23 September 2016

Published September 21, 2016 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 © Roger Bultot

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PINOCHLE CHARLIE’S DAUGHTER

Rose Borach’s heart sank. “Fania, don’t quit school. You’re too smart to end up like your worthless father.”

“I won’t.” The skinny seventeen-year-old glided across the room with the grace of a ballerina. “My grades stink and I’m still in the eighth grade.” She sang, “Give my regards to Broooaddwaaay!” With an exaggerated curtsy, she kissed Rose’s cheek. “Someday you’re gonna see my name in lights.”

“What name? Borax? Jenny Waters? Muddy Waters?”

***

Two years later in 1910, nineteen-year-old Fania burst through Rose’s door and flashed her newly signed contract. “Look, Ma, I’m in the Ziegfeld Follies. Me! Fanny Brice!”

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For those not familiar with this great lady of the theater, may I introduce on of my childhood heroes.

16 September 2016

Published September 14, 2016 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 © Shaktiki Sharma

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHITHER THOU GOEST

Obed grunted and pushed but could not budge the heavy stone to grind flour.

“You’re too small, son.” Ruth handed him a bundle of sheaves and a mallet. “Here, thresh these for me.”

His eyes shone like starlight reflecting off the sea. Her heart swelled with love for him leaving no room for loneliness.

He pounded the barley kernels. “Tell me about my father.”

Obed’s face bore traces of both Mahlon and Mahlon’s Uncle Boaz, her beloved men, dead and buried. How do I explain Hebrew law regarding husbands and widows to a three-year-old?

“To begin with, you had two.”

Click

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A lovely review from GAH Learner. Thank you, Gabriele!

9 September 2016

Published September 7, 2016 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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I’m not sure at this stage of the game when my next novel As One Must, One Can will be released. However this prompt is perfect for the following excerpt. The operative is excerpt and, admittedly, it is not a complete story. It is set in Kansas City, Missouri in the year 1908 where Arel Gitterman makes his living as a tailor.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

EXCERPT FROM AS ONE MUST, ONE CAN

Two electric fans only circulated hot air, thick with machine oil and chalk dust, in the tailor shop. Arel’s rigid collar irritated his neck and he pushed his wet hair from his forehead. His sewing machine hummed and afternoon light glinted off the bobbing needle as he guided a shirtsleeve under the presser foot. A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and dripped onto the cuff.

Whipping the linen shirt off the table, he hurried to wash it before the stain could set in. A wave of nausea swept over him and a sharp pain seared his chest.

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Thank you to our own GAH Learner for such a lovely review blog of PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. (Click title to read.)

AREL GITTERMAN – Original Artwork – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

COMING SOON!

2 September 2016

Published August 31, 2016 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. It’s a first run, never before seen by Friday Fictioneers. PLEASE…because it’s PROPER ETIQUETTE…give credit to the photographer somewhere in your post. Vijaya Sundaram this week. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT -© Vijaya Sundaram

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Genre: Poetic Justice

Word Count: 100

THIS ONE IS MINE

Enan’s grandiloquent notes set off explosions in my heart. I kept every embellished missive in a gilded box. His purple prose enslaved me.

After every beating or tongue lashing, he would gift me with an impassioned written apology and weep until I absolved him of his guilt.

One day he left our cottage whilst I slept. A card on the nightstand, penned in his sweeping hand simply said, “Goodbye.”

***

I wanted to search for him—beg him to come back. Instead, a fountain of sparks illumes the black sky. His words scatter amid the ashes and my spirit soars.

19 August 2016

Published August 17, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. I’m happy to announce that I made my July deadline for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. I’m waiting to hear back from my agent. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns. Look for new prompts the beginning of September as I’ve received quite a few new ones this summer.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from C.E.Ayr If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

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This story and prompt were originally posted the week of 19 April 2013.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN

When little more than a babe, I happened upon a nest of hornets in the churchyard. After a sennight of swelling, fever and Mother’s prayers, I was recovered.

“This child’s destiny from Almighty God is fraught with purpose,” cried Elder Martin.

As I grew to womanhood, nothing more was said of my destiny.

A fortnight ago I strolled with Elizabeth Martin and tripped upon another hornet’s nest. She perished from their relentless stings. Only a tiny welt arose upon my hand.

Red-hot flames sear my ankles. I scream and plead for mercy whilst Elder Martin shouts.

“Witch! Behold thy destiny!”

—————-

*Sennight-Old English word for a space of seven nights and days.

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/brief-salem.html

5 August 2016

Published August 3, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it has been a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. These are happy times! The deadline has been met, but there are edits to do and more business ahead. So the Summer Showcase will continue for a few more Fridays. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from CEAYR. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

PHOTO PROMPT- ©Ted Strutz

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

Original post from May 2013

HANAI

I met Kevin online. Our connection began with shared interests and blossomed into more.

