6 March 2015

Published March 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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Blue Ceiling FF

 

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The following picture is the PHOTO PROMPT.  Does it plant a story in your mind? Share it in a hundred words or less.  

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

PHOTO PROMPT - © Erin Leary

PHOTO PROMPT – © Erin Leary

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

ESCAPE

                “Sabira! Where are you, you worthless bitch?” yelled her husband, Davlet.  

            From the barn rafters she watched him through a chink in the wall and prayed. “Don’t let him find me.”

                Two weeks ago she’d been an ambitious university student until four men, including Davlet, jumped out of a car and forced her into it.

             “Kyrgyz tradition,” said her mother when Sabira called her for help. “You’ll learn to be a good wife as grandmother and I did.”

            “New tradition,” whispered Sabira as she tightened a noose she’d fashioned from barbed wire around her neck and jumped off the ledge.  

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.Bride Knapping

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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

“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?  

27 February 2015

Published February 25, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The next picture is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Can you tell us in a hundred words or less? Take the road less traveled if you dare! 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I enjoy comments and welcome constructive crit. 

©Dawn_Landau

PHOTO PROMPT –© Dawn Q. Landau

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHODUNIT

            “A moving picture is the last thing I want to see, Amy,” said Lizzie Le Prince. “‘The Great Train Robbery,’ indeed—starring Thomas Edison as the ring leader.”

            Amy patted Lizzie’s hand. “Let it go, dear. It’s been thirteen years.”

            “It was Edison all right. He had Louis murdered for his invention and tried to take sole credit.”

            “Police didn’t find any evidence. Louis just vanished without a trace.”

            Across the aisle in the darkened theater an elderly man peered at them over his program.

            “Poor Lizzie, my dear little martinet,” Louis whispered. “Perhaps a simple divorce would’ve been kinder.”            

 

leprince

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(I take no responsibility for the typo)

 

Another Step Closer

Published February 24, 2015 by rochellewisoff

As much as I’ve always loved FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, I knew that it was a watered down version of the persecution the Jews in Eastern Europe before the turn of the last century. My family suffered at the hands of the Czars. The history of what happened to them has always haunted me.

Nine years ago I started my first novel, equipped only with the desire to tell the real story that few really know and a minimal amount of writing experience. In a matter of months I had written a one-hundred-and-fourteen thousand word manuscript. It was a beginning, the first manifestation of a dream. A dream that many told me was a pipe dream, but I felt compelled to keep going. I continued to work on the first manuscript and wrote a sequel.

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Standing: Nettie Weinberg, my maternal grandmother. I don’t know the other woman’s name, but I’m pretty sure she was my great grandmother.

I had no idea where to go from there.  A fellow student in my Hebrew class, writer Annie Withers, read my first manuscript and told me it was a story that needed to be told but needed a lot of work. She invited me to a small critique group of experienced writers who met every other Monday night. I came to look forward to these meetings with happy anticipation and dread. It can be painful to hear that your baby has warts. For the most part these dear ladies encouraged me.

Annie introduced me to Kansas City Writers Group and to Ozarks Writers Group (OWL). Going to workshops and networking with other writers helped me hone my skills. It was also at OWL that I learned how to pitch to an agent.

The first agent turned me down with “This is just excellent, Rochelle, but…” he went on to say that he wasn’t working in a market where my book fit. I wasn’t surprised since I’d gone to his website and checked out his clients. Nonetheless, I framed that letter. It was the first of more than one rejection.

Meanwhile the novels have gone through many revisions.

Three years ago I pitched the first novel, PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME, to agent Jeanie Loiacono and she accepted it with enthusiasm and, this past week she took on the sequel, FROM SILT AND ASHES. I’m thrilled to have an agent who believes in my works and is committed to finding an publisher for them. 

Loiacono Literary Agency takes on From Silt and Ashes, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields sequel to Please Say Kaddish For Me!

 http://www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com/authors/rochelle-wisoff-fields/

20 February 2015

Published February 18, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

Blue Ceiling FF

*NOTE: When linking your story in the inLinkz, you’re given three boxes. The first one is for your URL and the third for your email address. The second presents with your blog and story title. It would be helpful if writers would backspace over that and type in your name. This way we can all tell who the writer is at a glance. Thank you. 

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. What thoughts crystallize in your mind? Can you tell the story in a hundred words or less? 

