October’s End

Published October 31, 2017 by rochellewisoff

The weekend, beginning with Thursday, the 26th was busy one. It began with an interview with Jim Christina and Russ Avison on The Writers Block. Some will remember that I had the joy of going out to California to interview in the studio with them last November. The opportunity just didn’t present itself this year so we muddle through via telephone. Nonetheless, I had a great time.

Here is the link with Jim’s generous intro: 😀

Russ and I had a great conversation with author and artist Rochelle Wisoff Fields last evening. An informed writer and unique historian of early 1900’s Russia and the US. Giver her books a read! Here is the podcast address: http://latalkradio.com/content/writer-102617%20#audio_play

It’s an hour long and 40 minutes of it is Yours Truly. I hope you’ll take the time to listen.

Russ Avison

Jim Christina

Finding Cure Through Literacy

Friday morning we hit the road at 5:00 AM to make the long drive to Texarkana for the 8th Annual Gathering of Authors, a charity event and book signing. The festivities were kicked off with benefit banquet. All proceeds were to go to St. Jude’s Hospital.

I made some new friends and valuable connections. Not to mention it was nice to just get away for a couple of days with my hubby.

Afterward went to spend the rest of the weekend with gracious hosts Tom and Frances Mosby in Dover AR. Since Jan hadn’t heard my interview and we had a long drive we listened to it. Now he knows that “big men walk in fear of me.” (Thanks, Russ.)

Frances and I have known each other since kindergarten so we can always find things to talk about. Yes, we still chatter like a couple of school girls. I’m glad that the guys get along so well, too.

Below are a few photos from the weekend for your viewing pleasure. 😉

Chatting with Ann Redelfs, MD and new friend.

Tammy Holder Thompson, The woman who started it all.

Frances and Tom Mosby. We forgot to take pics together so here they are at their sons recent wedding.

Alpacas on the Mosby ranch.

Young award winning authors

Judy Lowe, fellow author and new friend.

Meeting other authors for lunch on Friday

Meeting of the artists. With Debra Jo Johnson

As we meandered down our street toward home, our neighbor Bud who we’d asked to take in our mail, stopped us to tell us there was a serious problem. With my heart in my mouth, I followed Bud and Jan into their house. Bud’s wife, Cindi met us at the door with wine and said, “You won’t want to be our friends anymore. I washed your mail.”

Have you ever seen a stack of mail that has been trough wash, rinse and spin? Most of it was recognizable. Just mush around the edges. Once we ascertained that there was nothing of any consequence, we toasted our friendship with laughter and wine.

Thank you, Bud and Cindi Turner for being such good friends!

RIGHTEOUS AMONG NATIONS

Published October 21, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Balkans to spend some time in Bulgaria. Feel free to use the prompt to inspire you in any way you see fit, be it historical fiction, poetry, a personal narrative, fantasy or whatever you like. The only requirement is to keep your post to 150 words or less as a gesture of respect for your readers.

Today, thanks to J Hardy Carroll and K Rawson, I’ve learned another bit of WWII Jewish history I didn’t know.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

RIGHTEOUS AMONG NATIONS

My grandmother and I strolled beside the spring, arm in arm. We’d had a picnic, just the two of us, to celebrate her 80^th birthday and my 13^th.

“I wish my Papa could’ve been here to enjoy your Bar Mitzvah. He was a rabbi, you know.”

“I know, Nana.”

“So I’ve told you.”

With her intense dark eyes she could take you captive until she decided to let you go. I didn’t mind.

Tears trickled down her weathered cheeks. “They closed the Jewish schools. We wore yellow stars. March 9, 1943, my 13th^th birthday. They rounded us up like cattle. We waited to be deported. It was inevitable. I would never see my beloved papa again. He held me and wept like a child. Then the miracle happened—”

“At the last minute Dimitar Peshev, the Vice President of the Bulgarian Parliament, got the order reversed.”

“So I’ve told you.”

From Wikipedia, After the war, the Communists brought forth charges on the Old Bulgarian Parliament for collaboration with the Germans. Peshev was tried for being both an anti-Semite and anti-Communist and was even accused of having been bribed by the Jews in exchange for halting the deportation.^[2] However, his Jewish friends from the Kyustendil delegation, led by Joseph Nissim Yasharoff, testified on his behalf and saved him from a death sentence. He was sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment but was released after one year.

