22 December 2023

Published December 20, 2023 by rochellewisoff

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 © Rowena Curtin

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

Ken McElroy was pure-D meanness.

Hundreds of stories circulated in Skidmore, Missouri. All true. He packed a shotgun. You didn’t say no to him, or he’d burn down your house or kill your dog.

Marshall Dunbar was so scared of McElroy he quit and got a job at a cable company.

One summer night, Daddy told Mama, “That town bully needs killin’.”

On a July afternoon in 1981, some folks crowded around McElroy’s truck outside a tavern. Two gunshots. Blam! Goodbye, Bully.

For forty years, the FBI has tried to solve his murder but so far, ain’t nobody seen nothin’.

When I say “historical fiction”, I’m talking about the narrator. The rest is chillingly true. For more info CLICK HERE.

3 November 2023

Published November 1, 2023 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

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Genre: Anecdote
Word Count: 100

PHOTO PHINISH

Like so much of the population these days, I spend more time on Facebook than I should. To my defense, it’s how I’ve managed to ~~steal~~ find some great pictures to use as Friday Fictioneers prompts.

Fictioneers, David Stewart, Sandra Crook, and Dale Rogerson are talented photographers, so I often peruse their pages. I promise that I will always ask permission. Well, almost always.

Last week Dale posted this beautifully lit photo. Stunning, isn’t it? In fact, I thought it would make a nice painting—if I could pull it off.

This is my story and I’m sticking to it.

14 July 2023

Published July 12, 2023 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

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Genre: Anecdote
Word Count: 100

PARADISE FOUND

Quintessential party planner Carla missed human contact. Zoom calls didn’t offer quite the same energy. Her California home had become a ghost town.

Searching for something to fill the empty hours of lockdown, she found quilting.

Before she knew it, what began as a hobby turned into a blazing passion. Her family and friends benefitted from her newfound obsession.

Two years later, she realized her dream of visiting Hamilton Missouri, famous home of Missouri Star Quilting Company. Row after row of colorful prints delighted her. Now she could complete her UFO’s—unfinished objects.

She raised her hands. “I’m in heaven!”

Never heard of Hamilton? CLICK HERE

Here’s some pictures of the magnificent quilt Carla gave us for our 50th wedding anniversary.

A few photos of a recent day trip to Hamilton with nieces Carla and Carol.

7 July 2023

Published July 5, 2023 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 © AJ Wilson

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Genre: Historical Faction
Word Count: 100

WOODSMOKE AT TWILIGHT

Had it not been for scouting, I might never have seen the great outdoors beyond my backyard. My parents adhered to the eleventh commandment—“Jews don’t camp.”

Overnights were the best. Following an afternoon hike, we’d gather round the campfire. Our mouths and fingers gooey from roasted marshmallows, we topped off the day scaring each other with ghost stories.

“My uncle found a man’s head in the grass,” said Lucy in a loud whisper.

Margo added, “His golden eyes glowed.”

Back home in my own bed, I wouldn’t sleep for a month without a nightlight.

I miss those good times.

28 January 2023

Published January 25, 2023 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

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As my life has taken some spins and dives of late, my muse didn’t seem to want to come up with anything new. This week, January 27, 2023, marks the 78th anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. I feel it’s more important than ever to post a reminder with antisemitism and racist hatred on the rise. How can intelligent people become animals and beasts? The following is a snippet of an interview I had the honor of doing with survivor Sonia Warshawski, fondly known as “Big Sonia” seven years ago.

Genre: Interview
Word Count:100

THE INTERVIEW

“For I’m gon’ tell you,” says Sonia, a colorful and imposing presence at 4 feet 8 inches tall. “It happened so slowly. Not all at once.

“The soldiers line up rabbis in the street and made us watch them rip out their beards by the roots. Then they shot them.

“I’ll never forget. In front of me they slaughter babies. I’ll never forgive.

“Silence kills.” Her intense brown eyes dig trenches in my heart. “I tell you what is not in history books. As long as God gives me power, I will speak for them.”

This interviewer will never forget.

21 October 2022

Published October 19, 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.

Genre: Non-Fiction Narrative/Memoir
Word Count: 100

GOOD MORNING, CAPTAIN

In October 1955, Bob Keeshan formerly Claribel on the Howdy Doody show, donned a white wig and, at 28, became gentle Captain Kangaroo, everyone’s beloved grandfather in a red coat with huge pockets.

