CAST FROM HER FATHER’S HOUSE

Published May 15, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Cirque de Navacelles, France. This week’s location was suggested by JS Brand.

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

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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

This challenge has become a favorite of mine and I couldn’t bear to miss it this week. This weekend has been an incredibly busy one. And as I’m working toward Book Four of my trilogy (coffee table companion book of illustrations and character studies), I hope you’ll forgive my posting an excerpt from my first novel PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME.

While the photo I chose is in Cirque de Navacelles, my story is not.

Genre: Novel Excerpt

Word Count: 149

CAST FROM HER FATHER’S HOUSE

Rocks, frozen grass and thorns stabbed the soles of her bare feet. There had been no time for shoes, no time to dress.

Who would pray for their souls? Who would remember David, the artist or Mendel, the poet or Mama or Papa? She forced her heavy mouth to shape the Hebrew prayer—Kaddish—prayer for the dead and prayer for the bereft.

“‘Magnified and sanctified is your great Name…’”

Havah Cohen detested its beauty. Her hands, held over her ears, could not blot out the anguished cries of friends and neighbors, fast becoming memories.

“‘…in the world which you have created…’”

Thorns grabbed at her nightgown and she fought to ignore the fire in her lungs. “‘…according to Your will.’”

Run.

Brambles ripped into her flesh.

Run.

The muscles of her legs burned.

Don’t stop. Run.

“‘Let His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.’”

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

12 May 2017

Published May 10, 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

NO GREATER GIFT

Jangled from my pleasant dream, I fumbled for the phone on the nightstand. It fell to the floor. I tumbled out of bed and picked it up. “This better be important.”

Jared’s choked voice snapped me to attention. “Mom I—I had an accident—I…”

Trembling, I dressed and headed for the hospital.

Hit by a drunk driver going 90 mph, Jared’s car had been reduced to mound of mangled steel and shattered glass.

Tears streamed down his bruised cheeks. “Your Mother’s Day present. It got broken in the crash.”

“Nonsense.” I embraced him. “It’s right here in my arms.”

IT’S NO SECRET

Published May 8, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman visits Yorkshire Dales.

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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

A busy weekend and a case of writers’ block made me late to the party this week. As always a hearty ‘thank you’ to Karen Rawson and J Hardy Carroll.

When I saw that we’re in Yorkshire this week, my mind went to one of my all-time favorite books, ‘The Secret Garden” by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I searched Google for information about the author who was a progressive woman of her day. Alack and alas, the pieces just wouldn’t come together for a biographical flash. As a child and, even now, I like to daydream sequels. So today, just for grins and giggles, I dashed one off.

The photo I chose is a garden in Yorkshire Dales.

Genre: Daydreamed Conception

Word Count; 150

IT’S NO SECRET

Colin sniffed a rose. “Springtime in Yorkshire. I miss it.”

Mary knelt to pull a weed from her uncle’s grave. Standing, she brushed dirt and leaves from her swollen belly. “He loved this garden so. If it’s a boy we’ll name him Archibald. ”

Dickon kissed her. “A grand name our little ‘un.”

Colin’s eyes welled. “There’s magic in this place.”

Mary swallowed. “Must you go?”

Colin squared his broad shoulders. “I’ll stay until the christening, Cousin Mary. My patients depend on me.”

At that moment, a woman with gleaming curls entered the garden and embraced Mary. “Am I late?”

“I hope no one minds,” said Mary. “I invited Teresa to dinner.”

Colin flushed. “Pleased to meet you—Teresa.”

“Dr. Craven.” She offered her hand. “Mary says you have a thriving practice in London.”

“I—I’m moving back here soon.”

Dickon’s lips curved upward. “Aye, there’s magic in this place.”

*

5 May 2017

Published May 3, 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 © Sandra Crook

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

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FOUNT OF LIFE

“Andrea should know the truth,” said Myron. “May her father’s memory be blessed.”

“The truth is she’s an American citizen now.” Cerulean eyes brimming, Gabrielle stroked her slumbering daughter’s golden curls. “Forget her father. Forget France.”

Myron embraced his bride and drank in her fragrance. “Your survival is miracle.”

“A ‘miracle’ based on lies—forged papers and a fiancé in the Wermacht. Could’ve fooled Himmler himself.” She sniffed. “I should’ve died with my brunette sisters at Auschwitz.”

Myron’s breath caught in his throat. “Fiancé?”

“The truth is my Albrecht loved me no matter what. I…willingly gave birth to his Lebensborn.”

*

To know more click here!

SHIKAKO

Published April 29, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman visits Chicago, Illinois.

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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

They say location is everything. Many thanks to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other, J Hardy Carroll for hosting and sharing a new location to challenge us every week.

Chicago River

Some reading might remember this story from Friday Fictioneers two years ago. I took the liberty of revisiting and adding fifty words to it.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

SHIKAKO

“Place Where the Skunk Weed Grows”

Catherine DuSable walked along the shore of the Eschikagou while her beloved Jean-Baptiste slept. Today a steady stream of customers had come to their trading post to buy and sell. Usually she enjoyed the stories they shared.

One trapper eyed her. “What you want for that fine squaw, Monsieur DuSable?”

“My wife is not for sale.”

She raised her hands to the sky and danced beside the waters, shaking off the trapper’s leering image.

“Mama, I can’t sleep.”

She turned to see Susannah whose tight black curls and dark skin glowed in the moonlight. So like her father. Catherine scooped the child into her arms.

“When I was little I prayed to Kichi Muhnido, the Great Spirit, for peaceful dreams.”

