June 29, 2022 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 © Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

BLUMEN

I trembled with nine-year-old excitement as I presented the flowers. Their sweet fragrance filled my nostrils as I curtsied.

The new chancellor smiled and said, “Danke schön meine Liebchen.”

When I made my way back through the crowd to my classmates, my friend Ilsa hugged me, her blue eyes sparkling. “How lucky you are to be chosen.”

Soon after that day, my family and I packed all the belongings we could carry and moved away from Germany. 

Lucky? Jah. Never will I forget his cold eyes. What would the Führer have said had he known this flower girl was Jewish?

24 June 2022

Published June 22, 2022 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 © John Nixon

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

IF WORDS COULD MAKE WISHES COME TRUE

“This looks real old, Grandpa,” said nine-year-old Noah.

Edmond set down a piano-shaped teapot to check out the dog-eared book his grandson had picked up.“Whaddya know? It’s Tom Swift and his Airship. Looks just like the copy my pop bought me seventy years ago in a flea market like this. It was his last day of leave. A month later the telegram came from the war department.”

Edmond took the book and opened it to the title page. “It-it can’t be!”

 The cramped handwriting blurred.

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