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.
COLORS
Dale perused Rochelle’s photos. “Sweet. All those bridesmaids in royal blue velvet.”
After fifty years, Rochelle still remembered the scent of her yellow roses. “I liked their dresses better than mine.”
“Why blue and not purple?”
“Good question.”
Drat. You really can’t see that the dresses were royal blue or velvet. Thanks to Dale for bluing up the photo. I’m not sure, in looking back, why I didn’t have purple in the color scheme. It might’ve had more to do with my mother. 😉
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.
I received a post card from Ted last week.It’s apparent that Ted is working off his back end in rehab and I was thrilled to get something written in his own hand. Keep up the good work, Ted! He asked if I could write a story about a lighthouse. So the following is my story.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
KEEPERS OF THE LIGHT
“Play me a song, Mormor.” Six-year-old Agnes clapped her hands.
Helga Settles looked up from her bread dough. “Is that the proper way to ask your grandmother?”
The child pouted. “Please.”
Hilma poised her violin bow. “What would you like to hear, lilla gummun?”
Lilting music swelled the kitchen. Helga gazed out at the sea. Her Arvel, father of her five children, would soon be home from his twelve-hour shift at Lime Kiln Lighthouse. Tomorrow guests would fill their house.
She breathed in the aroma of baking sponge cake. Salmon sizzled on the stove. No one left Helga’s table hungry.
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.
CLICK TO PLAY Please Note: If you link your story to the inLinkz list I WILL SEE IT. There’s no need to put your link in my comment section. However, I do appreciate your comments on my story. 😉 Thank you for understanding.
Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
PLAY WELL
“Every detail matters,” impoverished carpenter and toymaker Ole Kristiansen told his son. “Only the best is good enough.”
Godtfred, the third of five children, never forgot his father’s words.
Together, they worked to build their toy business. Neither gave up on their dream despite three separate fires that threatened to raze their hopes to the ground.
“Children need toys that strengthen their imaginations and creativity,” said Godtfred.
Ole beamed with pride when his son redesigned his plastic interlocking bricks. Children loved them.
Godtred blinked back tears at Ole’s untimely funeral. “Fader, I promise you, I will make Lego a success.”
Note: Lego is from the Danish “Leg Godt” which means “Play Well”. 😀
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.
This month marks my 9th year as FFFacilitator. Something I never expected when I asked creator, Madison Woods how to join. It was love at first write. A great way to learn word conservation. 😀
Genre: Memoir Word Count: 100
STARGAZING
The closest I’ll ever come to space exploration came through Douglas MacIlroy who used to be a nighttime Keck Observatory tech.
Soon after he commented on a piece I’d written I noticed his green dot at 04:00 on Facebook and said, “Hello.”
Between my early rising and his all-nighters, our online friendship grew.
One morning, Doug messaged me. “Did you get her email? Madison’s stepping down as facilitator.”
“What will I do without Friday Fictioneers?”
“You should take it on.”
“I’m no leader.”
My husband chimed in. “Why not you?”
The rest of the story is written in the stars.
Doug and me a few years ago when he came here for a disc golf tournament. Blogging can lead to unexpected and lasting friendships.
Apologies for the tardiness of this post. As most know, I schedule ahead. It turns out I scheduled for the wrong day. Again my humble apologies for the error.
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.
The ever so clever Keith Hillman designed this one and I had to snag it! CLICK TO JOIN
Genre: Realistic Fiction Word Count: 100
I’LL HAVE WHAT SHE’S HAVING
“You can’t beat us Jews for food.” Rochelle bit into a thick pastrami on rye and savored the salty meat, slathered with mustard. She wiped the dribbled juices from her chin. “It’s almost a religious experience.”
“Where’s the mayo?”
She slapped Jan’s hand. “Don’t you dare, Goy Wonder.”
“May I, at least, have ketchup on the fries?”
“Katz’s Delicatessen was established in 1888 by Eastern European immigrants Morris and Hyman Iceland. Their cousin Sam Katz joined them in 1903. Eventually, they shortened the name from Iceland and Katz to the present one.