“You mean St. Raphael. Papa says…”

“For him I am Catholic, but in my heart of hearts I will always be Kitihawa, of the Bodéwadmi, keepers of the sacred fire.

Click Here for a bit of Background

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

28 April 2017

Published April 26, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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THOUGHTS ON WORD COUNT. It can be painful to slaughter darlings and the writer may think, “Impossible. My story won’t have the same impact without those 50 extra words.” Surprise! 99.9% of the time it’s not only possible, but preferable. That’s what this exercise is about. Learning to say more with less. Take a second look before posting. Start with adverbs and passive voice. Instead of “I was running as quickly as I could…” try “I rushed…” THINK ABOUT 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

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Genre: Historical Friction

Word Count: 100

WHAT’S MY BYLINE?

Every Sunday night I watched the popular game show with my family.

Typically, the announcer would first introduce, “…the popular columnist whose Voice of Broadway appears in newspapers coast to coast…”

Miss Kilgallen floated to her seat and introduced the next panelist. “And to my left…”

Whether blindfolded or not, she had a knack for sussing out a person’s identity or occupation. Why not? Her connections to prominent government officials and movie stars were legendary.

Sadly, she died of an accidental overdose in November 1965.

The show went on.

Fifty years later the question looms unanswered. Who murdered Dorothy Kilgallen?

*

Was it an accident or was it murder?

ETHNOLOGIC

Published April 24, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman is visiting Peleliu.

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 to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other J Hardy Carroll

My choice from the Pegman Buffet

After spending two hours watching videos about Palau’s history, politics and current world status I ended up writing about a former coworker. This is the story that wouldn’t leave. I write about her in the past tense only because I’m gleefully retired from cake decorating. The story is mostly true. 😉

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 150

ETHNOLOGIC

Ivonne was one of the most exasperating decorators I worked with during my off-and-on bakery career. While creative and talented, she would be quick one day and move with glacial speed the next with nothing in between.

This is not to say I didn’t like her. I did. She had a keen sense of humor and an easy smile. With kinky hair and dark skin, I assumed the obvious, until the day her mother came to the shop to visit her—a diminutive lady with almond eyes and straight black hair.

“What’s her nationality?” I asked Ivonne. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Nah. I’m used to it.” She tilted her head and stared off in the distance. “Dad was stationed in Palau. I was never black enough or Micronesian enough. Now I have two children who are all that and half Caucasian. What race does that make them?”

“Human.”

21 April 2017

Published April 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Note: The inLinkz closes every Tuesday evening at 6:55 CDT to make way for the next that opens a few hours later.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SPLIT WEEK

“Papa, how could you fire Joe?” Myra Cutler flung her dance shoes into her suitcase. “He was an asset to the show.”

“You’re only off by two letters.” Frank, head of the Cutler Comedy Club, embraced his seventeen-year-old daughter. “All that wastrel has on his mind is my talented baby girl. You’ve no future with him.”

Pulling back, Myra clenched her teeth. “We’re going to be huge Vaudeville stars.”

___

A year later, in 1895, after a show in Piqua, Kansas, weary from performing, Myra gave birth to the third member of their act—Joseph Frank Keaton—better known as Buster.

***

Buster, Myra and Joe Keaton known in Vaudeville as “The Three Keatons”

For those unfamiliar with silent film star Buster Keaton, here’s a taste of his comedic genius.

ACT OF GOD

Published April 16, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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 to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other J Hardy Carroll for co-hosting this challenge.

One of the differences you might notice in my Pegman stories is that my stories do fit the prompt more closely than in Friday Fictioneers. The difference is that participants in this challenge can ‘make the punishment fit the crime.’ 😉 In other words, as long as we stay in the vicinity, we can choose the photo we want to use. Not to mention, there’s the sheer luxury of 50 more words. 😀

Today Pegman takes us to Christchurch, New Zealand

No surprises. My story is Historical Fiction. A little more recent than most, this takes place in Christchurch on February 22, 2011 when the city was shaken to its foundation by a 6.3 magnitude earthquake.

Word Count: 150

ACT OF GOD

Sack full of cardboard containers in hand, I pushed the restaurant door open with my foot. The aroma of soy sauce and seafood made my empty stomach growl.

I shoved the dog that blocked my path. “Out of my way! You’ll make me late for work.”

Her ribs practically poked through her black fur. “Poor thing.” I reached into my sack and pulled out a piece of shrimp. “Now scat!”

Moments later, amid screams, barking and smashing glass, I lay trapped under piles of debris.

Two weeks later, following extensive surgery, my right leg and life as I knew it were memories. 185 of my coworkers at CTV had perished.

The authorities wanted to euthanize the dog for she’d lost her hind legs. I couldn’t let them, could I?

Today, Awhina the Wonder Dog shares my home. Looking back over the past two years, I ask myself, who saved whom?

Note: Awhina, pronounced ‘Afeena,’ is a name that means ‘help or support’ in the Maori language. Kia Ora and thank you for reading. 😀

14 April 2017

Published April 12, 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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Please be considerate and try to keep your story to 100 words. Thank you..

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

HAND-TOSSED

Monticello, a town in Upstate New York, is where we spent the summer of 1965, the last summer of my childhood, with my aunt and uncle. Having never traveled far from Kansas City, this was the adventure of my eleven-going-on-twelve-year-old lifetime.

Unlike KC, restaurants like the pizzeria where I had my first ever, true pizza, stayed open all night.

My brother handed me the red pepper. “Try this.”

Aunt Lu scowled. “Go easy, Rochelle.”

Did I listen?

Although the gooey cheese and sauce melted in my mouth, the pepper burned all the way down—and all the way back up.