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’s not exactly an excerpt but a snippet tweaked to be a teaser to my book From Silt and Ashes.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
PRELUDE TO AN ODYSSEY
After weeks of contemplation and numerous entreaties from Dr. Trubachov in Ukraine, Dr. Nikolai Derevenko tendered his resignation to St. Thomas Hospital. As he left the administrator’s office he felt one of his burdens had lifted.
“Good morning, Doctor.”
An attractive nurse whose dimensions stretched her starched uniform to its limits cocked her head and flashed a dimpled smile. He followed her with his eyes to the other end of the corridor until she turned and entered a patient’s room.
When he returned to his original path he looked up in time to avoid a collision with a police officer.
.
.
.
If you’ve read it and enjoyed please leave a review on Amazon.com. Thank you.
I’ve been given the opportunity to be interviewed on The Writer’s Block Radio Show. It’s a weekly program that, according to the creators, brings writers and readers together every Thursday night. My interview is scheduled for Thursday, November 17th at 7:00 PM Pacific Time.
Interviews can be done over the phone or live depending on the location of the interviewee. However—for me a big ‘however’ since we don’t have a landline—LA Talk Radio strongly discourages the use of cell phones as they tend to drop calls.
Television Interview on Fox 4 KC in April 2016.
With that little piece of information tucked away, I contacted my son, Travis who lives in LA. When I asked how far the studio is from him he answered, “Pretty close.”
Perhaps Olive and her Bubbe will do some artwork together. (I hope so.)
What better way to plan an unprecedented visit with my one and only grandchild? I’m pleased to announce that I’ve purchased my airline ticket and am looking forward to seeing my kids as well as doing the interview. Hm. Perhaps I’ll be able to schedule a book signing while I’m in the neighborhood?
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.
Rose Borach’s heart sank. “Fania, don’t quit school. You’re too smart to end up like your worthless father.”
“I won’t.” The skinny seventeen-year-old glided across the room with the grace of a ballerina. “My grades stink and I’m still in the eighth grade.” She sang, “Give my regards to Broooaddwaaay!” With an exaggerated curtsy, she kissed Rose’s cheek. “Someday you’re gonna see my name in lights.”
“What name? Borax? Jenny Waters? Muddy Waters?”
***
Two years later in 1910, nineteen-year-old Fania burst through Rose’s door and flashed her newly signed contract. “Look, Ma, I’m in the Ziegfeld Follies. Me! Fanny Brice!”
.
.
.
For those not familiar with this great lady of the theater, may I introduce on of my childhood heroes.
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.
Obed grunted and pushed but could not budge the heavy stone to grind flour.
“You’re too small, son.” Ruth handed him a bundle of sheaves and a mallet. “Here, thresh these for me.”
His eyes shone like starlight reflecting off the sea. Her heart swelled with love for him leaving no room for loneliness.
He pounded the barley kernels. “Tell me about my father.”
Obed’s face bore traces of both Mahlon and Mahlon’s Uncle Boaz, her beloved men, dead and buried. How do I explain Hebrew law regarding husbands and widows to a three-year-old?
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.
I’m not sure at this stage of the game when my next novel As One Must, One Can will be released. However this prompt is perfect for the following excerpt. The operative is excerpt and, admittedly, it is not a complete story. It is set in Kansas City, Missouri in the year 1908 where Arel Gitterman makes his living as a tailor.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 99
EXCERPT FROM AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN
Two electric fans only circulated hot air, thick with machine oil and chalk dust, in the tailor shop. Arel’s rigid collar irritated his neck and he pushed his wet hair from his forehead. His sewing machine hummed and afternoon light glinted off the bobbing needle as he guided a shirtsleeve under the presser foot. A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and dripped onto the cuff.
Whipping the linen shirt off the table, he hurried to wash it before the stain could set in. A wave of nausea swept over him and a sharp pain seared his chest.
.
.
.
Thank you to our own GAH Learner for such a lovely review blog of PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. (Click title to read.)
