I’m multitasking this morning. Trying to cram down breakfast, put on makeup and post my story for Friday Fictioneers at the same time. Then it’s off to work. 97 words this go around.

“Nice doggie,” whispered Jolie.

Huddled against the fence she faced a mouthful of Pit Bull teeth. Which would be worse–the whipping she’d get for losing Grandma’s ring or to be eaten alive by a junkyard dog?

A few inches from the behemoth’s haunch, moonlight glinted off the sapphire. With her eyes fixed on his, she slid her hand toward the ring, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But he snapped to his feet with a roaring bark and lunged.

Her heart thrashed against her ribs.

In one ferocious bite the Copperhead skulking toward her met a grisly fate.

A week’s vacation has afforded me more writing time than usual. Even though it’s only Thursday I deem my Friday Fictioneers story ready for viewing. 98 words if you’re counting.

Savage heat devoured the crops. My hopes for new shoes, satin and lace shriveled with the corn and beans in Daddy’s field.

Mama inspected brittle vines along the fence. “No jelly makin’ this year, Della-Mae.”

Under the feral sun, on withered ground, she smoothed spotless bed-sheets. Then she strewed them with tiny grapes.

In September I pledged my troth in Mama’s yellowed gown. Her slippers were half again too small so I walked the aisle barefoot.

Thirty-nine years later, as we did on our wedding day, Rueben and I celebrate our devotion with grapevine bouquets and raisin wine.

After 7 years of writing, rewriting and shopping for an agent. I’m pleased to announce that last weekend I signed a contract with Jeanie Pantelakis of Sullivan Maxx Literary Agency.

To say that I’m happy would be the epitome of the understatement.
Below is the blurb that Jeanie wrote for my novel. Wow. It even makes me want to read it!

Barefoot, wearing only a nightgown, 16 year old Havah Cohen alone escapes the brutal massacre by the Czarist tyranny that destroys her home and slaughters her family on a frigid November night in 1899.

Love ignited, lost and found, insurmountable struggles and challenges, Kishinev’s Jewish pogroms and all odds against them, Havah and her soul mate, Arel withstand the storms of life in this unforgettable story of a time and place rarely spoken of.

Now to work on editing the sequel From Silt and Ashes. It’s a sweet feeling to know I’m not in this alone.

It’s my favorite time of the week! Not only do I get to meet the challenge of writing a 100 word story to go with the photo prompt from Madison Woods, I’m privileged to enjoy stories written by other Friday Fictioneers as well.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the girl’s restroom a fire fighter found a melted disposable lighter but couldn’t say for sure it was the cause. By the time he found it flames had already licked, hissed and reduced the school to a charred heap.

Stunned faces, like gray balloons, floated single file through choking billows. Only one teacher perished. A hero.

“Tell that to his wife and baby son.” Angela’s cheeks blazed.

The next morning she watched a buzzard spread his wings on an incinerated branch. Nothing left to scavenge; he soared into the grief-stricken sky.

Angela never smoked again.

This week’s photo prompt from Amanda Gray was a challenge for me so I’m a little later posting than usual. Hope everyone had a safe and happy 4th.

“I detest camping,” said Ella.

But how could she resist Chuck’s brown-eyed, boyish pout? That same look coaxed her into matrimony to the impoverished med student a year ago.

Two miles past the nearest service station, his classic Mustang stalled. Neither of their cell phones found a signal and the sun was setting. Resentment swelled her. Pain riddled her back and thighs as they hauled their gear to a nearby abandoned building.

“At least we don’t have to pitch the tent. See, El, our luck’s about to change.”

“More than you can imagine.”

“Huh?”

“My water just broke.”

TGIFF! Thank God it’s Friday Fictioneers! Thanks for stopping by and reading my offering. A little lighter than my usual fare. As always thanks to Madison Woods for the challenge and the fun. This has become not only a great exercise in writing, but a link to a great community of writers as well!
This week I’m dedicating my story to my sister/friend Regina who would never have carried this particular guilt.

“I’ll never forgive you!” Bang! The door slammed behind him.

Troy’s slouched form dwindled to a speck and disappeared over the hill.

Regina grabbed a bowl and went out to her garden. Like crimson jewels, bulging raspberries, dripping with morning dew, begged to be plucked and eaten.

Daily tasks were not enough to occupy her mind or quell her longing for his arms.

At 3:30 the back door opened and shut. He came back!

“Raspberry cobbler? Yum!” Fourteen-year-old Troy hugged her. “Sorry I yelled at you, Mom.”

“It’s okay. I should’ve asked before I threw away your old teddy bear.”

My first published book debuted in November of 2011 by High Hill Press. It’s a collection of short stories that I refer to as eclectic since there’s no central theme.
In addition to the stories, the illustrations and cover art are my own works.

You can find my book on Amazon.com and I offer them through my website. http://www.rochellewordart.com.

Currently it’s also available in two Kansas City area book shops:

Rainy Day Books
2706 West 53rd St.
Fairway KS 66205
913-384-3126
http://www.rainydaybooks.com

and

Emmanuel Christian Shop
7771 Quivira Rd
Lenexa KS 66216
913-713-5181

Note: My book isn’t a Christian book. But my friend owns the shop and has offered to carry my work.

Second Note: I’ve not been able to figure out how to make the web addresses into links on this site. If anyone can help this addled author, feel free to share the instructions in the comment box.

Once more it’s Friday. That is, in some Friday Fictioneers’ homelands. Here in Missouri it’s still Thursday evening. To find out more about us and our creator Madison Woods visit our Facebook page.

“Odonata class: Zygoptera.” With calculated neatness twelve-year-old Clark wrote in his notebook. “Damselfly.”

The insect’s organza wings shimmered silver-blue in the late afternoon sun. It seemed to relish the unprecedented attention rather than fear it. The excited boy snapped it from every angle with his new iPhone.

“‘A+’ for sure!”

A low growl interrupted his reverie. “Get your ass home, nerd-boy, before I havta beat the crap outta ya again.”

Clark poised the iPhone like a camera in one hand while with his other he cocked the stolen gun in his pocket. He winked a swollen eye.

“Hey…Dad. Say ‘cheese.’”

I took a different path this week. Thanks again to Madison Woods and Friday Fictioneers. I’m dedicating this story to my friend Teddy whose love of her Native American heritage is an inspiration.

“Walk with me now,” said Wind Woman.

Red Fawn could not hide her impatience. Following in obeisant silence behind her mother she dreamed only of her beautiful warrior. Of all the girls in her clan, he chose her.

At the top of the hill the older woman pointed to two burial mounds. “When we found them, he was dead. She laid you in my arms. Then she died.”

Wind Woman’s eyes brimmed. She pressed her palms against Red Fawn’s cheeks. “Hair like fire. Eyes like sky. The Great Spirit gave you to me. Tomorrow I give you to Iron Wolf.”

One photo prompt is worth a hundred words. Here’s my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Madison Woods.

When my mother was pregnant in 1958 she took an experimental drug to quell morning sickness. Seven months later she delivered a daughter with limbs too small to ever be useful.

Leslie never complained about her deformities. Instead she made jokes about them and dreamed of flying.

Once we took a hot-air balloon ride. She tossed sequins over the side. They glittered to the water below.

“In my next life,” she said, “I want to be a bird.”

From the same balloon I pour out her ashes. Mixed with sequins they spangle the sky.

Today my sister is free!