5 June 2020

Published June 3, 2020 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 © Ted Strutz

Click the frog for adventures in literature!

Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

ASK FOR MAYO AT YOUR OWN PERIL

“You want your sweet potato chips?”

“Ugh, take ‘em.” Ralph scowled “Give me the regular ones any day. I can’t believe I let you order for me. At least the pastrami sandwich was good.”  

Alice savored the flavor. “For your information sweets pack a more nutritional punch than whites.”

“I’ll give you a punch.” Ralph waved his fist under her nose. “One-a these days, Alice. Pow! Right in the kisser.”

“Seriously. Sweet potatoes have more vitamin A and twice the C.”

She reached for his plate again. He clapped his hand over hers. “Keep your grubby mitts off my pickle.”

*

*

Note: Alice and Ralph Kramden weren’t Jewish but they were New Yorkers which is similar. 😉 So I leave you with these words of wisdom:

Weekend Writing Prompt – Intrepid

Published May 30, 2020 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.

This week the prompt took me back to a poem I wrote when my youngest son was somewhere between four and six. It’s been a long time ago. 😉 I wrote a lot of poetry back then as a means of journalling. I took this one out of mothballs and gave it a trim and an overhaul. The sketch is from the same time.  

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields 

 

DAUNTLESS

Today you are a cowboy

Astride your faithful steed.

Other times you’re an intrepid warrior

Stalking family pets.

You live in a world all your own,

Chattering for hours

About nothing in particular.

By turns you are both angel and rogue,

Challenging me to love you

At all cost

To my sanity.

Meet the Creator of Friday Fictioneers

Published May 29, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Once upon a time, eight years ago to be exact, I was a fledgling author with a newly published short story anthology. I’d recently started a blog and occasionally received more than two comments on my posts! Sigh. 

One April Wednesday morning in 2012 as I scrolled through my Facebook feed I saw a notice on the Ozarks Writers League, OWL, page from someone named Madison Woods. It was a reminder that it was time for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly blog challenge that would change the course of my life. 

I was hooked from the first prompt. 

(I had a lot to learn about commenting and reciprocation 😉 )

Who knew that six months later I’d be adopting Madison’s baby? Enough of that! The purpose of this post is to introduce you to the lady, author and artist who birthed the idea of Friday Fictioneers. 

© Madison Woods, Friday Fictioneers’ Birth Mother

Original Artwork © Madison Woods

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CLICK HERE TO READ A RECENT INTERVIEW WITH MADISON.

29 May 2020

Published May 27, 2020 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 © David Stewart

Click the Frog…you know you want to. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

AUTUMN FRAGRANCE

“How are you, GI Joe?”

Even though we listened to her every day, nobody took her seriously.

“They have forgotten about you back home. Your sacrifice means nothing to your people.”

Let her spout her bullshit, we looked forward to the music from home.

“Your great nation has abandoned you.”

After months of being shot at by the VC and suffering jungle rot, my orders came. I was headed for home!

At Travis I was met not with ticker tape and hurrahs, but with protesters screaming, “Get back on the plane, baby killer!”

Hanoi Hannah was onto something, after all.

***

Click for more info. 

Creation in Confinement

Published May 23, 2020 by rochellewisoff

I could begin this post will all kinds of platitudes about the strange new world that’s upon us but there are others who are doing a fine job of that. Which is not to say that I’m thumbing my nose at the powers that be, carrying a protest sign or refusing to wear a mask. None of the above need apply. I will admit to the strong desire to take a sledgehammer to the television when the news comes on. Yes, I want to stay informed, just not 24/7. 

The toughest part of shelter in place for me has been the closure of my fitness center. More specifically the lap pool. The last mile I swam, at this writing, was Friday, March 20 at 11:00 AM, but who’s counting? Not being able to go shopping (aside from grocery shopping) has been a minor inconvenience. Yes, I’ve missed going out to eat, but we have enjoyed carry out from some of our favorite places. I’ve been cooking more, and, truthfully enjoying it more. My blog challenge Friday Fictioneers, continues to thrive with plenty of loyal participants. 

As an introvert who enjoys alone time, particularly in the wee early morning hours before the sun inches over the horizon, I’ve continued to write and paint. There’s no greater joy than enjoying a cup of hot, black coffee while communing (or wrestling with) the muse. 

Swimming has been replaced by long walks and I continue my three-mile workouts on the elliptical trainer.  However neither form of exercise does it for me like an hour of swimming. It’s hard to explain that to non-mermaids. 

I will admit to panic buying the day before our town shut down. But not what you might think. It wasn’t toilet paper, but watercolor paper. I realized I only had two sheets of my favorite left. This would never do. Wasting no time, I pointed my little Chevy in the direction of the closest arts and crafts store. 

For the duration of the quarantine my easel has not been empty or my head so full. Any subject is fair game. To start off this season of obsessive rendering, my husband helped me set of a still life, featuring his new obsession; an autographed Zager guitar.

Olive’s birthday present. A portrait of her and her dog, Poppy. One of my favorite photos of the two of them.

My granddaughter Olive, who is a budding artist in her own right, was about to turn nine at the end of the month. (Bragging rights. 😉 ) Since she seems to like her bubbie’s art work, I set to work on a special birthday present for her. I had a print made for our wall, but send the original to her.  

