As One Must One Can

All posts tagged As One Must One Can

FUROR

Published January 29, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman visits Bristol in the southwest of England.   This week’s location was suggested by the talented and inspiring Kelvin M. Knight, blogger and flash fiction ninja. If you haven’t already, wander over and check out his blog.

Your mission is to write a 150-word story, poem, or essay inspired by this week’s location. You’ll find both photo spheres and streetview to inspire you. Once your piece is polished, please share it with other Pegman contributors using the link up below.

It has been one majorly busy weekend with an unexpected trip to the ER and a whole day lost. Here it is Monday morning…still catching up on Friday Fictioneers and posting a late Pegman story. What am I meshuggeh? On the other hand, the following tweaked snippet from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN puts me closer to having A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY  completed. So it’s all good, right? Of course right!

Colston Hall in Bristol taken in 1917

Genre: Historical Fiction (Vienna 1908)

Word Count: 150

FUROR

Deep satisfaction surged through Ulrich. Four-year-old Rachel enthralled audiences across Europe, from Colston Hall in Bristol, to, just days before, in Vienna’s Musikverein.

            “Rachel is a magnificent talent,” said Catherine.

            “A prodigy. My little Mozart.”

            The steady clop of the horses’ hooves along the cobblestones lulled Ulrich as they made their way around the circular courtyard called the Schwarzenbergplatz.

            He stopped the carriage. “The famous Hochstrahlbrunnen fountain.” 

            “It’s simply gorgeous!”

            In the midst of a large round pool, a geyser-like fountain spotlighted from below illuminated the night sky, by turns, with purple, blue, yellow, green and red.

            A strident voice split through the peaceful water’s swooshing. A rail-thin youth gestured with the fervor of one addressing thousands rather than one equally scrawny youngster.

            “These strange ones with their ugly language that sounds like snuffles and squeaking and their odd dress have no place here. We are Germans. ‘Deutschland über alles!’”

 

19 January 2018

Published January 17, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

“The key to building an audience is reading and commenting others’ works.” Russell Gayer

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 © J Hardy Carroll

get the InLinkz code

As the new year has begun, I need to concentrate on my coffee table book. (I hope you’re not tired of hearing about it.) 

There are always those scenes on the cutting room floor. Here’s one that didn’t make it into AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. It’s edited from over 200 words as well. The lesson to be learned here is ‘never throw anything away.’ 😉 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

A TIME TO LAUGH

            Guilt niggled Havah for watching Vaudeville at Electric Park on the Sabbath. But didn’t the Book say laughter is good for the soul?

            Jugglers wearing gaudy costumes spun plates on sticks. Acrobats in skintight outfits flipped in midair.

            Havah marveled when the magician made a pair of turtledoves appear out of nowhere.

            “It’s called sleight of hand.” Itzak shrugged. “He probably had them stuffed in his trousers.”  

            “Who cares? He’s amazing!”

            Next the trickster’s dog pointed to letters on cards with his paw to spell out his name—P-I-L-U.

            In a stage whisper, Itzak said, “Glad his name isn’t Constantinople.”

 

BURIED DEEP

Published December 30, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Talnakh, in Krasonoyarsk Krai, Russia. My story takes place in another part of Russia.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for the challenge and the extra 50 words. 

Now that the holidays are basically behind us, I need to turn my attention to my next book, A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. This week’s location is the perfect inspiration for this edited scene from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. Naturally it’s my hope that these excerpts I’ve posted will whet the reader’s appetite to read my novels and, of course the upcoming coffee table book–designed for those who like to look at the pictures.  😉 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

BURIED DEEP

            “What’s the matter with you?” Sergei glared at Nikolai. “You’ve never told Oxana about your own identical twin brother?”

            Oxana seethed. “No. Why should he tell me anything? I am only his wife.”  

            “I don’t blame him for keeping it a secret.” Sergei took a labored breath. “I’m the one at fault. I used to slap him for even mentioning Bodrik’s name.”

