Friday Fictioneers

All posts tagged Friday Fictioneers

14 November 2014

Published November 12, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Snorkeling in St. Thomas

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The next PHOTO is the PROMPT.  What kind of story does it tell you? Tell the rest of us in a hundred words or less.  Would your story make sense without the photo? 

My story follows the photo and the blue frog. I appreciate honest comments. 

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FIRST DRAFT

            “Can’t you imagine little Harry trying to climb the fig trees?” Ida’s eyes glittered. “He would’ve been three this year.”

            “I miss him, too,” Harvey whispered.

            Although his heart ached with loss, Harvey still counted his blessings. What could such a vibrant woman possibly see in him, a wheelchair bound invalid thirty years her senior?

            “Maybe we’ll have another son. For now we have one hundred twenty acres of prime, undeveloped California land to subdivide.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with a kiss. “What shall we call our little town? Harryville?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s call it Hollywood.”

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Daeida Hartle Wilcox Beveridge

Daeida Hartell Wilcox Beveridge “The Mother of Hollywood”

Click here for more info.

Harvey Wilcox

Harvey Henderson Wilcox

 

7 November 2014

Published November 5, 2014 by rochellewisoff

 

FIC

Remember…

The disc and the dragonfly

*IMPORTANT NOTE -Please use the photo prompt in some way shape or form. Printing “Friday Fictioneers” in your tags doesn’t necessarily make it so. 

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The next photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Study it and let it speak to you. My story follows the blue inLinkz frog .

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PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Jean L. Hays

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Jean L. Hays

  

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

IN AN EARLIER LIFE

            “Too much studying will ruin you. Carpe Diem. Let’s play catch.” Ted grabbed Douglas’ notebook and pressed a pie tin into his hand.

            “Catch? With this?”

            “From the Frisbie Pie Company. It’s all the rage on campus.”

            For the next hour Douglas forgot about Yale, final examinations and commencement. Tension from late nights hunched over text books lifted off his shoulders and a sense of euphoria filled him as he and Ted flung the whirling dish back and forth.

            “This is bound to become a national sport,” cried Douglas.

            “Tin Tossing Tournaments?”

            “Why not?”

            “School’s finally driven you mad, MacIlroy.”

Frisbie Pie Tin

LOGICAL CONCLUSION

Have I gone too far off the beaten path with this one? 

Scout’s Honor, I started with the pictured Ford Edsels. In fact,  I spent a whole day researching Edsel Bryant Ford, the only son of Henry Ford. While I learned a lot, I just couldn’t eke out a story.

However, the Edsel made its debut on my fourth birthday, 4 September 1957. What else happened in 1957? An online timeline showed that before Buddy Holly and the Crickets went to the top of the charts with “That’ll be the Day” in February, Wham-O introduced the first Frisbee 13 January. For some reason, this piqued my interest.

If you’d like to know more now, click here for the History of the Frisbee.  

Doug and plastic

Aloha!

 

31 October 2014

Published October 29, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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MAKE. EVERY.WORD. COUNT.

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Sit a while and study it. Does it tell you a story? Share it in 100 words or less.

There is only one PROMPT.  Any sketches or photos following my story are meant to be illustrations for it. 

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 98

ROLE REVERSAL

            “Your stepfather’s in this chair,” says Dr. Rice. “Talk to him.” 

            “I can’t. It’s empty. He croaked twenty years ago.” 

            “Try.” 

            I sit in the chair opposite my ‘stepfather.’ “You filthy pig.” 

            “Good start.” 

            “I’m glad you’re dead…Daddy.”  

           In that moment I’m thirteen. Just as he’s done since I was seven, he slips into my bed. I wrestle from his grasp. 

            “How did he die, Natalie?” asks Dr. Rice. 

            “I don’t remember.” 

            “Yes, you do.” 

            “I…” My hands sweat and shake. “I used his gun.” 

            “Tell me.” 

            “I’d do it again. He stole my life. I took his.” 

