EDIBLE COMPLEX

Published September 16, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Over twenty years as an on-again off-again professional cake decorator I’ve been asked to do some interesting things with the edible media. A few of these creations will forever hold a fond place in my memory.

One such customer was a young woman who wanted a cake to celebrate her son’s potty training success. While I’ve decorated cakes for birthdays, baby showers, wedding showers, graduations and monumental achievements, I can honestly say that this one is a first. Nonetheless, it is a milestone. Why not commemorate it?

EUTHANASIA

Published September 13, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Thanks to Madison for choosing my photo for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Two summers ago this magnificent creation showed up in a corner of our garage door. While I’m not a big fan of spiders, I’m in awe of their webs. And as always, I love the challenge of story telling in few words. 93 words this time.

The ravenous pain that riddled every nerve ending of Jessie’s cancer-wasted body defied morphine. She would welcome the death angel when he came.

Outside her window the porch light illuminated diaphanous spiraled threads that stretched from one corner to the other. She admired the creator’s tenacity.

Through her medicinal haze she gazed at her daughter Marissa’s bruised face. “The bastard. Leave him.”

“Don’t have to. Someone shot him six times at close range.”

“Do you know why that spider spins her web?”

Marissa kissed Jessica’s powder burned hand. “Yes, Mom. For her children.”

CEASE-FIRE

Published September 7, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.

Here’s my offering for Friday Fictioneers. 100 words on the button this week. I can’t say that it came easy, but I think it conveys the story I was going after.

And while you’re in the neighborhood, why not read my previous blog entry? It’s a good reminder for all of us who write to make every word count.

****

Despite his outspoken arguments against the Confederacy, to please Father, Amelia’s twin brother James enlisted. A year later he perished at Clark’s Mill.

Afterward she spent afternoons in the abandoned slave quarters reading Andrew’s letters in secret. The last one came seven months ago.

“When the war’s over we’ll live in New York…”

Had she lost him, too?

From the corner of the shack a Union soldier stumbled toward her, his face chocolate brown beneath his rumpled cap. Her knees buckled. He caught her and crushed her against his broad chest.

Breathless, she devoured his bronze lips. “Andrew. Dearest Andrew.”

EVERY. SINGLE.WORD. *YKWIM

Published September 2, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Special thanks to Doug MacIlroy for permission to share this article from his 12 October 2011 post. When I read it I thought it worth repeating. Enjoy the read.

Shalom-Aloha, Rochelle

I spend a great deal of time proofreading my posts because it is important to me to say what I mean. A long time ago when I was working on my first novel with my co-author, John Pace, we developed the habit of working on two computers (an Apple IIe and an Apple IIc. Thanks Steve and Steve.) side by side on a large desk in our office. One of us would write and the other would edit previous chapters, chiming in whenever a question came up or an idea needed to be explored. During this process, in either mode, we would often come across sentences, paragraphs or entire passages that needed to be rewritten or entirely excised. What remained following that necessary surgery was the task of saying as clearly and succinctly as possible what we wanted to convey in the first place.

Picture the two of us there, staring into space as we struggled to find the right combination and arrangement of words to replace what we’d removed. To keep our heads from exploding we took to starting the revison process by typing *YKWWM at the beginning of the blank spot. These letters stood for “You Know What We Mean.” We would laugh because, though we knew what we meant, until we wrote it correctly, the world would not know what we meant. Once we’d tackled the problem and fixed it, the removal of those six characters signified that we were happy with the changes and could move on.

Words have meanings. Every single one of them. Put them in the wrong order and you’ve thrown Mary down the stairs the ball. No matter how much we wanted it to be easy, writing was work and short cuts got us absolutely nowhere. We had to get it right. The false joy of ‘finishing’ a passage or paragraph pales in comparison to the satisfaction of getting it right. It takes just as long to write a good book as a bad one and typing ’The End’ doesn’t always mean you’re done.

With that I’d like to share a link to an article that I found very interesting. It’s about an inaccurate “quote” set, unfortunately, in stone. Here’s the link.http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/11/opinion/clark-king-monument-inscription/index.html I hope you enjoy it. The solution might be to carve in the characters, *YKWWM.

It worked for me.

For more great words from Doug go to http://ironwood.wordpress.com

WRITER’S CATHARSIS

Published August 31, 2012 by rochellewisoff

This Week’s Friday Fictioneers photo is from Stacy Plowright. Thanks to Madison Woods for opening this forum to form a global community. Who knew?

Thanks for dropping by, Rochelle.

***

“To delight the angels she dances on clouds. Heaven is illuminated by her presence.”