            “He was always so competitive. Had to be the best at everything.” Protracted memories zipped through Nikolai’s mind. The frozen Neva River ran like a ribbon through St. Petersburg. “‘Race you to the bridge,’ Bodrik yells. Of course he’s in the lead. Suddenly the dumb durak stops and sticks out his foot. Our skates tangle.”

            “Nikolai looked like he’d been mauled by a bear. Bodrik escaped with a simple bump on the head.”

            “What happened to him?” asked Oxana.

            Nikolai shivered. “He died in my arms that night.”

 

 

 

 

WUNDERKIND

Published December 11, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman turns us loose in Versailles. You can find streetview and an abundance of photospheres at this location. Feel free to find something inside or outside and snag a view that inspires you.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write 150 words inspired by the prompt. To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

I’m quite late this week with the busy-ness of the holidays and some art commissions (not complaining) pending. I couldn’t resist the following photo because of where it took me. Below is an edited-to-fit-the-challenge snippet from my third novel, AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. 

Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting and riding herd on this growing challenge. 

Versaille Palace

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1908

Word Count: 150

WUNDERKIND

           If Ulrich had harbored any misgivings about whisking four-year-old Rachel away from her parents in Kansas City to take her on tour, she had dispelled them, concert after concert. Never was he prouder of her than this night as she performed for over 2,000 people at the Musikverein. Perhaps if she could see them, she might be frightened, but he had his doubts.           

            After she played “Für Elise” and Mozart’s “Turkish March” without missing a note, Ulrich sat her on a cushion beside him.

            The conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic, baton in hand, bowed. “Next, Herr Dietrich and Fräulein Gitterman will perform a particular favorite of mine, Johann Strauss’ ‘Vienna Waltz Number Four.’”

            Once they finished the duet, the audience burst into applause and shouts of “Brava!”

            Rachel, holding tight to Ulrich’s hand, followed him to center stage where she let go, curtsied and blew a kiss to the audience.

The Musikverein

           

 

20 October 2017

Published October 18, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

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 © Sandra Crook

Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you. 

get the InLinkz code

This is a scene from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN, the third in my Havah Cohen Gitterman trilogy. By the third book, the characters have survived the hardships of Eastern European persecution. Many of them are dealing with what we know today as PTSD. This scene takes place in 1907 when little was known, much less addressed. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

AMNESIA 

            “All these years the only thing I remembered was her suicide. I’ve hated her for it,” Shayndel shuddered. “How could I forget why?”

            “You were only five,” whispered Fruma Ya’el. “It’s understandable—”

            Shayndel buried her head in her hands. “‘Jew bitch,’ they called her. ‘Get help!’ she begged me. But I couldn’t move. I—I watched as they—”

            Protracted memories riddled Shayndel. “Bayla never spoke again—until the morning she…she climbed the tree in the yard to the highest branch. Naked. Great with child. She spread her arms, smiled at me and said,” Shayndel choked, “‘Goodbye, little sister.’”

 

 

27 January 2017

Published January 25, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

Note: You can call me crabby or controlling if you like, but…over the past few weeks some writers are going way over the word limit. No one will be kicked out for doing so, but the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. While I don’t take issue with a word or two over, last week one of them went over 200 words. 

Like us on Facebook

Our MantraSnorkeling in St. Thomas

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 © Al Forbes

PHOTO PROMPT © Al Forbes

Think you’ve seen this photo before? You have. It’s been pointed out that I posted this prompt in February. 😯  A repost was unintentional, but is what it is. If you have a story for it you were happy with, feel free to use it. 😉 Thank you Dawn and Suzanne for pointing it out. This is a first. What was I thinking? 

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Not exactly a flash fiction and not exactly an excerpt. Here’s a scene from AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN. 