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ORIGINAL ARTWORK - copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Not the Photo Prompt. ORIGINAL ARTWORK – copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Keep it Legal

 

24 October 2014

Published October 22, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

Erie Canal

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The next photo is this week’s PROMPT. What kind of a story does it tell you? Tell the rest of us in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the blue  inLinkz frog. I appreciate  honest comments.

😀 This week marks my second anniversary as your fearful leader. My first story as facilitator can be found here. Thanks to all who write, submit photos and support me week after week. I’m looking forward to a third great year.  😀

Shalom,

Rochelle

 *Note: There is only ONE PHOTO PROMPT.  Any photos or artwork following my story are meant to go with my story. Period!

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE OCEAN OF THE LORD

            A winter wind blew across the pond. Trina huddled close to Brian on the bridge as a flock of ducks fought for the breadcrumbs he threw.

            “Remember our wedding?” he asked. “Flowers in your hair. This same park.”

            “Forty-five years ago.” She shivered. “In June.”

            “I read where a pair of swans in England divorced.”

            “I thought they mated for life. What happened?”

            “Failure to breed.”

            “Are you saying you want a divorce because we couldn’t…?” She held her breath.

            He smiled and took her hand. “Let’s go home, my beautiful swan…”

            With love and affection, Trina whispered, “…and practice.”

 

Framed Swans

ORIGINAL ARTWORK. Copyright- Rochelle Wisoff-Fileds. Use by express permission only. Thank you.

17 October 2014

Published October 15, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Snorkeling in St. Thomas

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

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The next photo is the prompt. There’s much to look at. What do you see? Tell me in a hundred words or less. Then click the blue froggy guy after the prompt and link your story URL.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

HIBAKUSHA

            When I was five my father opened our home to his widowed aunt.    

            “Why can’t Obasan live with her own children?” I whined and stamped my foot.

            “Pikadon took them,” said Chichi. “We are her children now.”  

            “But she scares me.”

            I soon saw past Obasan’s scarred face. Her stories delighted me. She taught me how to construct flapping birds and intricate shapes from colored paper.

            One night she lay down to sleep and returned to the source.

            Every year at O-Bon I honor her with mukae-bi, dance and sake.

            Her elegant spirit surrounds me like a thousand winds.

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Spring_Kusudama_by_lonely__soldier

Bon-Odori-Dance-2013

Pikadon.

O-Bon

10 October 2014

Published October 8, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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Below is the photo prompt for the week. What do you see? What do you hear? Tell me in one hundred words or less, then click the blue froggy fella and link your story. My story follows the linkz and prompt. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism. 

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

            The boy stared out the window beside his bed and listened to his Alyn Ainsworth record. He tapped his fingers on the night stand in time to the music.

            Sentenced to the ‘greenhouse,’ a children’s sanitarium, he’d celebrated his fourteenth birthday with tea, boredom and Streptomycin. Yet, after a year of incarceration, the doctors still considered Ritchie too ill to go home.  

            “Join our band,” said a nurse. “Bring your new banjo.”

            “I’d rather play drums.”

            Ten years later Ritchie smiled over his drum set at a sea of screaming teenagers as Ed Sullivan cried, “Ladies and gentleman, the Beatles!”

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Alyn+Ainsworth+-+Alyn+Ainsworth+And+His+Orchestra+-+7-+RECORD-565447

3 October 2014

Published October 1, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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Friday Fictioneers Bookshelf

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The following photo is the prompt. Does it speak to you? What does it say? 

My story follows the photo and the blue froggy fella. Comments and suggestions appreciated.

unidentifiable on a stick

Copyright-Kent Bonham

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

REQUIEM IN C MINOR

            “You must practice an hour a day,” said Mama. “People will come from miles around to hear you play. You have a gift.”

            “I hate the violin,” I yelled. “I don’t want to be a musician.”

            Once Mama made up her mind she only heard what she wanted to hear.

            What choice did I have? I was only six.

