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
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.
I confess, this is a rerun from four years ago. Some might remember, some won’t. At any rate, I’ve been out town for a week and am taking the liberty of not racking my brain to come up with a new story. 😉 It is a new prompt though.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
ROAD KINGS
Arthur mopped his forehead with his sleeve while holding his bicycle’s handlebar with his opposite hand. He tried to keep up with his buddy who had been blessed with longer legs.
“Wait up, Bill!”
The other boy grinned over his shoulder. “Pedal faster, slowpoke. The fish ain’t gonna wait all day, ya know.”
Once they reached the river, the boys laid their poles beside their bicycles and raced to the bank.
Relishing the cool water, Arthur sighed. “Pedaling’s hard work. Someone oughta build a bike with a motor.”
“Who knows, Mr. Davidson?” Bill Harley splashed and sputtered. “Maybe someone will.”
William S. Harley
Arthur Davidson
William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson circa 1914
(L-R) My Road King, Jan Fields with Arthur’s great nephew, “Willie G” Davidson and his biker babe.
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.
SUN, SAND AND SIBLING REVELRY
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. No, not that time. Sturgis Bike Rally week.
Can you picture me on a Harley, clad in leather? Me neither. While my husband’s on his annual two-wheeled adventure, I’m heading to North Carolina.
The week zips by. My time’s spent doggy loving, shopping, and swimming. Not to mention bantering with my brother and commiserating with his longsuffering wife.
Back at my computer in Missouri, this landlocked mermaid basks in the fading glow of sunshine on ocean waves. Is it too soon to book next year’s flight?
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 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.
“Ice skating” I replied. “The bowling alley just opened a new rink.”
***
Donning my rental skates, I visualized gracefully gliding across the ice like Peggy Fleming. As I stood, reality set in. My feet took off in two different directions.
I managed a faulty stride or two before Kevin seized my hand. We fell and slid on our butts. After a few more stabs at staying upright, he said, “If we hurry we can catch ‘Yellow Submarine.’”
I rubbed my sore bum. “Milk Duds and popcorn. Extra butter.”
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.
I’ve been MIA re the Weekend Writing Prompt for the past couple of weeks. Between art shows, extreme heat, it’s been an insane roller coaster ride.
ON THE ALTAR
The promising manuscript
Hailed by beta readers
As my opus
Has been spurned by the major and minor leagues.
Dreams laid aside
For the moment
I sequester in my oasis
With watercolors and an antique photograph
Comforted by my grandmothers.
The photo was taken around the end of the 19th century in Eastern Europe. I used the photo as a model for my first novel’s book cover. Now I’m painting the “real thing.” The ladies are my grandmother Nettie and great grandmother Edith.
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.
Allan sucked in his lower lip. Did Mom really say, “Your father and I are getting a divorce. Which of us do you want to live with?”
“Rose, the boy’s only eight,” said Dad.
Looking from one parent to the other, sensing no affection from either, Allen blurted out, “I want to live with Grandma and Grandpa Sherman. They love me.”
In the midst of his warped and disjointed world, being shuffled from house to house and school to school, Allan Sherman found comfort in food, writing and humor.
In 1962 his writing and humor made him an overweight success.
***
Allan Sherman’s bright star fizzled after President Kennedy’s assassination. In 1973 his poor life choices caught up with him and he passed away ten days shy of his forty-ninth birthday.
Allan Sherman has been called Weird Al Yankovic’s “Founding Faddah.” Reportedly, President John F. Kennedy was a fan of Mr. Sherman’s parody songs. To know a little more about the man under the beanie CLICK HERE.
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.
“The weatherman says we can expect another six inches of global warming tonight.” Kent knelt and shaped a mound of wet snow into a ball. Then he stood and let it fly. “Look out, Taffy. Here comes some of your greenhouse effect!”
The snowball splattered against the back of Taffy’s head and ice rolled down her neck. She spun around. “How can you ignore what’s happening right under your nose?”
“Climate change? Hooey and hogwash!”
Taffy bent and dug a conch shell from a knee-high drift. “Doesn’t this weather strike you as being a bit odd for Florida in mid-July?”
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.
Yes, it’s one of “those” stories from me. (No apologies). The subject is heavy on the mind of Kansas Citians this summer as the Auschwitz exhibit “Not Long Ago. Not Far Away.” is at our Union Station until September. Not to mention, this weekend is Tisha B’av or the 9th of Av when, historically, many calamities befell the Jews, including the fall of the temple in 70 C.E. and the deportation from the Warsaw Ghetto (July 23, 1942) to Treblinka. It is observed with fasting as one of the saddest days on the Jewish calendar.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
THE HYENA
“The train took us to Auschwitz.” Marta tried to still her voice echoing in the microphone. “From there they forced us to walk to Bergen-Belsen.”
“How old are you, Marta?”
“Seventeen, sir.”
The lawyer pointed at the group of numbered defendants. “Are any of these familiar?”
A young woman glared at her with ice-blue eyes. Marta shuddered. “Number nine. She tormented starving children with scraps of food and whipped them to death when they cried.”
“I’ve heard Irma Grese laughed on her way to the gallows,” said Marta seventy years later. “Now I can laugh as she rots in hell.”
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.
A few might remember a longer version of this story I posted for “What Pegman Saw” in 2017. With the summer being as busy as it is, it seemed like a good time to share a rerun. 😉
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
COUNTRY ROADS
“My dearest Jimmy,
Remember 1971? The year we came back from Vietnam. John Denver must’ve written his hit with you in mind.
“‘Pineville, West Virginia,’ you whispered low and sweet. Your eyes shone like the stars over the Shenandoah River. You laughed. ‘Just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’
Nonetheless, to you it was ’almost heaven’.”
Sharon tucked the note inside his guitar and leaned it against his headstone. “I kept my promise to meet you here, Jimmy.”
Forever she would carry his face in her heart and hear his last words, “Nurse, please don’t let me die.”
***
In this image provided by the U.S. Army, the 2nd Brigade was faced with a new problem at their Bien Hoa, Vietnam base: from Fort Rilay to Vietnam come the 93rd Evacuation Hospital complete with nurses on Dec. 19, 1965. The problem of getting a private shower for the girls fell to Company B 1st Engineer Battalion. In the interests of the health, welfare and cleanliness of the nurses, the men of Company B decided to give up their own air-conditioned shower. The dressing area of the shower was boarded up and the entrance-way closed off. An appropriate “Off Limits” sign was made and posted. (AP Photo/U.S. Army)