13 October 2017

Published October 11, 2017 by rochellewisoff

My story with a message from last week:

Please be considerate and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.

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 POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

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Genre: Hysterical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BIRD THONG

“Raaaawk! Perry pecked a pack of pimpled pipers.” The bird flapped his feathers and strutted across his perch. “Perry’s pimpled pipers ate pickled peaches. Raaaawk!”

Connie swept bird poo beneath his post, dumped it in the trash, and shook her head. “It’s Peter Piper, you silly goose.”

“Hoooonk! I’m a goose!”

“No, you’re a Mynah bird.”

“Raaaaawk! Mynah place or yours, sexy thing?”

“Don’t! Stop it, you dumb bird.”

“Don’t! Stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

Outside, her husband’s truck juddered into the driveway. She met him at the door. “Russell Gayer, why can’t we have a dog like normal people?”

Th-th-that’s all folks!

Th-th-that’s all folks!!!

COUNTRY ROADS

Published October 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman returns to the Western Hemisphere to take us on a tour of Littleton, West Virginia. Although I missed the challenge last week, a story formed pretty quickly for this one. I’m a day late and see that this group is growing. Nice to see. Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting. I so appreciate the two of you on more than one level. 😉

To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

This story is dedicated to the forgotten veterans, the women who unassumingly served as nurses and ‘Donut Dollies.’

COUNTRY ROADS

“My dearest Jimmy,

Remember 1971? We came home from Vietnam that year—the same year John Denver’s song became a hit. I think he must’ve written it with you in mind.

‘Littleton,’ you laughed, your eyes shining like the stars over the Shenandoah River. ‘It’s just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’

Nonetheless, to you it was home…’almost heaven’.”

Sharon set aside her pen and paper. Picking up Jimmy’s guitar, she strummed the melody and sang, “…West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountain…” She closed her eyes. “Life is old there, older than the trees, younger than the mountains…”

A gentle breeze riffled her hair. “You promised to bring me here after the war. And so you have.”

She folded the note, tucked it inside the guitar and propped it against his headstone. Forever she would carry his face and hear his last words, “Nurse, please don’t let me die.”

*

In this image provided by the U.S. Army, the 2nd Brigade was faced with a new problem at their Bien Hoa, Vietnam base: from Fort Rilay to Vietnam come the 93rd Evacuation Hospital complete with nurses on Dec. 19, 1965. The problem of getting a private shower for the girls fell to Company B 1st Engineer Battalion. In the interests of the health, welfare and cleanliness of the nurses, the men of Company B decided to give up their own air-conditioned shower. The dressing area of the shower was boarded up and the entrance-way closed off. An appropriate “Off Limits” sign was made and posted. (AP Photo/U.S. Army)

MY PRECIOUS

Published October 6, 2017 by rochellewisoff

An unusual week for me. A second story came to mind and I felt compelled to share it. Thank you for your indulgence. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Genre: Fantasy

Word Count: ONE HUNDRED (Title doesn’t count)

MY PRECIOUS

Waves lapped against the boat’s hull. Moonlight made the water sparkle. Thoughts and ideas flipped inside the author’s head like Spanish dancers.

She opened her laptop and, for a moment, stared at the blank screen. With relish, she typed sentence upon sentence, her excitement mounting. Her fingers seemed to take on a mind of their own, tapping across the keyboard.

She grinned. “Too good to stop here.”

Before she knew it, 100 words grew to 200. Not one of them could be spared.

A gossamer-winged faerie settled on the writer’s shoulder and whispered, “Way too good to meet the challenge, eh?”

In case you wondered about the Spanish Dancers:

6 October 2017

Published October 4, 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

This lovely photo shows the moon rising over the trees as viewed from a ferry boat. What story does it tell you? Can you share it in 100 words or less?

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FULL MOON FEVER

“The year I turned 10,” he lay back in his hospital bed, staring at his bandaged hand, “my uncle invited me to the movie set. I’ll never forget it. There he was. The King. At that moment I knew what I wanted to be.”

“A rock star with a nasty temper?” The nurse adjusted his IV. “The morphine should kick in soon.”

His fingers throbbed. “The doc says I broke five bones and I might never play guitar again.”

The nurse’s eyes brimmed. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Petty.”

“Don’t be.” He murmured as he drifted off. “I won’t back down.”

*

The story in his own words:

NO MORE DANCES WITH MARY JANE

R.I.P. TOM

22 September 2017

Published September 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

It may look like it’s just a dusty pair of shoes, full of cobwebs. But does it say anything else to you? What story do these shoes tell?

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Because the time to work on the content to go with the artwork, I’m using Friday Fictioneers as a proving ground. My plan is take excerpts from the book continue to distill them into standalone flashes. This doesn’t mean all my stories will be book related, it just means that you might be seeing more of them.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SACRED PROMISE

Although he had closed his shop for the day, Gavrel could not go back on his word to finish Reuven’s new shoes. He buffed them until they glowed in the lamplight.

Gavrel pulled off his young brother-in-law’s tattered shoes. “Just in time, my little apple. You’re growing so fast I’d better start your next pair tomorrow.”

A frown darkened Reuven’s ruddy face. “Papa, Lev says someday you’ll have a son of your own and won’t want me anymore.”

Heart racing, Gavrel crushed the boy against his chest. “If I have ten more sons, not one will ever take your place.

Lev Resnick, Havah’s nephew-Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Book II of Havah’s Trilogy

Gavrel Wolinsky- Orignial Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Wolinsky and Sons Fine Shoes -Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

REUVEN – Original Artwork ©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

ELEGY

Published September 16, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to St. Petersburg, Russia.

There’s an abundance of both street view and photo spheres in this beautiful city. Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you like for your post.