“You should visit in person,” said my sister.

“Fat chance. He’s in Hawaii, I’m in Nebraska.”

Last week I received an airline ticket.

“Next Saturday. Icon Grill. Seattle.

Aloha,

Kevin.”

***

He slides into the booth across from me. “You bring it?”

From my purse I take a faded photograph of twins, a boy and a girl. Korean War orphans. I’ve carried it for forty years.

His almond-shaped eyes crinkle as he fishes an identical photo from his wallet.

“Jah-meh, I always hoped to find you.”

*Jah-meh – Korean for sister

22 July 2016

Published July 20, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Feivel Mousewitz Gayer. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

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I can’t believe it’s been three years since I posted this story. 13 September 2013

I copied and pasted from the original post. But you may click the link if you want to see who said what in their comments.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

MOTHER OF EXILES

“Rachel, would you please read this sentence for us?” The English teacher’s intense gaze shot through the young woman as she pointed to the page.

This new land with its unfamiliar ways and language challenged her. She’d dreamt of freedom. Instead, New York’s Lower East Side bore much similarity to her poverty-stricken village in Moldavia.

“I try, Miss Lazarus.” Twisting and untwisting her shawl fringes, she read, “‘Ve holt dese troots’…Ikh ken nit…I cannot…”

“‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men’…all people…‘are created equal.’” Emma Lazarus took Rachel’s hands in hers. “You can. You will. You must.”

______________

While you may never have heard of Emma Lazarus, if you’re a U. S. citizen you’re probably familiar with, at least, a portion of her poem inside the base of the Statue of Liberty:

THE NEW COLOSSUS

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

To read about this amazing woman click here.

This article is only the tip of the iceberg. If you’re interested do a Google search to learn more. I did. 😉

15 July 2016

Published July 13, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Jennifer Pendergast. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

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Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

Original Post Here

TO THE SHEARING

My seventh-grade social studies teacher strode the aisles like a stalking tiger.

“If Seventeen Magazine told you to, you kids would hang beach balls around your necks and dangle pop cans from your ears.”

I squirmed in my striped mini dress that varied only in color from seven others in the room.

“What’s wrong with wanting to fit in?” I asked.

“You know anything about lemmings?”

“Good in pie topped with meringue,” whispered the boy behind me.

My teacher extended his arm, hand straight, palm down and shouted, “Turn in your textbooks to page 245, ‘The Indoctrination of Hitler Youth.’”

***

When Jennifer chose this prompt I was more than happy to comply. TO THE SHEARING remains one of my favorite stories. Not only for the subject matter but because it’s based heavily on one of my favorite, if not most memorable teachers of all times. He worked hard to teach a bunch of awkward pubescent adolescents to think for ourselves. To Kevin McShane, wherever you may be, I salute you!”

8 July 2016

Published July 6, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from Sandra Crook. If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

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Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

This story is from the week of 12 October 2012 when Madison was still Chief Fictioneer.

EIRONEIA

Summer 1969, an American sailor stationed in Greece, I went on leave to Santorini.

In Pyrgos, I met sable-eyed Melina.

We drank each other. Her fragrant breasts welcomed me home.

“Marry me,” I whispered.

“I can’t.”

After that I never saw her again.

Summer 2010, I returned to Pyrgos.

On the street I stopped a silver-haired woman. “Melina Dimitri? Do you know her?”

“Why?”

“I love her.”

“Impossible! She was my great-grandmother. Died in childbirth in 1869. Here she is with my great-grandfather.”

When the woman flipped out an old photograph I gasped at the youthful images of Melina and…me.

1 July 2016

Published June 29, 2016 by rochellewisoff

Summer is the time for vacations, picnics on the beach and reruns on the telly. For me it’s a time to meet a deadline in July for my third novel in my series entitled AS ONE MUST ONE CAN. Many thanks to those of you who responded to my plea for your favorite reruns.

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The following photo is the PROMPT. This week’s retread request is from my Cuzzin Kent If you’re one of those who wrote a story for this prompt feel free to re-post it and enjoy the respite. Remember that all photos are private property and subject to copyright. Use other than Friday Fictioneers by permission only.

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

The original post is Here

THE ICE QUEEN

In Rowena’s thirty-eighth year the flashbacks started. One by one, memories from her childhood surfaced like debris in a whirlpool. Among them were the uncle who molested her and the neighbor who raped her then threatened her with worse if she told. Both happened before her twelfth birthday.

To punish her body for its betrayal, she starved it. Reduced to bone and thinning skin, her defense against pain became her prison.

“What are you feeling?” asked her therapist.

“Nothing.”

“Does it help?” He pointed to her scarred arm.

“No.”

“Do you really want to die, Rowena?”

“I’m already there.”