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.
Although this isn’t a true story, per se, it’s a reality for too many.
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.
Some of you might know I’m a logophile…a word nerd. I have the old, no longer supported, Scrabble app on my phone and on my iPad. No bells or whistles. No connection to the internet. Just the way I like it. However I do miss the interaction of a rousing game with friends. So I give you a little wishful thinking.
GAME ON
“Z-A-N-Y” Rochelle arranged the tiles on the Scrabble board. “Ha! Thirty points to open the game.”
Dale flashed a smile. “Big deal.”
“Can you do better?”
To Rochelle’s chagrin, Dale played the Q, U and I off the Z for forty-four points on a double word.
Na’ama dumped her tiles back in the box. “I’ve a better idea. Let’s bake some bread.”
***
If you’re in the neighborhood come visit my virtual booth at thePeaceworksKC art fair to day from 11-5 CDT.
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.
As fewer and fewer Holocaust survivors remain in our midst, it seems easier to forget. It’s not taught in schools and increasing numbers of misinformed believe the Holocaust never happened.
INTERVIEW WITH PRISONER A5714
Remember Robert Clary as LeBeau of Stalag 13? Hogan’s shortest hero? The connoisseur of French cuisine.
He reminisces about the rabbi who helped him study for his Bar Mitzvah. “He smelled of schmaltz, herring, onion and garlic.”
“Ah food.”
He shrugs. “In Buchenwald we had little to eat. I sang for the prisoners and sometimes the chef in the kitchen gave me an extra piece of bread.”
“What’s your greatest achievement? Performing?”
“No. I’m most proud to have spent twenty years keeping the memory of the Holocaust alive. Warning against man’s inhumanity. While I am living, I have to tell.”
Yes. It’s me again. Double dipping. It seems my first story is only understood by a few. So I decided, by divine right of flash fiction queens, I’d write another. Thank you for understanding. 😉
AUTUMN HOUSE CLEANING
“I’m not a hoarder. I’m sentimental, that’s all.”
True to her words, Carolyn kept a clean, albeit, cluttered house.
“You could eat off my floors.”
“If we could find it.” Megan rolled her eyes as she rummaged through her mother’s kitchen cabinets. “Maybe. But baby bottles? What do you need with these?”
“Mama?” The towheaded toddler in the high chair reached out his arms and whimpered. “Ba-Ba”
Carolyn patted his hand. “Aaron. You’re too big for a bottle. Megan get your baby brother his sippy cup.”
“Mom. Stop!” Megan’s tearful voice startled Carolyn. “Aaron died fifty years ago.”
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.
Before continuing I have to share my happy news. My novel “Last Dance with Annie” is now under contract with literary agent Diane Nine! www.ninespeakers.com
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
COUP D’ETAT 1898
Easter and me’s both six years old. Her daddy owns a shoe shop in Wilmington. He made my Sunday shoes. He’s really nice.
Easter’s funny and she draws real good. Her skin is pretty. It’s as brown as chocolate so she don’t get sunburns like me.
Day before yesterday, Easter’s daddy went to vote in the ‘lection. Someone said white men in red shirts shot him in the street. Easter cried and cried. I cried, too.
Easter, her mama and lotsa other black folks moved away sudden like. I don’t understand why people are so mean. I miss my friend.
For the most part, 2020 art fairs, concerts and festivals around town, large and small, have been cancelled. These cancellations include a few I’d planned to participate in. Heavy sigh. Potential for sales out the window.
However, 2019 wasn’t exactly a great year for us and outdoor fairs. In June, at Corks and Canvas, it took an hour to set up in intermittent rain. Happily the rain stopped. Unhappily it gave way to stifling heat and humidity, coupled by high winds. I spent a lot of time chasing my note cards across the pavement.
Corks & Canvas June 2019
Corks & Canvas June 2019
In September there were two fairs. The first one was Independence Uncorked. One would think my wine glass pictures would go well there, right? Not so much. People seemed more interested in wine than art. To be fair (hee) I did fairly well at that one. The wine note cards were my best sellers.
The next September fair was the annual UNPlaza fair, not to be confused with the Plaza Art Fair held the same weekend. Torrential rains washed out our hopes for decent sales.
This year, You-Know-What washed out hopes for this year’s UNPlaza renamed PeaceWorks KC Local Art Fair. However, the wonderful board of directors at PeaceWorks decided to try something new. A virtual fair! Each artist will have an online booth. There will be video chat rooms to speak with each artist. Artists’ web pages will give attendees an opportunity to shop in the comfort of their own home.
I am excited and nervous at the prospect. Save David Bayard, who’s heading the planning, none of us really knows what to expect. At any rate, it is an opportunity for a broader audience. You don’t have to live in Kansas City to come, browse and buy. 😉
While you’re in the neighborhood click my art tab at the top of the page. Thank you.
The fair goes live Saturday and Sunday, September 26 and 27
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.
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 sun has long set on Glasgow. My eyes are weary from study and my heart is heavy with longing for you and my sisters.
My mind swirls with new knowledge of the human body. How fearfully and wonderfully made are we. My cup overflows.
Precious Father. Had it not been for your encouragement, becoming a physician would be an impossibility for a wee lass in this man’s world. As God is my witness, it shall not always be so. I promise to do my best to make you proud.
Your loving daughter,
Elsie Maude Inglis
With her many accomplishments, it was difficult to squeeze the magnitude of her influence into 100 words. So I chose a small but important piece of her life. To quote Elsie Inglis
“If I have been able to do anything—whatever I am, whatever I have done—
I owe it all to my Father.”
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.
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.
“Oy the pain.” Jonathan Charasuchin would moan when his mother gave boarders his room, relegating him to sleep on dining room chairs.
“Quit your kvetching,” his mother would say. “We need the money.”
His sympathetic father introduced him to opera on the radio and took him to Yiddish theater productions.
The boy fell in love with the stage and dreamed of someday becoming an actor. Diligently he worked on losing his thick Bronx accent, imitating British film stars.
Forty years later, Jonathan Harris delighted Lost in Space fans with quips like “You bobble-headed booby” and “Oh the pain. The pain.”
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Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 