6 December 2019

Published December 4, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

SWIM ALONG WITH FROGGIE -CLICK!

Genre: Non-Fiction Out of Mind Experience

Word Count: 100

OUT THERE

Laps. Freestyle. I count backward from esreem v’arbah…backstroke, veintitres,…breaststroke, esreem v’shtayeem…and so on. The water’s rhythm sets my mind and spirit free. Free-flowing.

Somewhere around shtem-esrey, I lose count and go into some sort of trance. A waking dream. Keep swimming. Lights flash. Mirrors, as if on a carousel, spin about me. They reflect golden walls with Egyptian drawings. What side of the pool is this? Keep swimming. Gazing though the watery ceiling, I flip, change direction and dive under. Visions of nothing-in-particular bombard me.

Gertrude was right. “When we are in the water, we are not in this world.”

* Note: I can’t explain what happened, I can only tell you that this happened recently on Monday, October 28. At least this is the best way I know how to describe it.

Note 2: I count backward from 24 (3 sets of 24 actually, making it 72 lengths or 36 laps–a mile) alternating Hebrew with Spanish. It helps to keep me focused.

*

29 November 2019

Published November 27, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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Happy Anniversary to Jan Fields, my first husband for 48 years as of November 28!

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 © C.E. Ayr

CLICK ON THE FROG TO JOIN

Genre: Historical Fiction circa late 1800’s

Word Count: 100

DIRECT OUR PATHS

“Dear Lord, we thank you for the bounty we are about to receive…for the Pilgrims and their faith…the first Thanksgiving…”

Folding her hands, ten-year-old Wawatseka renamed Victoria by her teachers, shut her eyes while Reverend Prichard droned on.

Grandfather’s stories wafted through her mind—a distant memory. “They feasted after each massacre of our people.”

Wawatseka’s ears ached for Mother’s songs and Father’s drumbeats. Detesting white gravy and mashed potatoes, Wawatseka longed for savory corn stew.

Thick fingers thumped her head. “Victoria! We’ve finished grace. What do you say?”

She glared at the reverend and, through clenched teeth, whispered, “Amen.”

22 November 2019

Published November 20, 2019 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 © J Hardy Carroll

CLICK ON THE FROG TO JOIN

Before beginning my rather somber story, I have some happy news. My WIP entitled “What the Heart Wants” is under contract with agent Diane Nine of Nine Speakers, Inc. To read more about it click here.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PROJECT PINK

Dedrick intertwined his fingers with Levin’s long slender ones and stared at the ragged nails worn down by hauling stones from the quarry. Dedrick remembered winter nights when those elegant hands, never meant for such cruel labor, prepared succulent meals that would delight a king.

Levin’s hoarse voice brought him back to Auschwitz. “Dedrick, I—”

Dedrick pressed his finger against Levin’s chapped lips. “Save your strength.”

Bruises marred Levin’s flawless complexion. One long-lashed eye had swollen shut. He reached out and touched the pink triangle on Dedrick’s striped uniform. “You must know…”

Kissing Levin’s palm, Dedrick whispered, “I do.”

For more on this lesser known atrocity CLICK HERE

15 November 2019

Published November 13, 2019 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

Hop right up and Click the Frog

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

O MEIN PAPA

Papa belted out prayers with off-key passion. A few small congregations who couldn’t afford real cantors hired him as a ba’al tefillah.

Shabbos mornings, Natty Birnbaum stood close to him and sang. He’d bask in Papa’s approving smile. It was the only time he ever saw it.

When Natty was seven Papa passed away while reading prayers.

Nearly 100 years later, Birnbaum, better known as George Burns, remembered with a wry smile, “After he sang in one little synagogue, the following synagogue, instead of hiring him, they kept it closed during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.”

Natty never forgave God.

Wanna know more? Got 10 minutes? To watch the video CLICK HERE

8 November 2019

Published November 6, 2019 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 © Ronda Del Boccio

I’m not blue but I will be if you don’t click me to join the fun. 😉

Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

A WRINKLE IN TIME

Elise wound a chestnut curl around her index finger and frowned. “Time for a little Miss Clairol.” Twisting her lips into a wry grin, she tilted her head. “Maybe I’ll just dye it purple.”

After she brushed her teeth, she cleansed her face and applied her foundation repeating the Mary Kay mantra she had learned years ago, “When you pat you place, when you rub you remove.”

The morning ritual continued with eye-shadow and mascara.

She gave her lips a coat of color and studied her reflection over the sink. “How the hell did my mother get in my mirror?”

*

My mother didn’t really look like this. 😉

1 November 2019

Published October 30, 2019 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 © Fatima Fakier Deria

The frog isn’t blue but click him anyway. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE LIFE OF THE PARTY

Hibiscus aka Brownie brushed away a tear as she put the finishing touches on her article for the Detroit News. She wrote a good life, but her “Love-Haven” column was fantasy.

A divorced single mother, she became a top saleslady for Stanley Home Products.

However, a bowl made from polyethylene slag changed her life.