“Do you charge extra for the history lesson?”
* * *
You’ll find Katz’s Deli on Houston Street (that’s pronounced HOWston). Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal shared lunch there in the movie “When Harry Met Sally.” CLICK to watch.
I’m here to tell you, the pastrami is amazing! If you’re ever in New York City, you owe it to yourself. Don’t forget the pickled tomatoes and seltzer.😉 Remember to leave a tip.
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.
Life is made up of challenges, isn’t it? What more can a person do than play the hand she’s been dealt?
My mother often spoke of the vicious morning sickness she suffered during her pregnancy in the 1960’s.
“My doctor called it a miracle drug,” she said with tears streaming. “One little pill cured my nausea.”
You would think I’d be used to the gawking stares. Born with fingers protruding from my shoulders, I resigned myself to the merry-go-round of prosthetics and wheelchairs a long time ago.
Nonetheless, I dream of winning a foot race.
If only I had feet.
* * * Some may remember the Thalidomide scandal in the UK in the 1960’s. In England the drug was called Destival. Taken by pregnant women for morning sickness, it caused horrendous birth defects. It’s only recently come to light that, while the drug wasn’t approved by the FDA in the States the Wm. S. Merrell Co. distributed it.
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.
Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100 PHOTOGRAPHS AND MEMORIES
“Antique photographs fascinate me.” Rochelle rinsed her paintbrush. “Wouldn’t you love to know what the people in them are thinking?’
Russell scratched his chin as if deep in thought. “The kid is probably wishing the photographer would hurry up and get it over with. His father’s thirsty for a tall cold one.”
“The woman wants to loosen her corset.” Dale leaned back in her chair. “Can you imagine being imprisoned in one of those contraptions?”
“Dear me, no,” said the grandmother of nine. “I wonder what Zing and Zang would say?”
“There you go.” Rochelle grinned. “Our next photo prompt!”
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.
Seven years ago, after a long silence, Linda called me. “I need to hear your voice, Rocky. Are you okay?”
I laughed, happy to hear her voice. “Those eating disorder days are way behind me.”
We called her Mother Tucker. She was a platinum blonde firebrand who never suffered fools gladly. No one saw through my lies faster, loved me as fiercely or hurt me as deeply.
“I’m your bad habit.” She’d say, her eyes flashing ice-blue flames.
Recently I learned the damned virus took her. I whisper through tears, “I need to hear your voice, Linda. Are you okay?”
***
I worked with Linda Tucker in the late 90’s. She saw me through the worst of my eating disorder. She’s also the one who nicknamed me “Rocky.” No matter how I fought it, the name stuck. My former coworkers still call me Rocky. For a time Linda and I parted ways (a story for another time…or not 😉 ) We hadn’t spoken for years when she turned up on Facebook and then called. R.I.P. Mother Tucker.
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.
“Don’t go, Elisha. Please.” Elizabeth grasped his arm. “Don’t make me a widow.”
He caressed her cheek. “Have faith, Lizzie.”
Sweat beading on his forehead and sluicing between his shoulder blades, he stepped onto the platform.
As it rose higher and higher, he gazed over the edge at the hushed crowd and questioned his own sanity.
He called out to the axe man. “Cut the rope.”
A collective gasp erupted from the audience. Elisha Otis’ stomach somersaulted as the platform dropped, then halted. Thunderous applause exploded in his ears. His safety locking mechanism worked, and the modern elevator was born.
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.
“There are no mistakes,” said the artist. “Only happy accidents.”
His soft voice caressed the TV viewer’s ears while he made love to a cloud with his wide brush. Often, he brought wild animals onto the set. He was nature lover first. Artist second. Passion on canvas.
Magnificent scenes appeared under his skillful hand in half an hour week after happy week.
“Believe strongly enough and you can make it happen,” he’d say.
We believed, didn’t we?
Mystery paints his final days. Smoking and inhaling paint thinner may have taken his life, but who owns the rights to his legacy?
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 