All posts tagged Communication

23 October 2020

Published October 21, 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 – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


This week marks my 8th anniversary as Friday Fictioneers facilitator and my 5th anniversary as a retired sign maker/cake decorator. So I’m taking the liberty of sharing a twofer. 

Genre: Hysterical Faction

Word Count: 100


My coworker and best friend was fired for saying, of all things, “Hunky Dory.” Her flippant reply to my “How’s your day going?”  at her register. I kid you not. The charge was “sarcasm to a customer and, therefore, misconduct.” Seriously?

The company’s plan to purge the “old folks” put a target on my back, too.

At an emotional low I joined Friday Fictioneers. I tried it. I loved it. By October 24, I inherited the blog challenge.

Eight years later, my friend’s victorious lawsuit is a story we retell with glee. Friday Fictioneers? Yep, I’m still steering the bus.

It’s still hunky dory with us.


I ran out words to tell you my friend was fired March 7, 2012 and I joined Friday Fictioneers a month later on April 12.


Now for the second go around as promised. 😉 I posted this 24 October 2012, after inheriting Friday Fictioneers from creator Madison Woods. This was the only time I didn’t title my post with the date. I was told by a fictioneer that it was too confusing for me to post my title because it gave the impression that my title was part of the prompt. I complied and never saw her again. Go figure. There are some fictioneers who stuck with me, even though they were here before me. You know who you are. 😉 If I list them I’m bound to leave someone out. At any rate here’s my first story as facilitator. Same photo prompt. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100


A stunning contradiction of cropped black hair, bronzed skin and sea foam blue eyes, Aggie McKewen’s face reflected her Inuit and Scottish parentage.

Keith, who worked at his uncle’s café in Seward County, Alaska, longed to speak to her but didn’t know sign language and she was fencepost deaf.  Every Saturday he served her grilled salmon in shy silence.

After six weeks of night classes he felt ready to declare himself and asked her out.

With a voiceless giggle she snatched his pen and order pad. There she wrote, “I’d love to but why did you call me a tampon?”


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