“Clichés.” Luke spat in the sand. “Who really dances on clouds anyway?”

His poetic words touting faith and hope did little to convince himself. He flung his notebook to the ground. Thirteen years was not enough time to love.

Even though none had fallen, he tasted rain. Vaporous whorls and ridges imprinted the blackening sky.

He waded into the churning sea. There he waited for lightning to sear him until her voice whispered on the wind.

“Stay here, my love. Our boys still need you.”

OUT OF MY MIND-LEAVE A MESSAGE

Published August 26, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Have you ever been accused of being absentminded or forgetful? Ever walk into a wall, or worse, another person because something behind you caught your eye? Yeah, me, too.

Among my many nicknames my favorite is probably “Etch” short for Etch-A-Sketch. One good shake and the screen goes blank.

Absent? Ha! I beg to differ. It’s not that I’m absent from my mind. On the contrary, I’m quite present. It’s those external surroundings that slip my notice while my mind is swirling with unwritten stories, novel rewrites or a wedding cake that requires my artistry next week.

What could very well be the best/worst example of my propensity for being in six places at once without touching terra firma happened about four years ago. After loading my car to head out for services I paged through my mental list. Change of clothes? Check. Bible? Check. Prayer shawl? Check.

Satisfied everything was in order I backed out of the garage. The next few minutes were so horror filled I still cringe at the memory. What I failed to check was my wide-open driver-side door.

I can still hear the rrrrripp as my pristine 2002 Saturn’s door panel wrenched from its foundation. My breathing came to gasping halt. I hit the brake and turned off the engine. For a few catatonic moments I just sat there, hoping it was only a nightmare. Then reality set in.

My husband’s cooler head prevailed. After he talked me down from my hysteria tree, he called our insurance agent. With the knowledge that repairs were covered with a minor deductable I felt somewhat better.

But the pain didn’t end there. It would be at least a week before I could get the car into the body shop. Naturally my poor car with its temporary trash bag and duct tape fix made me the butt of all jokes.

What can I say? I am my own anecdote.

Now it’s your turn. Have a similar out of body story to tell?

ESCAPE

Published August 22, 2012 by rochellewisoff

This week I’m in California visiting my kids and their beautiful daughter (my granddaughter). While I’ve had some quality writing time I’ve decided to “cheat” this week with an abridged excerpt from my first novel Please Say Kaddish for Me. It seems to work well with Maggie Duncan’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers.

*A side note: Kaddish is the Hebrew prayer recited in honor of the dead and to comfort the bereft.

Rocks, frozen grass and cupules stabbed the soles of her bare feet.

Who would pray for their souls?

Havah forced her heavy mouth to shape the prayer although she detested its beauty. “‘Magnified and sanctified is your great Name…’”

Her hands, clapped over her ears, could not blot out the cries of those fast becoming memories. “‘…in the world which you have created…’”

Like prickly fingers, spiny thorns grabbed at her nightgown and she fought to ignore the fire in her lungs. “‘…according to Your will.’”

Run.

Brambles ripped into her flesh.

Run.

Her legs smarted.

Don’t stop. Run.

Hello world!

Published August 19, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Welcome to my beginnings on WordPress.com! So far I’m learning my way around the new neighborhood. Thanks for stopping by. The best is yet to come.

CASUALTY OF WAR

Published August 16, 2012 by rochellewisoff

This week’s Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt is from Lura Helms. It’s always fun to read the different imaginings that emanate from one photo. Here’s my 100 word offering.

In the woods on the outskirts of town is the Tree of Life. Not to be confused with the original this one earned its name from a century of discarded oddities which have grown into its branches.

Jason and I carved our names into the bark the day before he left for Viet Nam. We’d marry when he returned.

When the final letter came my heart cratered to my stomach.

He’d met Trinh-Lee, his true love.

Today you can still read the crude print that says, “Jason loves Karen.”

Just below it, imbedded in the trunk, is my disengagement ring.

SAFE

Published August 9, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Without a lot of explanation or intro I give you this week’s offering for Friday Fictioneers.

“Your services are no longer needed.”

Twenty-three years of loyalty to the company. Terminated. Snap! Just like that.

Along with other victims, Elise sued for age discrimination and won.

No longer defined by job description, motherhood, widowhood or any other hood, she left the Midwest behind.

Thousands of miles away, the ocean’s slup-slosh sated her thirsty ears. The salt-laden breeze sent shivers of delight through her bare arthritic shoulders.

Then she dove headlong into the wake. The sea welcomed and caressed her like a long-lost lover. Her eyes feasted on purple coral, mollusks and striped clownfish.

Elise was home!