            Eight years later Mama’s prediction came true. People came from miles around to hear me play. My music was the last thing they heard on their way to the gas chambers.

            Sweet music, the only color in Theriesenstadt, saved my life.

Author’s note for those who may ask  how I arrived at this.

At first glance, this photo said nothing to me other than, “Yuck. Where’s the story in this and why did I choose it for a prompt?” At second glance I thought ‘dead bird.’ Nah. Trashed lollipop? Okay, forget about the articles, what about color? I didn’t see much of that. My mind went to the Holocaust, a part of history I think of in shades of gray. (Not the racy novel 😉 ) Next, Terezin, a town in Czechoslovakia that was turned into a ghetto and renamed Theriesenstadt came to mind. There the Nazis made a propaganda film to show the outside world their kind treatment of the Jews, when, in reality, it was a holding place on the road to extermination for most. My research path ultimately inspired me to write REQUIEM IN C MINOR. Thank you for reading.

Shalom,

Rochelle

26 September 2014

Published September 24, 2014 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

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The next photo you see is the PROMPT. Study it. What does it say to you? Tell me in a hundred words or less. 

 My story follows the prompt and the link. Click on little blue froggy fella and add your link. If reading and commenting on every story is daunting, try reading the five prior to yours and the five following. 😉

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 98

HELLO, MY NAME IS BILL

             Against the cold wooden floor, labor pains wracked Emily’s back. One after another they came, each harder than the last. She closed her eyes to shut out onlookers’ stares but couldn’t block out their voices.

            “Helluva place to have a kid.”

            “Pour me another, Fayette.”

           “Whaddya think, Gramps? Boy or girl?”

           “Quarter says ‘boy.’” 

            “Pay them no mind, Emily,” said Mama. “Push!”

             Over the din of cheers and clinking glasses William Griffith Wilson made his howling presence known.

            “Born behind Grandpa’s bar,” whispered Emily as she cuddled her newborn. “Don’t suppose it’s some kind of omen, do you?”

Epilogue

19 September 2014

Published September 17, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT.  Where does it take you? Tell me your story. 😉

NOTE: All are welcome to participate but please tell the story on your blog page not in my comment section.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

BY WAY OF JERICHO

            “They say the minerals are curative.” My sister pointed to a picture of the Dead Sea. “Come with me.”

            “You want salt?” I said. “I’ll buy you a box of Morton’s.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “I’d rather visit Australia.”

            “Be a pal. Think about it.”

___________

            “I knew it wasn’t a cure,” my sister whispered from her hospice bed. “I just wanted to visit the Holy Land before I died.”  

____________

            The water’s buoyancy made it fun for us to swim but I’ll always prefer the Hebrew name Yam HaMelach, Sea of Salt, to Dead Sea.

             I swim with her still.

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“We have returned to the cisterns
To the market and to the market-place
A ram’s horn calls out on the Temple Mount
In the Old City.

And in the caves in the mountain
Thousands of suns shine –
We will once again descend to the Dead Sea
By way of Jericho! “

-from the song “Jerusalem of Gold.” 

HPIM0423.JPG

12 September 2014

Published September 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Take time to think and reflect. How does it make you feel? What do you see? 

Copyright - Janet Webb

Copyright – Janet Webb

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Genre: Smoke and Mirrors

Word count: 100

HARRY’S FIRST TURN

            “Things were supposed to be better in America,” said Rabbi Weiss. “’Too old fashioned’ the congregation I built says, and just like that, I’m a pauper with nine mouths to feed.”

            “It’s because you don’t speak English, Papa.” Ehrich looked up from his book.

            “What’s this you’re reading?”

            “The Book of the Sacred Magic.

            “Better you should study the Torah.”

            “That didn’t do you much good, did it?”

            “Impudence! To your room!”

            Half an hour later Ehrich strolled into the parlor smiling triumphantly.

            “How?” Rabbi Weiss gasped. “I locked you in.”  

            “My brain is the key that sets me free.”     

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