What to do next?

I have the good fortune of being blessed with friends who know which end of a camera to use. Sometimes, they offer their photos and other times I…uh…erm…borrow them. The following painting is from an award winning photo taken by Ricky Yates.

Posting my process and the finished painting, has helped boost sales for prints and note cards. Not to mention it keeps me entertained.

Two more of my photographer friends, Dale and Marie Gail, loaned challenging photos that I couldn’t resist. In fact I had prints sold of the beach picture and following two before I ever made it to the printer:

From photo by Marie Gail Stratford

From a photo by Dale Rogerson

And then there were the ones I did from my own photos. 

I took this on the beach in NC last summer thinking it would make a good painting.

Am I the only person who takes pictures of the drinks when they go out to eat?

In the midst of this, I did have a commission, but am not at liberty to share that one. 😀

Then there was the day thunderstorms raged. I had to capture the shelf cloud caused by cool and warm air colliding. 

Meet Ruth Bear Starfire, one of the main characters in my novel, represented by Diane Nine at Ninespeakers.com. Hopefully she’ll find a home for WHAT THE HEART WANTS soon.

Here are the final three painted this past week: 

Granola passed away about 15 years ago. I still miss that silly girl.

Meet Liza Jane who owns Russell Gayer. What’s so Funny?

Before you ask, yes, I have another picture started. And, yes, prints will be available for sale.

Shalom,

Rochelle

Weekend Writing Prompt – Downpour

Published May 23, 2020 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 Sammi’s Comment Section.

Word Prompt

Downpour

Challenge

We hope history doesn’t repeat itself. 88 words on the button, not including title.

I HEARD GOD LAUGHING

Although overcast, no rain befell us Saturday morning. Excited energy prevailed over the park full of local artists whose crafts ranged from jewelry and ceramics to paintings and photography. I hoped this two-day fair would be as successful for me as last year.

Patrons crowded my tent.

“Beautiful work.

“Magnificent watercolor technique.”

Sprinkles gave way to downpour. I tried not to let it dampen my spirits.

That was then, this is now. I fill out the application.

Nothing can stand in my way—except for, maybe, a plague.

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22 May 2020

Published May 20, 2020 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 © CEAyr

Come on along and click the dancing frog to join the fun!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE LEADER OF THE BAND

Cossacks torched the shtetl of Tolochin. Flames shot up from Cantor Beilin’s home. Five-year-old Israel choked on the billowing smoke, huddled in a ditch with his brother and sisters. He had never seen Papa weep so.

A ship carried the Beilins to America. In New York’s Lower Eastside, Izzy discovered his talent and at thirteen sang on the streets for thrown pennies.

Music and America. His love for both welled up inside of him and spilled over in the songs he wrote.

Composer Jerome Kern said of Izzy, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American Music.”

***

Born in 1888, Irving Berlin lived to be 101. Trying en-capsulize him in 100 words is no easy task. While you might not be familiar with name, I’ll bet you’re familiar with his music. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (Scandalous in 1911), “Easter Parade,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “God Bless America,” and that seasonal favorite “White Christmas” to name a few. 

Irving Berlin 1906

August 18, 1790

Published May 17, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to America’s smallest state, Rhode Island. As always, feel free to stroll around until you feel inspired to write up to 150 words. When you’re finished, post a link to your story on the InLinkz page to share with the other contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on the other stories is a big part of the fun!

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge. 

Click the frog to join the fun. 

With all the beautiful pictures of Providence on the Google maps menu, my research road took me about 39 miles south of Providence to Newport.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUGUST 18, 1790

Twelve-year-old Jacob squirmed on the wooden seat between Papa and Grandpapa Aaron. The warm August breeze through the synagogue’s open windows made him sleepy. “Why must we be here today? It’s not Shabbat.”

            His grandfather patted his knee. “I came to this country when I was your age, you know.”

           “Yes, Grandpapa.” Jacob rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard how his grandfather came to the colony of Newport, Rhode Island to escape oppression in Brazil? “I know.”

           “What you don’t know,” Grandfather pointed to a tall man sitting in the seat of honor, “is today is the day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

            Twenty years later, Jacob held his son on his lap. “I will never forget the day President Washington spoke at Jeshuat Israel and said these words, ‘The government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution, no assistance.’”

*

*

Nu? How could I resist the first synagogue in America. Established in 1763? (Guess you could call that providence. 😉 )

Click to know more

Weekend Writing Prompt – Fade

Published May 16, 2020 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.

Counting on my fingers, to make sure I had the right number of syllables…I give you Haiku

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Flower petals fade

Shriveling blossoms will fall

The artist preserves.

(Realizes she has seven words left over.)

15 May 2020

Published May 13, 2020 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 © Jan Wayne Fields

Click the Frog to Join the Party

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

TROPICAL VACATION

As a journalist, I’ve looked forward to my assignment in the island paradise of Tonga—interview deportees.

Uhila sets aside his machete. Sun through the palm trees beats down on his bare back littered with tattoos. “My dad was God. I couldn’t fight God, so I fought everyone else.”

Taking notes, I ache for the hurting child inside the man until he says, “I shot a guy for looking at me wrong—four times in the stomach. Now I’m the trash California State threw away.” He mops his brow with his forearm. “Here I don’t know shit about nothing.”

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