Voice of a Spanish Dancer – It’s Not the Destination but the Journey

Published May 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

To see if my technique and form are correct, I recently watched a video on the mechanics of the flip turn. The instructor described the flip turn as the most efficient way for a swimmer, once she reaches the wall, to turn back and swim toward the other wall. Not only does it retain energy, but it’s the best way to maintain momentum.

The flip turn is one of my favorite things to do in swimming and, according to the online swim instructor, I’m doing it correctly.

I don’t think about mechanics while I’m in the water. For me there’s an ethereal quality. It’s a different world beneath the surface. I tuck, turn a somersault and gaze up at a crystal ceiling. Then, pressing my feet against the pool wall, I flip over and catapult myself in the opposite direction.

In a few months I will retire from my day job. In my younger days I viewed retirement as the end to real life where I would sit on park benches and feed the birds or languish in front of the television in a vegetative state.

Nowhere is either of those activities part of my plan. My first novel debuted last week. The sequel is due to be released in December. I’ve begun work on a third novel, the last part of the trilogy.

For me the flip turn is not only an enjoyable part of swimming but also a metaphor for my life. I’ve come to one end of the pool. With renewed vitality, I tuck into a ball, press my feet against the wall, flip and catapult myself into life’s flow.

Available from W & B Publishers

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And for those of you who want to know what a flip turn looks like:

17 April 2015

Published April 15, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. There’s a lot to see. Does it ignite a story for you. Tell us in a hundred words or less.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

MOTHER GOOSE

My doctor called it postpartum depression and assured me it was normal, but I knew better. I resented my son Daniel for what he was not. I wanted sugar and spice. Instead I got snips and snails.

One night, after putting the baby to bed, I turned on the television and came across a promotion for flame retardant pajamas. Graphic images of once handsome children, burned and scarred beyond recognition, seared through me.

“What’s wrong with me?” I bolted from the sofa to the nursery, gathered Daniel into my arms, inhaled his sweetness and whispered, “I love puppy dog tails.”

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

RIVERS OF JEWISH BLOOD

Published March 3, 2015 by rochellewisoff

At a writer’s conference four years ago a prominent New York agent took an interest in PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. She asked me to add twenty-thousand words to it and then send her a hard copy.

For months I made a point of rising three hours before going to work at 7:00 am to write. Heart pounding, I sent the fruit of my labors only to have it returned in a matter of weeks. In her rejection letter she said it was “too much like FIDDLER ON THE ROOF” and it was “a story that everybody already knew.”

Ironically, I’ve told others that my book could be subtitled “The dark side of FIDDLER ON THE ROOF.” On the other hand, does my novel tell a story that everyone knows?

Often, when I’m asked what my book is about and I answer that it’s about a woman who survives the pogrom in Kishinev, the capital city of what is now known as Moldova, the next question is, “What’s a pogrom?” It is that the question that convinced me to continue writing.

“‘Kill the Jews!’ Frenzied shouts came from the tailor shop sending icicles down Havah’s back. Sounds of machines toppling and tearing cloth ripped through her.”PSKFM

On April 19, 1903, as Christians celebrated Easter, the pogrom began at noon. Fueled by the rumor that a Christian child had been murdered in a Jewish ritual and the blood used to make unleavened bread, a frenzied mob rampaged through Jewish neighborhoods for two days.

Reportedly, local police made no attempt to interfere with rioters wielding iron bars and axes. Those who were taken into custody were soon released.

By the time the violence ended two-thousand families were left homeless, five-hundred were wounded and fifty Jewish people were dead.

“Crushing silence, heavy and cruel, closed in on Havah like a burial garment. She opened her eyes. Her soul pleaded for a sound. Children’s laughter. She longed to hear it. Craved it like sweet raisins. But only more quiet answered her plea.” PSKFM

No one needed to identify the last corpse in the row for it was draped in his father’s tallis. He took off his hat, scraped a handful of dirt from the street and sprinkled it over his bare head. With a muffled sob he fell beside Evron’s body, clutching the prayer shawl’s fringes. Then he uncovered his brother’s face for one last goodbye, kissed his cold forehead and replaced the cover.

“No one needed to identify the last corpse in the row for it was draped in Itzak’s father’s tallis. Itzak took off his hat, scraped a handful of dirt from the street and sprinkled it over his bare head. With a muffled sob he fell beside Evron’s body, clutching the prayer shawl’s fringes. Then he uncovered his brother’s face for one last goodbye, kissed his cold forehead and replaced the cover.” PSKFM

News of the bloody pogrom sent shockwaves around the world. Rallies were held in London, Paris and New York. President Theodore Roosevelt urged the Czar to denounce the massacre. The Czar refused.