My story follows the prompt below. I enjoy honest comments. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SCHIST HAPPENS

            I’ll never forget Mike O’Hara, my fellow New York sanitation worker. What a storyteller. Every Friday night me and the boys would settle round for a long listen.

            “So I says to Mr. King, ‘whatcha make a dis rock I dug up?’”Mike took a long swig of beer. “Heavy sucker.  Looks kinda like a red diamond. King says he knows a jeweler who’d kill for it.”

            “This might be your tallest tale yet, O’Hara,” said Pete.

            Mike had the last laugh when his “sewer garnet” made headlines in 1886. Pity he didn’t sell it hisself. Could’ve made a fortune.   

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http://www.johnbetts-fineminerals.com/jhbnyc/articles/garnet.htm

http://www.johnbetts-fineminerals.com/jhbnyc/articles/nycminerals2.htm

 

 

13 February 2015

Published February 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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😀 In case you missed it we were mentioned in WordPress’s Daily Post 10 February 2015  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2015/02/10/highlighted-blogging-events/

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell me in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the Blue InLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism. 

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

VICISSITUDES

            When Sarah and I were five, Grandma sold Jack. Mama took to her bed for a month.

            “Why she sell my daddy?” asked Sarah. 

            I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat. 

            “Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s a servant.”

             Six years later the old biddy sold my best friend. I haven’t seen her since.

            On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.

            This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.                      

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Black and white twinsReal life twins. It can and does happen. 

VOICE OF A SPANISH DANCER – WRITING THE WAVES

Published February 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

purple swimmer

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.  Copy of Mermaid

6 February 2015

Published February 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Can you get lost in it? What kind of story does it tell you? Share it in a hundred words or less. 

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

garden maze

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Melanie Greenwood

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Perhaps it seems I’m late to the party as last week, 27 January, commemorated the seventieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. In my opinion, every day is a good time to remember. 

Shalom,

Rochelle

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Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

YIZKOR

            There is a museum in Jerusalem called Yad Vashem. Although I live five miles from it, I’ve never wanted to visit.

            “Come with me, Hannah,” says Zvi. “The candles are pretty.”

            My brother is relentless.

            “No, Zvi. Let me forget.”

 _________

            The maze of mirrors is filled with reflections of six candle flames.  

            “Shoshana Stein, six years old. Romania.”

            Disembodied voices intone names in an endless requiem for the dead.  

            “Moishe Lapinsky, sixteen years old. Poland.”

            One point five million children murdered.

            “Zvi Goldberg. Four years old. Ukraine.”

            At my brother’s name, I sink to my knees.

            I will never forget.     

Little Zvi with border

Original Artwork – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Yad Vahem Candle room

The names I used in my story are fictitious. The names in the following snippet are real. Haunting in its simplicity, the candle room is an experience I’ll never forget. 

30 January 2015

Published January 28, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The disc and the dragonfly

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Does it spark an idea for you? Step outside the fuse box and switch on a story. 

My story will follow the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest feedback for it’s how we grow as writers. 

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Ted Strutz

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

TIP OF THE SPEAR

            “Eddie, why did you do that?”

            “I dunno,” he mumbled.

            Eddie hung his head and stared at Mom’s shattered porcelain teapot. It never occurred to him when he threw his ball at the cat that he’d miss.

            “Special Ed.” His sister Karen stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “Retard.”

            “Impulsive and disruptive,” his second grade teacher told Mom the day he stuck a piece of foil in the electrical outlet. “He’ll never amount to much.”

 

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            “Why did Eddie do that?” Karen whispered.

            “Impulsive and fearless.” The tall Marine handed her a folded American flag. “A true hero.”

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American Hero.

.folded flag

23 January 2015

Published January 21, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The disc and the dragonfly

FIC

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The photo below is from our lady in Italy. What does it say to you? I dare you step outside the boat and walk on water. 

My story follows the prompt and the elusive blue frog.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN ISMAY’S PLACE

            Logan hunched his shoulders against the icy North Atlantic wind.

            “Me wee Patrick’s one tomorrow.”

            “Dinnae fash yersel,” said John, the coxswain. “The morrow’ll be the cold start of May and there’ll be eight more months of 1912 to play with the boy.”

            “Two points starboard, John,” said Logan from the bow as he readied the boat hook. 

 

             Four months later the memories of the baby they pulled from the water tormented Logan. Patrick’s cries woke him from a nightmare. He gathered the child into his arms and whispered.

            “Let fly, lad. ‘Tis a hard life, but a good sign.”

Unknown Child

 

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