5 June 2020

Published June 3, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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 © Ted Strutz

Click the frog for adventures in literature!

Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

ASK FOR MAYO AT YOUR OWN PERIL

“You want your sweet potato chips?”

“Ugh, take ‘em.” Ralph scowled “Give me the regular ones any day. I can’t believe I let you order for me. At least the pastrami sandwich was good.”

Alice savored the flavor. “For your information sweets pack a more nutritional punch than whites.”

“I’ll give you a punch.” Ralph waved his fist under her nose. “One-a these days, Alice. Pow! Right in the kisser.”

“Seriously. Sweet potatoes have more vitamin A and twice the C.”

She reached for his plate again. He clapped his hand over hers. “Keep your grubby mitts off my pickle.”

*

Note: Alice and Ralph Kramden weren’t Jewish but they were New Yorkers which is similar. 😉 So I leave you with these words of wisdom:

Meet the Creator of Friday Fictioneers

Published May 29, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Once upon a time, eight years ago to be exact, I was a fledgling author with a newly published short story anthology. I’d recently started a blog and occasionally received more than two comments on my posts! Sigh.

One April Wednesday morning in 2012 as I scrolled through my Facebook feed I saw a notice on the Ozarks Writers League, OWL, page from someone named Madison Woods. It was a reminder that it was time for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly blog challenge that would change the course of my life.

I was hooked from the first prompt.

My first photo prompt, April 12, 2012

(I had a lot to learn about commenting and reciprocation 😉 )

Who knew that six months later I’d be adopting Madison’s baby? Enough of that! The purpose of this post is to introduce you to the lady, author and artist who birthed the idea of Friday Fictioneers.

Original Artwork © Madison Woods

CLICK HERE TO READ A RECENT INTERVIEW WITH MADISON.

29 May 2020

Published May 27, 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 © David Stewart

Click the Frog…you know you want to.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

AUTUMN FRAGRANCE

“How are you, GI Joe?”

Even though we listened to her every day, nobody took her seriously.

“They have forgotten about you back home. Your sacrifice means nothing to your people.”

Let her spout her bullshit, we looked forward to the music from home.

“Your great nation has abandoned you.”

After months of being shot at by the VC and suffering jungle rot, my orders came. I was headed for home!

At Travis I was met not with ticker tape and hurrahs, but with protesters screaming, “Get back on the plane, baby killer!”

Hanoi Hannah was onto something, after all.

***

Click for more info.

22 May 2020

Published May 20, 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 © CEAyr

Come on along and click the dancing frog to join the fun!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE LEADER OF THE BAND

Cossacks torched the shtetl of Tolochin. Flames shot up from Cantor Beilin’s home. Five-year-old Israel choked on the billowing smoke, huddled in a ditch with his brother and sisters. He had never seen Papa weep so.

A ship carried the Beilins to America. In New York’s Lower Eastside, Izzy discovered his talent and at thirteen sang on the streets for thrown pennies.

Music and America. His love for both welled up inside of him and spilled over in the songs he wrote.

Composer Jerome Kern said of Izzy, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American Music.”

***

Born in 1888, Irving Berlin lived to be 101. Trying en-capsulize him in 100 words is no easy task. While you might not be familiar with name, I’ll bet you’re familiar with his music. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (Scandalous in 1911), “Easter Parade,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “God Bless America,” and that seasonal favorite “White Christmas” to name a few.

Irving Berlin 1906

August 18, 1790

Published May 17, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to America’s smallest state, Rhode Island. As always, feel free to stroll around until you feel inspired to write up to 150 words. When you’re finished, post a link to your story on the InLinkz page to share with the other contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on the other stories is a big part of the fun!

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge.

Click the frog to join the fun.

With all the beautiful pictures of Providence on the Google maps menu, my research road took me about 39 miles south of Providence to Newport.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUGUST 18, 1790

Twelve-year-old Jacob squirmed on the wooden seat between Papa and Grandpapa Aaron. The warm August breeze through the synagogue’s open windows made him sleepy. “Why must we be here today? It’s not Shabbat.”

His grandfather patted his knee. “I came to this country when I was your age, you know.”

“Yes, Grandpapa.” Jacob rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard how his grandfather came to the colony of Newport, Rhode Island to escape oppression in Brazil? “I know.”

“What you don’t know,” Grandfather pointed to a tall man sitting in the seat of honor, “is today is the day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

Twenty years later, Jacob held his son on his lap. “I will never forget the day President Washington spoke at Jeshuat Israel and said these words, ‘The government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution, no assistance.’”

*

Nu? How could I resist the first synagogue in America. Established in 1763? (Guess you could call that providence. 😉 )

Click to know more

15 May 2020

Published May 13, 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 © Jan Wayne Fields

Click the Frog to Join the Party

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

TROPICAL VACATION

As a journalist, I’ve looked forward to my assignment in the island paradise of Tonga—interview deportees.

Uhila sets aside his machete. Sun through the palm trees beats down on his bare back littered with tattoos. “My dad was God. I couldn’t fight God, so I fought everyone else.”

Taking notes, I ache for the hurting child inside the man until he says, “I shot a guy for looking at me wrong—four times in the stomach. Now I’m the trash California State threw away.” He mops his brow with his forearm. “Here I don’t know shit about nothing.”

8 May 2020

Published May 6, 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

GO AHEAD…CLICK ME!

The following story is a work of fiction. Sadly, it’s based on fact for too many people.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

DRIVING THE BUS

Amy brushed, flossed and swished Listerine around her mouth. Spitting it out, she watched the blue liquid swirl down the drain. She raised her head, stared at her reflection, baring her teeth. “Minty fresh. I really gotta stop this ralphing crap.”

She took a mental inventory of everything she’d eaten. Basically, she cleaned out the fridge. Twinkies, two toaster waffles, a banana, a cheese ball, three hardboiled eggs and so on.

She’d gotten the idea of taking Ipecac from a recovering bulimic’s book, meant to be a testimony of her victory over her eating disorder.

“Handy little ‘how-to’ manual, eh?”

*Glossary:

Ralph is slang for vomit. Driving he Bus is slang for the same.

Ipecac is a substance used to induce vomiting. Parents of small children keep it in the medicine cabinet in case of accidental poisoning. I had to use it once when my son was two.

Listerine, for those unfamiliar, is a brand of mouthwash popular in the States.

Paradise Misplaced

Published May 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Dominican Republic. The island is rich in culture and heritage, chock full of wonderful possibilities for the alert storyteller. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to wander around until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then link your post using the blue frog below. Remember that reading and commenting on fellow contributors’ work is part of the experience.

Do your best, and have fun! Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting.

Genre: Fiction (probably someone’s reality)

Word Count: 150

This story stands alone, but is also a sequel to my Friday Fictioneers offering this week. Couldn’t help following Mr. and Mrs.Hap 😉

PARADISE MISPLACED

Basking in the ocean breeze, Gretchen stood on the balcony of their hotel suite gazing at the clear blue Caribbean waters. Although her marriage to Jared had a rocky beginning with him blowing a rod on the way to their wedding, she had no doubt the honeymoon would be perfect.

“La Rupiblica Dominica. I can’t wait to swim. I’m glad I took español in school. Didja notice how the waiter smiled when I ordered our dinner in his language?”

Behind her, Jared playfully nibbled her neck “That chicken dish was scrumptious but not as tasty as my bride.”

Gretchen’s stomach gurgled. “Speaking of food.”

“You’re looking a little green, darlin. I’ll go buy some 7-Up to settle your tummy.”

A cramp seized her. The floor tilted as she made a mad dash to the commode.

In the other room, Jared slammed drawers and wailed. “Hells bells, someone’s nabbed my wallet!”

***

*Note here’s a LINK to the story I wrote when Pegman visited the Dominican Republic two years ago. I almost reposted and then decided not to.

1 May 2020

Published April 29, 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.

Genre: Romance

Word Count: 100

JILTED AND SCORNED

The four-tiered cake, a culinary masterpiece dripping with elegant flowers graced the table—untouched.

Gretchen stared out the window. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

What happened to Jared? Why would he abandon her?

Outside a man banged on the door. Dripping hair hung in his dirty face.

Perfect ending to a perfectly horrid day. Damned vagrant.

“Go away!” She hollered.

“Gretchen, please.”

Her stomach flipflopped. He stumbled through the doorway, spattering her Gucci gown.

“Engine blew—” he sputtered between muddy kisses “—nearly drowned—hiked from—Good God, I love you.”

“Shut up and marry me now.”

*

Thanks to Dale for permission to render her beautiful photo. Prints and note cards available. 😉

***

Not four tiered but one of my favorite cakes from my decorating days.

Mount Sinai

Published April 26, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Africa. Feel free to stroll around using the Street View or Photo Spheres until you find something that inspires you to write 150 words, then click the frog below and share your work with fellow contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun.

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge.

Genre: Factual Fiction

Word Count: 150

Yep. If they’re there I’ll find them. 😉

MOUNT SINAI

I’ve come to Tanzania from Canada to deliver a Torah scroll to a remote congregation. “Why not?” I said when asked if I’d like to go. “I’ve never been to Africa.”

Jelani’s dark cheeks glisten, “I was a child when Idi Amin’s henchmen destroyed our synagogue. My father wept. On his deathbed he grasped my hand and said, ‘Son promise me you will never forget who you are.” The sunlight outlines the golden star of David he wears around his neck.

The Torah is processed around the small synagogue. As it passes by, Jelani touches the scroll with the fringes hanging from his belt, then brings them to his lips with such reverence I weep.

Shivers surge through me as Yehuda Kahalani leads the kabballat Shabbat in an African chant. My pulse races. I add my voice to familiar prayers and songs. We are different. The words are the same.

*

Click here to learn more of the actual story that fueled my fiction.