The New York Times reported:

“The anti-Jewish riots in Kishinev, Bessarabia, are worse than the censor will permit to publish. There was a well laid-out plan for the general massacre of Jews on the day following the Russian Easter. The mob was led by priests, and the general cry, “Kill the Jews,” was taken up all over the city. The Jews were taken wholly unaware and were slaughtered like sheep. The dead number 120 and the injured about 500. The scenes of horror attending this massacre are beyond description. Babes were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob. The local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror, and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.” (“Jewish Massacre Denounced,” New York Times, April 28, 1903, p 6)

Historians have called pogroms such as these the dress rehearsal for the Nazi Holocaust. Over a hundred years have passed since Kishinev and other such pogroms. Do we remember them? Is this really a story that everybody already knows?

VOICE OF A SPANISH DANCER – WRITING THE WAVES

Published February 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

WRITING THE WAVES

A few years ago I made a terrible mistake that ultimately affected my health. I allowed my passion to write to replace exercise, including swimming.

One day I went for a routine checkup. My doctor, who had taken care of me through years of anorexia, told me I needed to lose weight.

“Pre-diabetes and hypertension,” she said, “Rochelle, I know you love to write but get off the chair once in a while.”

Diabetes runs rampant on both sides of my family. My father died from congestive heart failure as a result and another relative went blind. Neither prospect appealed to me.

Averse to taking medication I opted, with my doctor’s agreement, to control my sugar with diet and exercise. My elliptical trainer came out of moth balls. I found a pool and religiously counted carbs. My numbers, weight and blood sugar, went down.

Exercise in no way takes away from my writing time. In fact, the pool is my think tank where more than a few story lines have emerged. There are still sedentary days when I neither swim nor write as I fight my tendency to “awfulize” and tread the waters of self-pity rather than meeting the challenges head on.

This morning, in the lap lane next to mine, a young swimmer battles the water. I feel a bit winded myself as I watch her. Arms flailing, she works hard to keep her head above water. I wish I could tell her how much easier it would be if she kicked less and let the water carry her.

Perhaps one day, I’ll take my own advice.

Voice of a Spanish Dancer – Refracted Bliss

Published January 10, 2015 by rochellewisoff

REFRACTED BLISS

Sub-zero-degree temperatures and frigid winds for the past week have kept me indoors. Whenever I’ve thought about making the less-than-a-mile trek to the fitness center I’ve talked myself out of it. Although my vacation plans included swimming to my heart’s content, stinging cold has made it easy to curl up with a hot cup of coffee instead.

This morning the walls close in on me and I’m drowning in a sea of despair. I know what I need to do. No matter how cold, wet or icy, I’ll let nothing stand between me and the lap pool.

I pack my gym bag and layer two sweaters, jeans and a heavy coat over my swimsuit. My car’s thermostat reads 16º.

In the locker room I hurriedly peel off the layers and head for the pool. It’s uninhabited and the water’s a clear sheet. All mine.

I slip in and submerge fully then propel myself through the cool water that rushes over and carries me to another place.

Sunlight shining through the long windows paints ribbons across the pool’s blue floor.

Smoother than silk, water is a lover’s gentle caress that massages my bare skin and whispers peaceful words of reassurance in my ear. “You are alive. You are changing. You are safe.”

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It was so worth it!

26 December 2014

Published December 24, 2014 by rochellewisoff

JUST IN!!! DUE TO THE BUSY-NESS OF THE HOLIDAYS, I’M EXTENDING THIS PROMPT FOR ANOTHER WEEK. IF YOU HAVEN’T HAD TIME TO WRITE BECAUSE OF FAMILY CELEBRATIONS AND WHAT-NOT THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO POST A BARN BURNER FOR THE NEW YEAR.

***STAY CALM AND WRITE***

The next in this line of photos is the PHOTO PROMPT. Is the staircase going up or just coming down? Where does it take you? Tell me your story in a hundred words or less.

My story follows the prompt and the inLinkz blue frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive crit.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg

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Recently, I woke to find that our internet was down. Cut off from my online friends, a sense of panic flooded me. I felt empty and alone. The what-if’s bombarded me.

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

EMP

Couched in complacency, we never saw it coming.

The first few hours weren’t bad. We figured the electric company would remedy the problem while we enjoyed sandwiches and chips by candlelight and a break from television.

After a month we were still in darkness and the grocery shelves were bare.

My car with its solid state circuit for a brain is a useless hunk of metal.

Local doctors are at a loss to treat the simplest diseases.

Real books are in demand.

We’re learning to live off the land but the internet is dead and the silence is deafening.