My journey continues, putting one foot in front of the other. When I began to write PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME I knew I had a story to tell. I pitched it as “The Dark Side of Fiddler on the Roof.” I wrote, rewrote and edited Havah Cohen Gitterman’s story, thinking I would stop with this one book. However, the voices in my head compelled me to continue the saga with FROM SILT AND ASHES.
At a point where I thought I’d completed the first two books I began to write AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. However, I had to stop to go back to the first book..and the second book. For five years the third book languished in an unopened Word doc. file. When I returned to my 60,000 word, unfinished manuscript, I found that my characters had grown, changed and gone in different directions than I’d originally anticipated. Not to mention that, after ten years I had also grown and changed as a writer. Perhaps 20,000 of those original 60,000 words survived the overhaul.
My agent, Jeanie Loiacono and W& B Publishing turned up the heat this summer by giving me a July deadline with the promise of a contract. Setting aside all writing time to devote to Havah, I sent Friday Fictioneers into reruns.
COMING SOON!
My story has a happy “ending.” The manuscript has been submitted and approved. Contracts with both agent and publisher are signed. Artwork for the inside of the book is complete and I await the proof copy to make any last minute edits.
Below are the divider pages for AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN to whet your appetite.
The following photo is the PROMPT. It’s a first run, never before seen by Friday Fictioneers. PLEASE…because it’s PROPER ETIQUETTE…give credit to the photographer somewhere in your post. Vijaya Sundaram this week. Thank you.
Enan’s grandiloquent notes set off explosions in my heart. I kept every embellished missive in a gilded box. His purple prose enslaved me.
After every beating or tongue lashing, he would gift me with an impassioned written apology and weep until I absolved him of his guilt.
One day he left our cottage whilst I slept. A card on the nightstand, penned in his sweeping hand simply said, “Goodbye.”
***
I wanted to search for him—beg him to come back. Instead, a fountain of sparks illumes the black sky. His words scatter amid the ashes and my spirit soars.
Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. I’m happy to announce that I made my July deadline for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. It looks like there’s more work to be done, however. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns. Look for new prompts the beginning of September as I’ve received quite a few new ones this summer.
The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Dee Lovering If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.
Logan hunched his shoulders against the icy North Atlantic wind.
“Me wee Patrick’s one tomorrow.”
“Dinnae fash yersel,” said John, the coxswain. “The morrow’ll be the cold start of May and there’ll be eight more months of 1912 to play with the boy.”
“Two points starboard, John,” said Logan from the bow as he readied the boat hook.
***
Four months later the memories of the baby they pulled from the water tormented Logan. Patrick’s cries woke him from a nightmare. He gathered the child into his arms and whispered.
“Let fly, lad. ‘Tis a hard life, but a good sign.”
Four times a year a group of writers from all over the Midwest and beyond gather to share writing and marketing tips. Often agents and editors are invited to share their expertise and take pitches from aspiring authors. The conferences are free to members, save the motel fee and food costs.
With fellow authors Caroline Giammanco and Diane Yates
Madison Woods, OWL friend and creator of Friday Fictioneers.
My first time at a conference was in the summer of 2007. I’d “completed” PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME and was interested in finding an agent. I really didn’t expect to find anyone in an organization with the word Ozarks to be interested in my Jewish historical novel.
How wrong can a person be? I found not only interest but a group of generous mentors. Each time I went to a workshop, I learned something new which precipitated a rewrite. One of the most significant classes was on how to pitch a book to an agent in five sentences.
Jeanie Loiacono and Me
The panel: Publisher Duke Pennell, Publisher Lou Turner, Editor Alex Hess, Agent Jeanie Loiacono
Over the years I’ve made some good friends and met people who have been instrumental in changing my life. The first is Lou Turner, founder of High Hill Press. In 2010, after I’d submitted short stories to ECHOES OF THE OZARKS and VOICES, two OWL publications, she invited me to compile my own anthology for HHP. In the process I learned a lot from her short story editor, Delois McGrew.
