17 June 2016

Published June 15, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request comes from the Far Side of Arkansas and was made by Gary Larceny-Gayer If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

Note: Neil MacDonald passed this along to me re last week’s prompt. I found it a worthy read so I’m passing it along to whomsoever will. CLICK HERE

Copyright -John Nixon

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Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 99

The original post is here.

CHILDHOOD’S END

“Tell me about your childhood.” Audrey tapped her pencil against her cheek and pierced me with her eyes.

I squirmed into a fetal position in my chair. “Bicycles, Barbies and circus clowns.”

“Why are you starving yourself to death?”

“I eat.” I counted the knots in the carpet.

“Popcorn and celery. 85 pounds and dropping. What have you buried?”

“Nothing. I remember my childhood in detail.”

“You invented it.”

To make her prying stop, I shut my eyes. In one heart-stopping moment, long dormant memories stirred and shattered my perfect life.

“The first one was my uncle,” I whispered.

10 June 2016

Published June 8, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Jennifer Pendergast. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

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Originally posted here.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

PARENT TEACHER CONFERENCE

When other kids give Mrs. Loftis flowers she’s all giggly. But when I bring them she gets frowny.

Why don’t she like me? I read better’n anybody else in first grade and I color in between the lines. Mommy says it’s my ‘magination.

Tonight sirens and mad grown-up voices wake me up. I run to Mommy’s room. She’s crying. So’s her boyfriend.

There’s a gun on the floor and a policeman is putting handcuffs on…Mrs. Loftis? Her face is all twisty and red.

“You cheap husband stealing tramp!” she shouts.

Guess it’s not me she don’t like after all.

3 June 2016

Published June 1, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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Our Mantra:

The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Sandra Crook. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. The photo is from Piya Singh for whom I have no link. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

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

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Here’s my story, first posted 7 September 2012 when Madison Woods was FF Queen. I’m really appalled at how lax I was in replying to comments. I apologize to those of you to whom I didn’t reply. How rude was that?

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

CEASE-FIRE

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.”

27 May 2016

Published May 25, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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Email me at runtshell@gmail.com.

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. This week the photo is one of mine.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction/Teaser

Not exactly an excerpt from FROM SILT AND ASHES

Word Count: 99

BOTHER IN LAW

Quinnon’s drunken accusations reprised like a canon in Ulrich’s head. How could Quinnon accuse his own sister of murder? No one could deny she had a fiery temper—but murder? Surely not!

Ulrich stood on the ship’s deck beside her. The moon’s reflections flickered on the waves like radiant sea creatures. A salt laden breeze ruffled his hair and chilled him through his thin shirt. Despite his raging mind, he relished the cool ocean spray on his face.

Catherine leaned her head on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Ulrich?”

“I have to know. Did you kill your son?”

“Yes.”

ULRICH DIETRICH
Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

CATHERINE DIETRICH
Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

QUINNON FLANNERY
Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

COMING SOON!

20 May 2016

Published May 18, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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.

A few times this week I found myself scrolling through blog posts to get to the story. Please make sure it’s your STORY PAGE URL than you link. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TOAST OF THE TOWN

Slouching on the bench, sixteen-year-old Ed clutched a train ticket, his dreams of being a Great War hero dashed. He hadn’t realized the draft board doctor would require a birth certificate.

“Where ya headed, kid?” asked the stubble-cheeked man next to him.

“Port Chester, New York.”

“Never heard of it. What’s there?”

“Home.” Ed traced a floor tile with his toe. “Dad’s gonna beat the hell out of me for running off. He says I’ll never amount to anything.”

***

Hours later, tears lined Peter Sullivan’s face as he joyfully welcomed his son, the future television show host, with open arms.

.

13 May 2016

Published May 11, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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 © CEAYR

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SWINGJUGEND

In 1969 my mother packed me off to my aunt and uncle’s dairy farm in Wisconsin.

“But Mom, Uncle Otto’s weird. That eyepatch and those scars—ick.”

***

One night he took my Jefferson Airplane record from the stereo and replaced it with his own 45.

“You tink das ist protest music?”

“‘It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,’” He sang. “The SS ransacked our nightclub, but I danced all the way to Buchenwald.”

Uncle Otto taught me more than the jitterbug that summer.

***

At his funeral last year I saluted my favorite uncle with, “Swing Heil!”

.

6 May 2016

Published May 4, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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. This week’s photo is from Roger Bultot for whom there is no link. Thanks for letting us use your photos Roger.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LOST BATTALION

Molly made a face at her brother. “You birdbrain.”

“Am not!” Jimmy scowled.

“That’s a compliment you know,” said Grandpop.

“Why?” asked Molly.

“You never heard of Cher Ami?”

“What’s that?”