12 December 2014

Published December 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is this week’s PROMPT. What stands out? What type of story does it tell you? Tell us in a hundred words or less.

My story comes after the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and crit. The artwork afterward is original and used for the sole purpose of illustrating my story. Permission required to use it. Thank you and shalom.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Sandra Crook

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

GRACE

In the midst of running, swimming and daily calisthenics, all at a frenetic pace, I fantasized about onion rings and fried chicken. Low numbers were all that mattered. One hundred calories per meal. Twenty pink pills to purge them. The scale hovered between eighty-five and eighty-four.

“You like my new jeans?” I asked my friend Linda. “I can’t believe they fit.”

“What size?” Her ice-blue gaze met mine.

“Zero.”

“You’ll look nice in your child-size coffin.”

__________

Now I run and swim at a comfortable pace and not a day goes by that I don’t thank Linda for my life.

Author’s Note: After I made the difficult decision to move on, Linda and I tossed those skinny jeans down the trash compactor in the backroom of our store. I don’t tell this to garner sympathy. It’s something I went through and have conquered with the help of excellent therapy and good friends. Life is all grist for the mill, isn’t it?

Originality is the Art of Concealing Your Source…Or is it?

Published October 28, 2014 by rochellewisoff

ORIGINAL ARTWORK Copyright- Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

ORIGINAL ARTWORK Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Not too long ago I read an article by a blogger who had used copyrighted photos without permission. What seemed perfectly innocent to her resulted in ugly legal repercussions.

It’s so easy with social media to pick out images as if they were free samples in a candy store, isn’t it?

From the other side of that fence, I’ve used some of my original sketches or snapshots to illustrate particular stories. Imagine my surprise when, more than once, these showed up on another blogger’s page.

My friend and fellow author Marie Gail Stratford recently shared important information for all of us who blog and or use social media. Click her name to read and be educated.

Shalom,

Rochelle

AUTOMATIC BLUES

Published October 20, 2014 by rochellewisoff

I GOT THEM STEADILY DEPRESSING, LOW DOWN MIND MESSING, MY CAR’S IN THE SHOP AGAIN, BLUES.

This past year has not been the best year for my car. In fact I’m beginning to think it’s the incarnation of the Li’l Abner character with a cloud over his head. Remember him? For those of you who don’t…never mind.

In the midst of our frigid Missouri winter, my Chevy Cruz’s heater went out. So it spent some time in the shop. Due to the lack of a small part that had to be ordered my car was MIA longer than expected.

My joy at being back in my little car was short lived. The day after getting it back it died in the parking lot after work. This time it had to be towed to the dealership but not before I spent an hour in the car keeping warm and bandying words with the dingbat at the dispatch center. It seems she sent the tow truck driver to Lee’s Summit, Missouri when I’d specifically told her I was at 23^rd and Lee’s Summit Road in Independence, Missouri.

After another week in the shop, my car was returned in perfect working order. End of story? I wish.

About a month ago, on the way to work, a deer on a suicide mission ran out in front of me. While I was shaken by it, I wasn’t hurt and the car was drivable. Thank God for insurance and a $100 deductible.

Front end after hitting the deer.

A week ago last Thursday we were on our way home from an event when the driver of an SUV decided he needed our lane on the freeway as well as his own. He sideswiped us and barreled down the road not so gently into the rainy night.

Of course, the car’s back in the shop. Because we filed a police report and it’s a clear case of hit and run it won’t count against us on our insurance. I’m also grateful to be here. It could’ve been so much worse.

My story doesn’t end here.

I’m part of a dying breed of people in the United States who prefer a standard transmission as opposed to an automatic.

It wasn’t always so, but circumstances thirty-five years ago dictated.

When Jan taught me to drive a stick he assured me coordinating my left foot and right hand would become second nature. I had my doubts as I popped the clutch and bounced down the street like a rubber ball.

It happened as he said, though not overnight, it happened. Since then every car, I’ve owned has been a standard.

Ever hear of a loaner car with a standard transmission? I shouldn’t complain, right? It could be worse. At least I have a car.

An automatic requires intense concentration. When coming to a stop, my left foot trembles and my right hand wanders aimlessly. More than once I’ve slammed both feet on the brake and nearly catapulted myself through the windshield.

Tonight, I hope, my car’s coming back home, with luck, slightly worse for wear and virtually unwrinkled. I might take her for drive to experience the sheer joy of downshifting to a stop.

I hope my brake lights work.

START WEARING PURPLE!

Published July 21, 2014 by rochellewisoff

It never occurred to me to designate a theme song for my blog until Junk Chuck (whoever he) dropped by my “About Rochelle” page and left this video. Nothing more to add. Enjoy!