20 October 2017

Published October 18, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

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

Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

get the InLinkz code

This is a scene from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN, the third in my Havah Cohen Gitterman trilogy. By the third book, the characters have survived the hardships of Eastern European persecution. Many of them are dealing with what we know today as PTSD. This scene takes place in 1907 when little was known, much less addressed.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

AMNESIA

“All these years the only thing I remembered was her suicide. I’ve hated her for it,” Shayndel shuddered. “How could I forget why?”

“You were only five,” whispered Fruma Ya’el. “It’s understandable—”

Shayndel buried her head in her hands. “‘Jew bitch,’ they called her. ‘Get help!’ she begged me. But I couldn’t move. I—I watched as they—”

Protracted memories riddled Shayndel. “Bayla never spoke again—until the morning she…she climbed the tree in the yard to the highest branch. Naked. Great with child. She spread her arms, smiled at me and said,” Shayndel choked, “‘Goodbye, little sister.’”

Shayndel Gitterman Abromovich – Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Bayla Gitterman, age 14- Orignal Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fruma Ya’el in Kansas City – Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fruma Ya’el -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Shayndel in Kansas City – Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff

UNRESOLVED

Published October 15, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman is on the lush tropical island of Mauritius. WHAT PEGMAN SAW is a growing prompt challenge hosted by the talented writing team of Rawson and Carroll whom I appreciate as time goes by.

Link to this week’s stories here:

As I began my research trail on the Island of Mauritius, I was led far afield by a documentary on the History channel. 😉 Blame it on my husband who turned it on. The photo I chose is from Mauritius, but that’s as close as I came.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

UNRESOLVED

“Look, Vovô. I bring a present for you,” Marina held up a glistening seashell.

Clarence hoisted his great-granddaughter onto his lap, took the shell from her and kissed the top of her head. “Belíssimo, like you, my little mermaid.”

“Tell me a story, Vovô. About when you and Tio John stole away from the island on the big rock.”

“1962.” He gazed at the sea and squinted at the setting sun, a brilliant ball against the amber sky, reflecting off the waves. “A whole lifetime ago.”

“Two lifetimes. Nearly fifty years.” Clarence’s brother John sank into a beach chair beside them. “Wonder if they still remember us. Wish we’d had a chance to say goodbye.”

“I shore do miss Mama’s fried chicken, ain’t nothin’ in Brazil holds a candle to it.” Clarence could still hear the prison bars clank behind him. He pressed his cheek against Marina’s. “Inescapable Alcatraz. Ha!”

*

Anglin Brothers in 1960

Could this be them in Brazil in 1972?

CLICK HERE FOR MORE

13 October 2017

Published October 11, 2017 by rochellewisoff

My story with a message from last week:

Please be considerate and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

Like us on Facebook

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 POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BIRD THONG

“Raaaawk! Perry pecked a pack of pimpled pipers.” The bird flapped his feathers and strutted across his perch. “Perry’s pimpled pipers ate pickled peaches. Raaaawk!”

Connie swept bird poo beneath his post, dumped it in the trash, and shook her head. “It’s Peter Piper, you silly goose.”

“Hoooonk! I’m a goose!”

“No, you’re a Mynah bird.”

“Raaaaawk! Mynah place or yours, sexy thing?”

“Don’t! Stop it, you dumb bird.”

“Don’t! Stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

Outside, her husband’s truck juddered into the driveway. She met him at the door. “Russell Gayer, why can’t we have a dog like normal people?”

Th-th-that’s all folks!

Th-th-that’s all folks!!!

COUNTRY ROADS

Published October 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman returns to the Western Hemisphere to take us on a tour of Littleton, West Virginia. Although I missed the challenge last week, a story formed pretty quickly for this one. I’m a day late and see that this group is growing. Nice to see. Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting. I so appreciate the two of you on more than one level. 😉

To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

This story is dedicated to the forgotten veterans, the women who unassumingly served as nurses and ‘Donut Dollies.’

COUNTRY ROADS

“My dearest Jimmy,

Remember 1971? We came home from Vietnam that year—the same year John Denver’s song became a hit. I think he must’ve written it with you in mind.