“Its burping lid is amazing.” At parties she dropped the full plastic bowl on the floor. It remained sealed, clinching sale after sale.

“Brownie Wise, my vice-president, you could sweet-talk a bee out of its honey,” said inventor Earl Tupper.

Hence, the Tupperware™ party was born.

*

The first woman to ever be on the cover of Business Week, Brownie Wise was a force with which to reckon. Sadly, her story doesn’t have a happy ending. Thanks to Earl Tupper’s ego, her name was expunged from the Tupperware company. While Earl Tupper sold the company for millions, Brownie Wise lived the rest of her life in obscurity, refusing to even own a piece of Tupperware.

CLICK for more.

Brownie and Jerry Wise

Earl Tupper showing Brownie the raw slag

Brownie at her best

25 October 2019

Published October 23, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Hi-ho! Give us a little click.

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

Word Count: 100

PIN MONEY

“Drat. This is my favorite skirt.” Dale noted her unraveled hem. “I left my sewing kit at home.”

Rochelle dug through her purse. “Here you go.” She handed a safety pin to her friend. “Temporary fix.”

“Thanks.”

“Ever wonder who invented the safety pin?”

“No. Do you?”

“Glad you asked.” Rochelle grinned. “William Hunt, a little-known inventor from Martinsburg, New York, created it from 20 centimeters of wire in 1849 so he could pay off a $15 debt. He later sold the patent for a mere $400.”

“Oy!” Dale rolled her eyes. “I just had to ask Encyclopedia Britannica Wisoff-Fields.”

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Note…Where did 7 years go? 7 years ago I was working on my first novel, employed as a cake decorator in a local grocery store and had just begun to write for Friday Fictioneers. I loved the feedback and meeting other writers around the world. Sandra Crook, Russell Gayer and Ted Strutz were among the first to welcome me. I had only been an FF’r for 6 months when Friday Fictioneers creator, Madison Woods decided it was time to move onto other things. I was devastated. Coerced by my husband and two other friends, I begged Madison to let me take the helm. Click Here to check out my first story as facilitator. Thank you to those who participate, reciprocate and have become great friends! ❤

18 October 2019

Published October 16, 2019 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

POKE THE FROG TO JOIN

Thanks to Keith Hillman for his Froggie adaptations.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

STATE OF ISRAEL

A cool breeze ruffled Shlomit’s hair. How different from her previous life when head-coverings symbolized her devotion to Adoshem and Avi.

Avi Weinstein, zealous for Torah. His parents’ only son. The perfect husband.

After her seventh miscarriage, he beat her.

Even now her footsteps pounded out his accusations along the cobblestone Jerusalem street. “Murderer! Mother of death.”

Three years ago Avi died, leaving no heirs.

Shlomit fled the Hasidim and their restricting laws.

Beside her Elan squeezed her hand. No side-curls. Colorful clothes. Her devoted Jewish husband.

Avi’s hateful words faded. Elan patted her swollen tummy. “Beautiful mother of life.”

***

While I didn’t see the women flashing their the Haredim, I did witness the demonstration of these men and boys storming the streets of Jerusalem yelling, “Shabbos!” firsthand.

And here’s the link to another video about the state of Israel. It’s kind of long so it’s up to you to watch or not watch. 😉 Like anyone else, I have my opinions but I’ll not share them here. I do wish we could all celebrate each other’s differences.

CLICK

11 October 2019

Published October 9, 2019 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.

Frog Delightfully rendered by Keith Hillman.

CLICK THE FROG AND HOP ALONG

Genre: Non-Fiction

Word Count: 100

OF BLESSED MEMORY

זיכרונו לברכה

“I wish I’d known you better, Grandpa.”

My grandfather smiles at me from a black and white photo.

The few memories I have are shadowy and vague. The words ‘austere’ and ‘distant’ best describe him. My mother’s father—an enigma.

I regret never asking him about his life as a Jewish boy in Czarist Russia.

“Why did you flee to America?”

“Oy, don’t ask. You should never know such tzuris,” might he have answered? What horrors lurked behind those faded eyes?

I smile back at his monochrome image. “I hope you’re proud of my writing, Grandpa. You are my inspiration.”

My mother and grandpa with cousin George Weinberg

Sam was a tailor.

Sam Weiner with twins Norman and Evalyne, my mom

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Grandpa Sam at Passover

TODAY I AM A MAN

Published September 25, 2019 by rochellewisoff

Frog delightfully rendered by Keith Hillman

I hope you’ll forgive me for double dipping today. I couldn’t help myself. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TODAY I AM A MAN

“This is stupid.” Twelve-year-old Leon fumed. “Why do I have to do a dumb old Bar Mitzvah?”

“Stupid is it?” Zaydeh’s faded eyes brimmed. “It could save your life.”

Leon braced himself.

“I stuck by Papa in the men’s line until a guard forced me to go with the boys. But I would have none of it.”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to the men.”

“You were only thirteen.”

“I told the guard I am Bar Mitzvah. A man according to Halakha. Papa and I survived the camp in the men’s barracks. The boys? Straight to the ovens.”