I’ve had the opportunity to pitch to and be turned down by a few agents until I met Jeanie Loiacono at the May 2012 conference. She now represents my two novels and is reading my third.
When I joined OWL in 2007 I was in awe of the authors with their tables. Now in 2016 I’m blessed to have three books of my own and one on the way.
Visiting old friends and meeting new ones made for a pleasant weekend. I was thrilled to see Lou and Delois. Jeanie was also one of the speakers. Hugs all around.
OWL art and photo contest winners.
My paintings took first and second place in the annual art contest.
Alex Hess, an editor from Skyhorse Publishing in NY spoke to us about the ever changing face of the publishing industry. I hope to implement some of her suggestions on using social media in the not too distant future.
President of OWL, Diane Yates, asked the two biggest hams in the group to open Friday night with entertainment. Ronda Del Boccio captured us on video.
“More pogroms. And so close.” Rabbi Yussel Gitterman’s sightless eyes filled with tears.
Eighteen-year-old Arel Gitterman pulled his coat around his ears and shivered, partly from cold and partly with rage. What had they done to make the Christians hate them so much? “We should retaliate. We should gather all of the young men—”
“Shah! Such nonsense!”
“Ouch! Papa, is it unreasonable for men to protect their homes?”
“Remember, my son. A soft answer turns away wrath.”
“How can you say that, Papa? Last night innocent people were murdered in their beds all over the countryside. Did they have time to make an answer—of any kind?”
Hershel Levine’s green eyes flashed. “The lad makes sense, Yussel. There is much cruelty in the world. Sometimes one has to wonder what the Almighty is thinking.”
“So, Hershel, my old friend, do you think the three of us, an old cantor, a blind rabbi and a boy who’s barely able to squeeze out a whisker are going to seek revenge on those animals with their guns and Czar Nicolas, may his name be blotted out?”
Arel gritted his teeth. “Reb Pinkas said he heard the Christians burned down a synagogue. A rabbi died trying to protect the sacred scrolls. Papa, it could just as easily have been you.”
“Reb Pinkas is up early bearing his tales. Yes, it could have been any Jew in this land, my Son.” Yussel patted his shoulder. “It’s dangerous to be a Jew in this Pale of Settlement. But now let’s tend to matters at hand. It’s Shabbes, the Sabbath, and we have a synagogue to prepare for morning services.”
“Yes, Papa.” Arel knew from experience arguing with his father would not accomplish anything. Still his anger boiled because they were Jews who lived in poverty under the tyranny of the Russians. Prisoners in their own country, unable own land and denied education beyond their Hebrew schools.
For the next few moments Yussel’s cane tapping along the frozen ground was the only sound. Each man lost in his own thoughts, they approached the synagogue, the largest building in the Jewish quarter of Svechka.
To call a backward village “The Candle” was a contradiction. Arel supposed at some point in time the Russians considered it a place of enlightenment.
~~Taken from Please Say Kaddish for Me by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
To the best of my knowledge, the shtetl or village known in Please Say Kaddish for Me as Svechka only exists in the author’s imagination. Like Anatevka in Fiddler on the Roof it represents the many villages scattered throughout Eastern Europe during the 19th and early 20th centuries.
Shtetl is Yiddish for “little town.” These villages ranged in size from several hundred residents to several thousand. The Jews usually lived within the town while the Gentiles tended to live on the outskirts. Central to the Jewish community was the Synagogue and Kahal, the community council. Most of the shtetl Jews were artisans and shop owners while the scholars were the revered minority. Both Arel and Havah, the children of rabbis, have grown up in their respective shtetls, Natalya and Svechka, as members of the elite part of their societies.
Enjoy a little taste of what their world was like.
Note: If you’ve read and enjoyed either or both of my books, please leave a review on Amazon.com and any of the other sites. I ask for Amazon primarily because of the scope of influence. Thank you.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 