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.
Between finishing a novel, writing a book proposal and visiting my one and only brother, I’ll be somewhat out of pocket for the the next couple of weeks. Therefore it’s SUMMER RERUN TIME. For those of you who recognize this prompt from 2013 and were part of Friday Fictioneers, feel free to reprise your own story.
CLICK FROG TO ADD YOUR LINK
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
KIA ORA
In March 1956, the year I turned fourteen, my best friend was murdered. They found her mangled body wedged in a rock crevice at Koutu Point.
For days I refused to get out of bed. No amount of Mum’s tea and sympathy could ease my broken heart or stem my anger.
The winter wind off the Tasman Sea brought waves of loneliness.
Never again will Opo and I swim together in Hokianga Harbour, but whenever I watch a dolphin spin above the water in gleeful abandon, I see her.
I hope the fisherman who blew up my Opo exploded, too.
Original artwork. Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Following her grandparents’ deaths, a doctor suggested Charlotte take up painting to ease her depression. She lost herself in gouache. Every day her paintbrushes illustrated her life story. Humming, she rendered herself as a child waiting for her angel mother to return from heaven. Sketching by the sea. The Wehrmacht marching through the streets.
“I become them all,” she said. “I travel their paths. No power on earth can stop me.”
One night, she handed Dr. Moridis her hundreds of masterpieces. “Keep these safe, they are my whole life.”
Months later Charlotte Salomon and her unborn child perished in Auschwitz.
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.
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.
A week ago, my “keep refrigerated” medication arrived—three days late and warm—via UPS.
I called their support number to discover “customer” and “service” is a UPS oxymoron. After pressing one for this and two for that, I complained to one agent after another. Each guaranteed pick-up and a call back from their center.
Four days later, I tossed the deceased meds and resorted to messaging UPS on social media.
The standard excuse: “Additional volume due to global health crisis. We’re working on a resolution.”
My promised UPS call came today and so did the replacement package—via FedEx.
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 @ A. Noni Mouse
Click the dancing frog to join the fun.
Genre: Hysterical Fiction
Word Count: 100
I REST MY CASE
My son slept on a mattress on the floor. Dirty glasses and plates with mold enough to save the planet from infection littered his room. Filthy clothes and towels covered the bed.
I fumed. “You could hide a body in this room.”
One morning I went to wake him for work. No Evan. I even called his friends.
My heart thrashed at red smears on my white cabinets.
Before I could call the police, Evan entered the kitchen. “Mo-om, why didn’t you wake me? Oh, sorry about the spaghetti sauce.”
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.
Jeff drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Damned red light.”
“Down, Scruffy.” Meredith looked up from her magazine. “Can you imagine the chaos without traffic lights? In fact, until 1923, our fair city of Cleveland was a mess until inventor Garrett Morgan witnessed a serious collision between an automobile and a cart. The horse had to be put down and a little girl was severely injured.”
“And…?”
“And Mr. Morgan patented a three-position traffic signal which brought order to roads worldwide. He later sold the patent to General Electric who added colored lights. Hey, Jeff?”
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.
Morning sun shoots burnished orange and golden flames across the horizon as I help Elisi gather wild onions. She’ll cook them with eggs, Cherokee style.
As we dig our fingers in the moist dirt, she tells me ancestral stories.
“My grandfather grew up in Georgia. A good life.”
“If it was so good, why’d they move to Oklahoma?”
“They had no choice, Unisi. Our people walked a thousand miles, some without shoes. My great-grandmother died, giving birth.” Tears trail Elisi’s wrinkled cheek. “President Jackson claimed it was to keep us out of harm’s way.
“Don’tcha mean out of his way?”
***
Elisi is Cherokee for Grandmother and Unisi means granddaughter.
*Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw and Seminole had by the early 19th century begun to assimilate into Anglo-American culture. We can’t change history, but perhaps we can make our grandchildren’s history a sweeter memory.
If you have 17 minutes to spare to learn more CLICK HERE.
***
And if you have a little more time click the portrait below to listen to my latest interview with Jimmy Leonard and learn the reasons behind the painting. Thank you.
No matter what your political leanings, it’s a compelling book about a longstanding relationship between two women. I loved it from cover to cover.
I must read this book soon!
Kathleen M. Rodgers, one of the most generous people I know.
With fear and trembling I sent my manuscript of my latest novel with working title WHAT THE HEART WANTS and a book proposal to her. When we spoke November 4, Diane opened the conversation with what every author dreams of hearing from a potential agent, “I loved your manuscript or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
So far the book has been turned down a few times but, knowing Diane loves it, assures me she’ll find the right home for Bear Starfire and Asher Gorovich.
Here is short summary. (Yes, I’ve posted this before and might post it again. 😉 )
In 1879, Eastern Europe is a hotbed of Antisemitism. In the midst of a pogrom, a government sanctioned massacre against the Jews, sixteen-year old Asher Gorovich witnesses the slaughter of his father, the blacksmith in his Polish village. Life doesn’t improve for him as he endures more persecution and loss of other loved ones.
Meanwhile, in America, eleven-year-old Bear Starfire is torn from her family and forced to attend St. Salvinus Indian boarding school. There she is stripped of her culture and endures both emotional and physical cruelty at the hands of staff members.
When these two wounded hearts meet will they find more conflict or the answer to their prayers?
Bear Starfire on the Wings of the Wind
Enter the Quarantine. Yeah, as much as I’ve avoided writing about it, it is the proverbial elephant in the room (and all over the media). For those of you who remember elephant jokes, you can tell he’s there by the peanuts on his breath.
As per Diane’s strong suggestion, I’ve worked on my Twitter presence. You can follow me @RochelleFields 😉 At any rate, that’s how I met Jimmy Leonard, a young man with a podcast entitled “World on Fire”. In April he emailed saying I fit the profile of someone with a passion and asked if I’d be willing to do an interview on Zoom. Although we did the interview on April 22, it didn’t go “live” until mid June.
We spoke for at least 45 minutes. Please excuse my cluttered background. That’s my environment. Unfortunately, the above portion about meeting Diane and WHAT THE HEART WANTS didn’t make the final edit.
Disclaimer: I had no idea what his intro would be. Although, I think Mr. Leonard makes some good points and it is his podcast.
Keep in mind, we spoke in April. Our topics were my artwork, Friday Fictioneers and the novel I’m currently working on and am three-fourths of the way through. My interview begins about 11:36 into it.
Re his “off the wall” question, “If you could paint a portrait of any person, living or dead, who would it be?” This took me by surprise, because I’ve done quite a few portraits. For whatever reason, the first person who popped into my overloaded mind was Maya Angelou, a woman I greatly admire. What’s not to admire?
Nu? I had to put my paintbrush where my mouth was, right? Of course right!
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.
My seventy-four-years-young grandmother walks beside me with a slight limp.
“Did you have an accident when you were a girl, Nan?”
“Polio.”
“Why aren’t your legs deformed like the kids in those old films?”
“I was only five at the time.” Nan’s eyes mist. “My mother defied our doctor, who wanted to shackle me with steel braces, and took me to one of Sister Kenny’s treatment centers. There they wrapped my legs in hot wool and forced me to exercise.”
“Didn’t that hurt?”
“Like hell.” She grins and skips toward the ocean. “Last one in the water’s a rotten egg.”
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.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 