Your job is to write a 150-word (or less) story about this week’s chosen location. Where will you take your readers? You’re invited to join the talented writers of Pegman this week in St. Petersburg, Russia.

To enjoy this week’s stories or to submit your own, visit the inLinkz button:

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

Thanks to Karen Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for facilitating this interesting and unique challenge.

As you may already know, I’m currently working on getting my fourth book A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY ready for publication. It will be a collection of illustrations and excerpts depicting characters and scenes from my novel trilogy. These excerpts seem to lend themselves to 100-150 word flashes. This week’s location was the perfect opportunity. Thank you for your indulgence and your help. 😉

St. Petersburg Philharmonic

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 149

ELEGY

With the unpleasant task of delivering bad news to a dear friend and former patient behind him, Dr. Nikolai Derevenko settled back for the evening. In an attempt to cheer himself, he picked up his flute from the table, brought it to his lips and played a Bach sonata. Usually the music would lift his spirits, but tonight it only intensified his loneliness as he reflected on his life, beginning with the day he informed his father he had chosen to go to medical school.

Sergei Derevenko, a prominent violinist in the St. Petersburg Philharmonic, eyed Nikolai with a mixture of anger and hurt.

“You’d rather slice people open and wallow in their blood and bile than delight thousands of patrons with your talent? I don’t understand you, Kolyah.”

“You never have. Why start now?”

“But how can you abandon your dreams?”

“Don’t you mean your dreams, Tatko?”

For your listening pleasure.

Sergei Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Nikolai “Kolyah” Derevenko © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

15 September 2017

Published September 13, 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 © Kelvin M. Knight

Please be considerate and keep your stories to 100 words. Thank you.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE HEART OF A CLOWN

Danny grabbed five-year-old Joey by the hand and led him onto the stage.

“Sing it like we practiced,” Danny whispered.

Gazing at the sea of strangers, Joey bit his lower lip and nodded. “Okay, Poppa.”

Mama played the opening notes on the piano.

Joey burst into a rousing rendition of “Brother Can you Spare a Dime,” imitating Al Jolson.

When he took his final bow to resounding applause, he tripped into a footlight which exploded and startled him. The fickle audience laughed.

Sixty years later, Jerry Lewis told an interviewer, “I decided then and there I preferred laughter to applause.”

Thanks for the Laughter, Mr. Lewis

1926-2017

R.I.P. Jerry. Thanks for all the laughs.

Danny and Rae (Levitch) Lewis

Joey Levitch

ASLEEP IN THE LIGHT

Published August 26, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Flash fiction is a valuable training tool for all writers. It helps promote clarity and precision by forcing the writer to be succinct.

This week WHAT PEGMAN SAW travels to North Korea. Be very careful of what you say to whom you say it.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

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

Many thanks for hosting this challenge to Karen Rawson and and J Hardy Carroll .

For this week’s challenge I revisited a Friday Fictioneers piece I posted two years ago, added 50 words and gave it a new title.

Genre: Realistic, Historical and All-Too-Current Fiction

Word Count: 150

ASLEEP IN THE LIGHT

At thirteen Myung Hee was three years older than the rest of my students. Despite my many scoldings, they laughed at her and called her babo.

One day I found her weeping in the schoolyard.

“What’s wrong, gongjunim?”

“I’m not princess.” A single tear trickled down her cheek. “I feel sorry for these children. They are not understand. In time a heart beats this light can be snatched from them.”

I tried to hug her but she pulled back. Her swollen eyes, old beyond their years, pierced my heart.

“My baby brother and I escaped Kim Jong-il’s prison camp, but two days later I buried him in the desert with only the stars to see. I thought South Korea would be the center of my dreams, but they lie with my brother in darkness.”

Myung Hee’s words resonated deep within me and, in that moment, the teacher became the student.

BEDTIME STORY

Published August 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Wroclaw, Poland

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Note that there is both streetview and photospheres at this location.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

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

For some reason, I’m not getting my Pegman notification in my inbox. So I had to go looking for it. 😉 Good job J Hardy and K Rawson. Now you know I’m hooked. Not to mention that I’m typing this in a moving car on the way back from a writers conference in Branson, MO.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

BEDTIME STORY

“The Cossacks came to Poland to recruit soldiers into the Russian army.” Rhoda’s grandfather’s faded eyes filled. “Soldiers? Feh! It’s 1903. I am fourteen and live with my sister and her husband. She hides me under a pile of soiled diapers and bedding. Oy, the shtink. When the Cossacks leave, she kisses me and shoves me out the back door. ‘Go,’ she says. ‘to America.’”

Questions stuck in Rhoda’s throat like cold oatmeal. “You came by yourself?”

“Like an animal in the ship’s steerage level. Nu? It’s better than serving 40 years as a Jew in the Czar’s army.”

“How did you survive?”

“To see dis shriveled old man now you would not know what a clever boy he was. You live on the street, you learn quick.”

Rhoda hugged her pillow to her chest. “You must’ve had gobs of adventures!”

Zaydeh pinched her cheek. “Stories for another time, yes?”

18 August 2017

Published August 16, 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.

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A little teaser this week from my second novel FROM SILT AND ASHES

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1904

Word Count: 100

LACK OF VISION

“I’ve been reading.” Arel peered over his newspaper at seven-month old Rachel in her highchair. “There are places for people like her.”

“She’s a person.” Havah seized the paper and ripped it in half.

“In one of those schools she can be with other persons who are…” he lowered his voice, “…blind.”

Choking on her anger, Havah hobbled to their bedroom where she hauled a suitcase from the closet. After stuffing it with his clothes, she shoved it down the stairs.

“Havah, listen to reason.”

“I will when I hear it. Come back when you decide to be a father!”