OLIVE BRANCH

            Nikolai Derevenko and his father had hardly spoken in twenty years so Sergei’s sudden appearance in Kansas City for his grandson’s graduation mystified him.

            Sergei rotated the crank on the front of the car, starting the motor, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “It’s a Ford. Almost new—Model N, made in 1906,” he shouted over the clatter. “My gift. Tomorrow you learn to drive it.”

            Nikolai scowled. “Thanks, but no thanks. God gave us legs and there are streetcars. With all of your frivolous spending you won’t have enough for your fare back to Russia.”

            “I’m not going back.”

*

*

nikolai

Dr. Nikolai Derevenk0 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sergei Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sergei Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Vasily Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Vasily Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

***

If you’ve made it this far down the page I hope you’ll take the time to watch the short video. Perhaps this is the reason I’ve been impressed of late to write so many Holocaust themed stories. I plan to post my picture on Twitter and Facebook. When push comes to shove there is one race…THE HUMAN RACE #WeRemember

CHARACTER STUDY – The Gitterman’s Hanukkah Menorah

Published December 11, 2016 by rochellewisoff

In the beginning, I referred to Havah’s trilogy as “The Menorah Saga.” Although the series has gone through numerous revisions over the past twelve years, one thing has remained a constant–Rabbi Yussel’s menorah. Although, it’s an inanimate object this holiday candelabra holds a very special place in the Gitterman family in all three of the novels.

***

menorah-step1

Crafted to look like a tree in the wind, the main stem curved with nine branches arcing in opposite directions. The candle cups sat upon them like majestic crowns. Between seven of the branches and the trunk an opening hosted a pair of doves, positioned breast to breast, and perched on a flower covered vine, spreading their graceful wings. The vine twined around the trunk, ending at the wide base.

Proud of its history, on most occasions Arel was usually more than willing to recount the story. Tonight his tongue turned to dust. “My grandfather…of blessed memory…was a rabbi as was his father before him.” menorah-step-2

“Mine, too.” Havah leaned forward, elbows on the table, and propped her head on her hands.

Did Adam feel this way in the Garden of Eden when he brought the succulent fruit to his hungry lips?

Arel found his voice again, though not without a struggle. “Zaydeh…Papa’s father…an artist. After my grandmother died he made this menorah in her memory. She was very young”

“What did she die of?”

“Christian poison! Tell her Arel.” Yussel’s bony hands curled into fists. “A pogrom. In the street like an animal. Fifty-three years ago. Like yesterday I remember.”

“You must’ve been a boy.”

“Five years old. Her Yosi, her heart, she called me.”

Tears quivered in Havah’s eyes. “You can tell how much he loved her by the verse he chose to engrave on the menorah, ‘Behold, you are lovely. Your eyes are like doves.’ It’s from Song of Songs.”

~~From PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME

***

menorah-step-3

To evade his pleading gaze, she studied the menorah that sat like royalty on decorated oilcloth in the middle of her oak dining table.

Nine candle flames reflected in the silver stems of the candelabra that had survived three generations of Gittermans and a journey across the sea. It had been crafted to resemble a tree with nine branches swaying in the wind. A flowered vine twined around the trunk which was etched with the Hebrew words for “Behold your eyes are like doves.” Just above the trunk, snuggled together like lovers, were two doves.menorah-step-4

At their first meeting—Sabbath dinner with her adoptive family—Arel told her how his grandfather had crafted it in memory of his slain wife when Yussel was only five. While the story fascinated Havah, it was Yussel’s son who fascinated her more. As he recounted the history, his luminescent gray eyes gleamed with enthusiasm and intelligence. Her grief fresh and wounds painful, she found solace in the rise, fall and lilt of his resonant voice.

“Havah? Where are you?”

~~From FROM SILT AND ASHES

***

 

menorah-step-5      Havah stood on tiptoe to put the menorah away. The unique candelabra still fascinated her even as it had the first time she saw it, the night she met Arel.