“Not what—who. He was a hero of the Great War.” Tears stung Grandpop’s eyes. “The Krauts shot a hole in his chest, took out his eye and blew off his leg. Nothing could deter him from his mission.”

“Wowsers!” Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “He was tough.”

Molly sighed. “Was he good looking, too, Grandpop?”

“I’ll say. Two hundred of us dough boys owe that handsome carrier pigeon our lives.”

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Character Study-Sol Mayer

Published April 28, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Sol Mayer was born in Moldavia. When he was a child he moved to Poland with his parents who became successful shop owners. There he met and married his wife Zelda. Together, they immigrated to America where he owns Mayfair, a profitable dry goods store in Kansas City.

By most standards the Mayers are wealthy. While Zelda enjoys all that money affords and is wont to put on airs, Sol never forgets his humble shtetl beginnings. Although he owns a mansion on Quality Hill, he would be happy in a shanty as long as he had his wife and daughter, Wendy, at his side. He is known by the community for fairness, generosity and a quick wit.

***

In the following scene, Havah and Arel’s daughter Rachel is not quite two years old.

The long narrow shop smelled of leather, licorice, and chocolate, but for the most part, it reeked of Sol’s cigars. Havah moved between rows of shelves filled with dolls, toy trains and stacks of canned food until she found the tooth powder.

Behind the counter Sol Mayer smiled at her, his cigar clenched between his teeth. Smoke tendrils framed his bulldog jowls. He took a peppermint stick from a glass jar and held it out to Rachel who wriggled in her pram.

“Looks like the little maideleh needs one of these.”

“What she really needs is an n-a-p. But c-a-n-d-y might keep her quiet for a while.” Havah opened her coin purse.

“Put your money away, Mrs. Gitterman. My treat.” Sol walked around the counter and knelt. He handed the candy to Rachel who popped the tip of it into her mouth.

“What do you say to the nice man, Rukhel Shvester?” Havah snapped her purse clasp shut.

“Senk oo.”

“Amazing!” Sol patted the child’s head. “Wendy didn’t start talking until she was almost three. Of course she hasn’t stopped to take a breath since. Just like her mother.” He brushed his hand over his balding head and winked at her. “I had a full head of hair when I married Zelda.”

~~Taken from From Silt and Ashes

Published by Argus Publishing

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

***

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The Sequel to

Amazon Angus & Robertson B&N BAM BookWorld FishPond Shelfari The Book Depository Waterstones GoodReads iDreamBooks HPB Hudson Book Sellers IndieBound Powell’s Books

Amazon AU Amazon UK Amazon Germany Amazon Italy Amazon France Amazon Spain

Check out my author page on the Loiacono Website. For all of the character studies thus far, click on the link Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Art and Blogs or my website RochelleWordArt.

29 April 2016

Published April 27, 2016 by rochellewisoff

KUDOS TO OUR RESIDENT AWARD WINNER SANDRA CROOK

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Best wishes go out to our friend CEAYR and hopes that he’ll be pain free soon.

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.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IKH HOB DIKH TSUFIL LIB*

Beryl’s wealthy uncle paid his way to America to study medicine in exchange for help in his store. The long narrow shop smelled of leather, licorice, and chocolate, but mostly, it reeked of Uncle Sol’s cigars.

“Did you leave a sweetheart in Moldavia, Beryl?”

“Yes sir.”

“Say the word and I’ll bring her over.”

***

“Beryl, don’t go. I’ll die of a broken heart.”

“I’ll come back for you, Havah.”

***

“She perished in a pogrom four years ago.”

Sol stopped to wait on a young mother with her child.

“Beryl, meet Mrs. Gitterman from Moldavia.”

Beryl’s heart thundered her name. “Havah!”

*I Love You Too Much

Just for fun an updated traditional Yiddish melody if you’re in the mood. 😉

22 April 2016

Published April 20, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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.

Best wishes go out to our friend CEAYR and hopes that he’ll be without pain very soon.

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This month marks my fourth Friday Fictioneers Anniversary! To commemorate it I’m posting a rerun. At least the photo’s a rerun. If you already wrote a story to go with this prompt all those years ago, feel free to take a breather and re-post it.

As I reread the story I posted four years ago this week, I decided it needed some updating. It was, after all, the third flash fiction I ever wrote. If you’d like to read the original click HERE

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN MEMORY OF 24682

Between barbs and twisted wire the sun had the audacity to shine. Marushka’s stomach howled in outrage as she licked the dregs of a discarded sardine tin. She stretched her skeletal legs and longed for silk stockings to hug her once shapely calves.

She took a cracked mirror from her pocket and winced at her bald reflection. Murderer!

“I couldn’t let them hear you.” Memories of her baby gasping for breath under her palm haunted her. Employing the jagged glass, she slashed from her wrist to her tattoo. Relief flooded her as her life pooled in the grass. “Mama’s coming.”