His love for children shone through. Every morning. I joined him, carrot-nabbing Bunny Rabbit, Grandfather Clock, and Dancing Bear.

However, in researching him, I found no juicy stories, save one:

After Keeshan’s death in 2004, his grandson Bretton buried a photo of the two of them on Mt. Everest. A tribute to the gentleman’s true character.

PS: Contrary to urban legend, Keeshan was never a war hero.

I don’t know if Captain Kangaroo ever made it across the pond, but those of us in the States of a certain age, he was a good friend and grandfather figure from 1955-1984. Every morning he showed us the wonders of his Treasure House.

Again to be noted, while he did join the US Marine Corps in 1945, he never went overseas or saw combat. He was however a hero to many of us children who were lucky enough to invite him into our living rooms. 😀

17 June 2021

Published June 15, 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.

I was going to post a rerun because I’ve been under the weather this past week. I’ve since rallied a bit and am on the mend. The photo is mine and my following tale of woe will explain.

Genre: Hysterical Non-Fiction
Word Count: 100

PITY PARTY – TABLE FOR ONE

Rochelle’s hot tears trickled down her cheeks. “I missed my kindergarten party on the last day because of measles.”

“Seriously? This still bothers you? That was over sixty years ago.”

“Don’t you see? It’s come full circle. I’m missing another party. It’s enough we had to cancel our fifty-year reunion last year due to COVID. We worked hard to make our fifty-plus-one reunion a huge success without virus worries.”

“It’s a great party.” Annie smiled from her square. “You should be proud.”

“This sucks. It’s not how I planned to spend my evening.”

“You mean on Zoom?”

“Stricken with COVID.”

I was on the planning committee for my class reunion. They had a Zoom session set up so we could see and interact with those who were there and those who weren’t. Annie’s on the bottom left and she and I continued to chat long after the others signed off. Thanks for being my high point, Annie.

These are the lovely ladies of the committee. How sweet they were to make sure I was part of the picture.

4 February 2022

Published February 2, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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.

Genre: Hysterical Faction
Word Count: 100

CUSTOMER DISSERVICE

As a small business owner, Missouri sales taxes I’ve collected the prior year are due 31 January. For five years I’ve sent in a paper form and a handwritten check. No problem.

This year the Department of Revenue introduced the “more efficient” electronic submission.

Determined to master the system, I kept banging my head and phoned for help five times. Call waits took 45 minutes–minimum. Emails were answered with breakneck-turtle-speed.

Storm clouds of frustration mounted

“Look. I’ve got thirty others waiting,” said one DOR representative.

Two days ago, I sent the paper form and a handwritten check. No problem.

*
*
*

I’m pretty amazed at our growing small business. Loving “retirement.”

Weekend Writing Prompt – Smuggle

Published December 12, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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. Thanks for the challenge, Sammi!

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
One of my therapists suggested I illustrate my feelings during this particularly ugly and potentially lethal time in my life.

CIRCLES IN THE SPIRAL

Denise and I used aspirin to punish our hungry stomachs. Did you know you can get high on mega doses of plain old Bayer? Or that you could be addicted to them?

Once when she was in treatment, I smuggled the contraband in a baggie in my large Diet Coke.

Oh, we had lots of tricks up our sleeves next to our boney arms.

Killer ideas.

**Not one of my prouder moments. Denise wasn’t her name and I’m not sure if she’s still alive. 😦

1 October 2021

Published September 29, 2021 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.

Genre: Non-Fiction
Word Count: 100
NO WORDS

Seven years ago, after a long silence, Linda called me. “I need to hear your voice, Rocky. Are you okay?”

I laughed, happy to hear her voice. “Those eating disorder days are way behind me.”

We called her Mother Tucker. She was a platinum blonde firebrand who never suffered fools gladly. No one saw through my lies faster, loved me as fiercely or hurt me as deeply.

“I’m your bad habit.” She’d say, her eyes flashing ice-blue flames.

Recently I learned the damned virus took her. I whisper through tears, “I need to hear your voice, Linda. Are you okay?”

***

I worked with Linda Tucker in the late 90’s. She saw me through the worst of my eating disorder. She’s also the one who nicknamed me “Rocky.” No matter how I fought it, the name stuck. My former coworkers still call me Rocky. For a time Linda and I parted ways (a story for another time…or not 😉 ) We hadn’t spoken for years when she turned up on Facebook and then called. R.I.P. Mother Tucker.