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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PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

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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.”

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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

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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.

Ulrich Dietrich © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Abromovich Children: B. Ruth, Rukhel, Front, left to right: Zelig, Velvil, Tuli
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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.

The Musikverein

8 December 2017

Published December 6, 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 © Dale Rogerson

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What if the Capulets and Montagues had reconciled? Methinks things might have gone differently for the star-crossed lovers who, to be fair, barely knew each other. My humblest apologies to the Bard.

Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHAT FREEZINGS I HAVE FELT

“Aye me, what weariness besets me. This unborn babe hath thrice disturb’d my slumber. Now light through yonder kitchen window breaks and childish voices assail. No rest. No rest. Anon himself hops through my door, his teeth bared. Is my Romeo ill of health?”

“Juliette, canst thou not sweep? A child’s plaything hath dug deep into my sole.”

“Canst thou not bend thy leaden arse to retrieve it? Where is he who scaled to my bedchamber pledging his undying love?”

“Alack. Better my life had ended with poison.”

“Oh churl! Better I had run myself through with thy happy dagger.”

*******

And because I can…Announcing my new granddaughter

Elsie Lola Feraday-Fields

Born Sunday, 12 November 2017

ISLAND OF GOOD FORTUNE

Published December 2, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Hope you brought your hazmat suit, because this week Pegman takes us to Fukushima, Japan, site of one of the world’s worst nuclear disasters, which occurred in 2011. Believe it or not, you’ll find both streetview and photospheres in this abandoned town.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write 150 words inspired by the location. You can capture your own photo from google or use the one provided.

Click on the blue frog below to add your story to this week’s link-up and to read the work of your co-contributors.

I’m never sure from week to week if I’ll participate in What Pegman Saw. However the lure of those extra 50 words is strong. Many thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll.

Namie Choritsu Ukedo Elementary

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

ISLAND OF GOOD FORTUNE

As a Japanese-American reporter I begged for the assignment to interview Fukushima survivors five years after the tsunami. What could be more fun? Sushi and kimono.

Walking along Kakamura beach with Hiroshi, I turn on my recorder.

He clutches a stuffed bear. “Last night I had a dream. The ocean swelled and rose to the mountains. I woke in a tidal wave of sweat. It was no dream.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Go on.”

“It was like being in hell. If the waters did not kill you, the great fires would.” From his pocket Hiroshi pulls a photograph of a smiling woman holding a little boy. He hugs the teddy bear. “My son was only four. My Yumi expected our second child any day.”

I swallow hard.

“The water is beautiful.” His gaze drifts past me. “I suppose it is nonsense to hold a grudge against the sea.”

1 December 2017

Published November 29, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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As you can see, we’re jumping on the Black and White Bandwagon of late. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name

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Ladies and Gentlemen, the story you’re about to read is true…

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

GOING CONCERN

Proverbs 22:6 admonishes parents to “train up a child…”

No one bears the weight of it more than mothers of sons graduating from diapers to Underoos. I was convinced when one of mine said, “I do” at the altar, he would.

Toilet training was often touch-and-no-go. Number One-of-Three loved to show me his creations, real or imagined. Once he brought me the empty chair insert and chortled. “Potty, Mommy.”

“In a pig’s eye,” I muttered.

From then on, whenever he made a deposit he’d bring it to me and say, “Pig’s eyes.”

Oh be careful little lips what you say.

24 November 2017

Published November 22, 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 writer/readers and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

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Wrote a longer piece? Don’t think you can cut it back? The following excerpt from my second novel FROM SILT AND ASHES turned flash fiction was originally 308 words long. Obviously that would go way over the word limit. So, first I had to decide what I want to say in 100 words. Once I decided, I tweaked some of the sentences to fit and lost four other characters in the chapter. 😉 Naturally it’s my hope that this will whet your appetite to read the longer version, ie the book and, perhaps the trilogy. I thank you. Havah thanks you. 😀

Genre: Historical Fiction (circa 1905)

Word Count: 100

A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND

A pile of torn paper remained on the floor where Rachel had been playing. Havah’s anxiety mounted. She only turned her head for a moment.

What if her blind toddler meandered out into the path of an oncoming automobile?

Kreplakh cocked her head, barked and scampered around Havah’s feet.

“You fell down on the job, you stupid mutt. Rachel! Rachel!”

Kreplakh ran to the closet and scratched at the door.

“You want in there?” Havah yanked it open and sank to her weakened knees.

There in the laundry basket, amid petticoats and linens, thumb in mouth, slept little lost Rachel.

Rachel Esther Gitterman

Kreplakh, self appointed service dog

Mrs. Havah Gitterman

Book II of Havah’s Trilogy

17 November 2017

Published November 15, 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 considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

LAST RITES

Grandma Tollard met Jeannie at the front door, her long grey hair askew. She seized Jeannie’s arm with one bony hand. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

“What happened?”

“I…we, that is…he…he had a heart attack and—”

“Did you call 911?”

“—he’s dead. I called Fr. Jenson.”

Grandma clutched her lace peignoir robe at the neck and led Jeannie to the bedroom. Biting her quivering lip, Jeannie pulled the sheet over her grandfather’s grinning countenance.

She wrapped a comforting arm around her weeping grandmother.

Grandma sniffed. “I’ll never forget his final words to me.”

“What were they?”

“‘Hi-ho Silver!’”

Many thanks to my BFF Jeannie O’Hare for her generosity in allowing me to share her strange but true family stories. Some things just can’t be made up…but they can be embellished.