‘Littleton,’ you laughed, your eyes shining like the stars over the Shenandoah River. ‘It’s just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’

Nonetheless, to you it was home…’almost heaven’.”

Sharon set aside her pen and paper. Picking up Jimmy’s guitar, she strummed the melody and sang, “…West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountain…” She closed her eyes. “Life is old there, older than the trees, younger than the mountains…”

A gentle breeze riffled her hair. “You promised to bring me here after the war. And so you have.”

She folded the note, tucked it inside the guitar and propped it against his headstone. Forever she would carry his face 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)

MY PRECIOUS

Published October 6, 2017 by rochellewisoff

An unusual week for me. A second story came to mind and I felt compelled to share it. Thank you for your indulgence. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Genre: Fantasy

Word Count: ONE HUNDRED (Title doesn’t count)

MY PRECIOUS

Waves lapped against the boat’s hull. Moonlight made the water sparkle. Thoughts and ideas flipped inside the author’s head like Spanish dancers.

She opened her laptop and, for a moment, stared at the blank screen. With relish, she typed sentence upon sentence, her excitement mounting. Her fingers seemed to take on a mind of their own, tapping across the keyboard.

She grinned. “Too good to stop here.”

Before she knew it, 100 words grew to 200. Not one of them could be spared.

A gossamer-winged faerie settled on the writer’s shoulder and whispered, “Way too good to meet the challenge, eh?”

In case you wondered about the Spanish Dancers:

6 October 2017

Published October 4, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

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 lovely photo shows the moon rising over the trees as viewed from a ferry boat. What story does it tell you? Can you share it in 100 words or less?

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FULL MOON FEVER

“The year I turned 10,” he lay back in his hospital bed, staring at his bandaged hand, “my uncle invited me to the movie set. I’ll never forget it. There he was. The King. At that moment I knew what I wanted to be.”

“A rock star with a nasty temper?” The nurse adjusted his IV. “The morphine should kick in soon.”

His fingers throbbed. “The doc says I broke five bones and I might never play guitar again.”

The nurse’s eyes brimmed. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Petty.”

“Don’t be.” He murmured as he drifted off. “I won’t back down.”

*

The story in his own words:

NO MORE DANCES WITH MARY JANE

R.I.P. TOM

29 September 2017

Published September 27, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

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.

With its battered tin roof it looks like an old warehouse that has been abandoned. The windows aren’t broken and the concrete walls look rough. What story does this old shell of a building with its brick chimney tell you? Can you tell the rest of us in 100 words?

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

RADIUM DIAL

“Jinny was barely growed. 1914-1934” Her lower lip quivered as she traced the dates on the headstone with a frail finger. “She earned $17.50 a week painting them glow-in-the-dark clock numbers.”

Wind gusting across St. Columbus Cemetery chilled me. “Let’s get you home, Mrs. Abbot.”

“Not yet. I want you to see.” She seethed and brandished a Geiger counter probe over her sister’s grave. “Jinny took sick. Strange. Her jaws done crumbled. Died like the other girls at her factory. The doctors made lame excuses. Damned liars is what they was.” The machine sputtered. “That sound like Diphtheria to you?”

*

It’s a long read, but if you want to know more of the story

CLICK HERE

22 September 2017

Published September 20, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

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.

It may look like it’s just a dusty pair of shoes, full of cobwebs. But does it say anything else to you? What story do these shoes tell?

get the InLinkz code

Because the time to work on the content to go with the artwork, I’m using Friday Fictioneers as a proving ground. My plan is take excerpts from the book continue to distill them into standalone flashes. This doesn’t mean all my stories will be book related, it just means that you might be seeing more of them.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SACRED PROMISE

Although he had closed his shop for the day, Gavrel could not go back on his word to finish Reuven’s new shoes. He buffed them until they glowed in the lamplight.

Gavrel pulled off his young brother-in-law’s tattered shoes. “Just in time, my little apple. You’re growing so fast I’d better start your next pair tomorrow.”

A frown darkened Reuven’s ruddy face. “Papa, Lev says someday you’ll have a son of your own and won’t want me anymore.”

Heart racing, Gavrel crushed the boy against his chest. “If I have ten more sons, not one will ever take your place.