            Feeling Arel’s hot breath on her neck, she shivered and set the menorah back on the table. He slipped his arms around her waist. She turned in his embrace. “Remember, Arel? It was love at first sight.”

            “I wasn’t such a hideous sight back then.”

            “Miss Tova says Bayla has the prettiest Papa in town.”

            “Havah, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”

            “You know what I mean.”

            As he opened his mouth to reply, Lev rushed into the dining room with an armload of books.

            Arel dropped his arms to his sides. “Where have you been?”

            “Didn’t Aunt Havah tell you I’d be late?”

            “She didn’t say you’d be this late.”

            “It’s only eight-thirty.”

“Well?”

            “I went to Vasily’s to study.” Lev set his books on the table. “He’s a year ahead of me so he gave me his old textbooks.”

            “Have you had supper?” asked Havah. “How was school?”

            “School was great and Oxana invited me to eat with them.”

            “Oh dear, you must be starved.”

            “Not to worry, Auntie mine.” Lev playfully pinched Havah’s cheek. “Vasily cooked.”

            “Vasily is younger than you.” Arel thumbed through a book. “Shouldn’t you be ahead of him?”

            Lev’s jaw tensed. “I’ve missed a lot of school.”

            “And you’re proud of this?”

            Lev crimped his lips together.

            Havah’s stomach kinked into a knot. “Arel, listen to him for once.”

            “Damn you, Uncle Arel!” Lev seized the book. “Nothing I do pleases you.”

            In one heart-stopping motion Arel slapped Lev, hitting the menorah. It toppled to the floor and broke in two at Havah’s feet. The ground listed beneath her. The color drained from Arel’s face. Lev held his book to his chest, Arel’s handprint bright on his cheek.

            Yussel dropped to his knees and searched for the menorah with trembling hands until he found it. His shoulders sagged as he pressed the two pieces against his heart. Sitting on the floor, he rocked to and fro. Tears soaked his beard as he chanted, “‘Gahm kee elekh b’gay tzalmavet…yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…’”

“It’s only one branch, Papa.” Havah knelt beside him. “Surely it can be fixed.”

            “Once a limb is severed can the tree be made whole again?”

~~From AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN

 

yussels-menorah-in-frame

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

psk-amazon-jpg

fsaa-amazon-jpg

aomoc-titled-cover-art

 The Trilogy is Complete! All books available in print, Kindle and Nook. Look for them at Amazon.com,  Barnesandnoble.com or Argusbooks.com

Represented by Jeanie Loiacono 

Loiacono Literary Agency

Living In Eternity

If eternity is forever, am I there now?

Rereading Jane Eyre

Author Luccia Gray

zicharonot

Memories and commentary.com site

e.l. dalke: survivor

a journey of fractures, in my own words

Creativity for You

Posts about creativity research and application from Thomas Ward, Professor of Psychology, University of Alabama.

David Writes

Life, fiction & other unrealities

Jellico's Stationhouse

Come on in and sit a while...

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps

Lori Ericson, Author

An author's perspective of mystery and more.

Alyssa Davies

You Can Never Be Overdressed or Overeducated

Flights of Fancy

The Totally Unambitious Blog

The Off Key Of Life

Or….Identifying The Harmless Unhinged Among Us.

The Write Melony

Renowned Writer Extraordinaire - in my mind!

unbuttoned or undone

Hang on, Hang on

A Dalectable Life

The little and large things making my life delicious!

Hoxton Spanish Tutor Info

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

Sound Bite Fiction

where nothing is quite what it seems

yadadarcyyada

Vague Meanderings of the Broke and Obscure

mezzojan

a libretto for the comic opera of my life

elmowrites

Writing about writing

What's for dinner, Doc?

La Gringa's Kitchen : Flips & Flops in Baja, Mexico

Claire Fuller

Writing and art

Green Writing Room

Hilary Custance Green's reading and writing notepad

%d bloggers like this: