19 January 2018

Published January 17, 2018 by rochellewisoff

“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

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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.”

Kansas City’s Electric Park circa 1900

Mrs. Havah Gitterman

Itzak Abromovich

Coming soon!

MOST HOLY PLACE

Published January 6, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week, Pegman takes us to the cradle of civilization: Tel Saki, Syria. The country has been at war longer than Pegman has been mapping, so the pictures are confined to photo sphere and often feature shattered lands and cityscapes.

Thanks to J Hardy and his lovely missus Karen for hosting. 😀

I really was going to wait to write a story today, but this photo grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

MOST HOLY PLACE

25 October 1973

My Dearest Y’hudit,

This morning, the doctor told me I’ll be home in time for our son’s Brit Milah. Unless he is a she. I would wink but my eyes no longer work.

Why on the holiest of holidays? One minute I’m davening in shul and the next I’m dodging tanks and enemy bullets. No time to break the fast.

I watched our field doctors bind the wounds of Egyptians. “Would Moses do the same?” I asked Baruch Levin, one of our medics.

He replied, “Talmud teaches, ‘He who saves one life… is as if he saves an entire universe.’ On the battlefield no life that can be saved should be lost.”

Later, one of his grateful patients blew Baruch’s righteous head off. It was the last thing I saw…forever.

I’m sorry to burden you, my beloved. I hope you can still love me.

Eem ahavah,

Amitai

Glossary

Brit Milah – Rite of Circumcision, performed when a baby boy is eight days old.

Davening – Praying

Shul – Orthodox term for synagogue

Eem ahavah – With Love

5 January 2018

Published January 3, 2018 by rochellewisoff

“Reciprocation is the glue that holds this community together.” Neil MacDonald

Remember : “It’s not what you’re looking at that matters, it’s what you see.” Henry David Thoreau

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 © Roger Bultot

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Although we think of arranged marriage as something that happened in Fiddler on the Roof, many cultures still adhere to the custom today, including Ultra Orthodox Jews. The following is a scene from my first novel PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. The year is 1902 and takes place in a little village in Eastern Europe.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BEHIND THE VEIL

“Mama?”

White satin gleamed in the lamplight. Straightening to ease the ache wracking her spine, Fruma Ya’el set the gown aside.

“What’s troubling you, child?”

“This wedding’s a mistake.” Gittel knelt and laid her head in Fruma Ya’el’s lap.

Fruma Ya’el’s heart ached for her girls. Any fool could see Havah and Arel had fallen in love. What could she do? Betrothal papers were signed years ago.

She combed her fingers through Gittel’s auburn hair. “Some things cannot be changed. Arel’s love for you will grow over time, as will yours for him. You believe this don’t you?”

“Do you?”

Havah Cohen- Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fruma Ya’el -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Arel Gitterman -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Gittel Levine – Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Cover Art © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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.”

Bodrik and Nikolai Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sergei Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Dr. Nikolai Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Oxana Trubachov Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

29 December 2017

Published December 27, 2017 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 © Ted Strutz

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The following is an edited version of a poem I wrote in the 90’s while battling severe depression and anorexia nervosa which is about control. I thought I was in control but, almost too late, realized the demon was controlling me. To sort through my confusion I wrote poetry as a means of journaling. Happily, this is no longer my reality, but at the time…

Genre: Adverse Verse

Word Count: 100

VICIOUS CYCLE

Knotted cords surround my thoughts

Like twine that binds a package;

Profusion of convolution, confusion

No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution.

I’m choking

On the dry bread of shame.

And I’m left no choice

But to savagely purge myself.

Cathartic poison,

Painful comfort.

I run a perilous race

To a fatal finish line.

Lethal, venomous humiliation besieges me.

The sins of the forefathers,

Cousins, babysitters and uncles

Devour and bury.

The demon lures and captures me

In his serpentine embrace.

Too weary to resist seduction,

I relinquish and surrender.

Profusion of convolution, confusion

No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution

To what conclusion?

PRELUDE TO SUCCESS

Published December 23, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Ho Ho Ho! This week Pegman takes us to the town of North Pole, Alaska in the USA.

Though it appears Santa’s workshop is near, you’re not obligated to write a Christmas-themed story or poem. The spirit of Pegman is to write 150 words inspired by your own tour of the location. Wander around and chose your own screenshot, if you like.

Once you’ve created your story, add it to the InLinkz using the button below. Sharing, reading, and commenting on other stories is part of the fun.

Many thanks and Merry Christmas to Karen and Josh who facilitate this challenge.

North Pole, Alaska

This week I took a five-year-old Friday Fictioneers story out of mothballs, expanded it and made a few changes. Those 50 extra words can be a delightful game changer. 😀

Genre: Holiday Spirit

Word Count: 150

Dedicated to my friend, John Schuech. If Santa Claus does exist, it’s in this man’s huge heart. ❤

PRELUDE TO SUCCESS

“Failure.”

Isn’t that what Tiana said when she’d flung her clothes into a suitcase? “I can’t take any more. Call me if you ever get your act together.”

Since he’d come back from Iraq, Emmet had been plagued with nightmares and had made four suicide attempts. He’d lost three jobs this year alone.

“Try it,” said his buddy John. “It’ll do wonders for you.”

Combing his prematurely white hair, he glared at his weary bearded reflection. He couldn’t blow this gig.

***

His footsteps echoed down the sterile hallway. How long had he spent in this place being stitched back together?

Stopping at room 223, he pushed open the door and tiptoed to the bed. Feeding tubes and IV’s snaked around the slumbering child.

He caressed her bald head and forced a cheerful, “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Her brown eyes fluttered open and shone with innocent faith.

“Santa, I knew you’d come!”

*

John Schuech, Santa for All Seasons

22 December 2017

Published December 20, 2017 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.

Please be respectful of your fellow writers/readers and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE MANLY ART OF GIVING

The bars clanked behind me. My pulse thudded in my ears.

My first interviewee, a hulk you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, put me at ease.

“It gives ya peace of mind.” DeShawn looped pink yarn around his sausage-sized fingers. “This gonna be a blanket for my niece.”

Several tough-looking inmates proudly showed off scarves and hats they’d made for inner city kids for Christmas.

“It don’t change what we done, but I hope it makes up for some of the hurt we caused.” DeShawn’s ebony eyes gleamed. “Every strong man has a pair of knitting needles.”

For a little more CLICK HERE

SWIMMING LESSON

Published December 17, 2017 by rochellewisoff

A resounding HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to Pegman. Can you believe it’s been a year already? Many happy returns to Karen and Josh. You’re doing a great job.

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

This photo didn’t take me to Iowa, but to the back woods of Arkansas. The story is an edited snippet from a story in my short story anthology THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER which is out of print (save copies still available from the author 😉 ) It’s still available on Kindle. The story is based on one of my husband’s memories of spending summers with his best friend Ray (Francis Ray Stills). We had fun working on the longer version together.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

SWIMMING LESSON

Granny Stillwell’s shack, built into the hills, was propped up on cinderblocks. Another rough-hewn cabin sat just the other side of a vegetable garden. A tire-less, 1940’s pick-up truck, also set on cinderblocks, had been pushed up against one wall “to keep it from a-leaning too much.”

After supper, his stomach full of catfish and rhubarb cobbler, Kenny Lord lazed on the porch and thought about the day.

“Hey, Lordy-Lordy, know how to swim?”

“No.”

“Time to learn.”

He would never forget his terror when Boyce shoved him off the cliff to the Buffalo River 50 feet below. Boyce’s evil laughter filled his ears until water surged up his nose and his panic-stricken lungs blazed.

Kenny seethed. “Boyce better watch his back.”

“He was jest funnin’,’” said Frankie-Ray Stillwell.

Granny spat out a wad of chewing tobacco. “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.”

Kenny smirked. “That’s me, Kenneth Donald Lord.”

THE SWIMMING LESSON

LIGHT ONE CANDLE

Published December 13, 2017 by rochellewisoff

I couldn’t resist. Since my initial story is more of a discussion than a story, I thought I’d take the liberty of posting a second piece. And since it’s Hanukkah, the Jewish festival of lights I’ve edited a snippet from PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME, my debut novel. In the scene, the Abromovich children tell the story of Hanukkah (sort of ) for their gentile guest.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LIGHT ONE CANDLE

Twelve-year-old Zelig, the quintessential scholar, pointed to each Hebrew letter on the dreidel. “They stand for ‘A great miracle happened there,’ Professor Dietrich.”

As Zelig’s younger sisters, Ruth and Rukhel, set the table, they fluttered around it chirping like excited pigeons. Ulrich could hardly tell where one left off and the other began. Even their voices were identical.

“Hanukkah is all about the Macaroons’ victory over their enemies in ancient days…It was a miracle…The oil in the temple menorah burned for eight whole days…That’s why we light the candles for eight nights.”

Zelig rolled his eyes. “It’s Maccabees not macaroons!”

Click to hear Mayim Bialik shed light on the holiday.

This is a dreidle I’ve had in my possession since I was four years old. Cheap plastic, but precious to me. The game of dreidle is one of the staples of Hanukkah. Each letter dictates whether or not the player takes a penny from the pot,tosses one in or takes them all.

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.