23 October 2026

Published October 21, 2026 by rochellewisoff

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 © Nobbinmaug

Setting sun is shining dramatically through clouds silhouetting houses and trees. A bit of light is reflecting off of two cars in the foreground beside the house to the right. If you look closely, you can make out a garage door.

This week marks my 14 year anniversary as Friday Fictioneers Facilitator. A handfull of you were here before I came aboard. Thank you for sticking with me. 😀 Shalom, Rochelle.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count:100

BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE

“Whatcha inventing now, Pop?”

Young Dick watched his father nail a bedsheet between two trees in front of his automobile on which he’d propped a Kodak movie projector.

“I’m building an outdoor theater for Grandma.”

The boy tilted his head. “Because she hates sitting in seats in the theater because she’s so y’know…mm…big?”

Pop chuckled. “She’ll be more comfortable watching movies from ol’ Suzabelle here.”

“May I sit in the car with her?”

“Why the whole family can pile in.”

Not long afterward Pop, Richard Hollingshead, found investors and on June 6, 1933, opened the first 400-acre drive-in movie theater.

A little more info.

9 October 2026

Published October 7, 2026 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

This week’s prompt has us walking along a path under a bridge. To the right there is a narrow stream. The stream is flanked by grassy banks. On the pillars of the bridge you see splotches of mud and muddy handprints.

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Genre: Anecdote?
Word Count: 100

MUDSLIDE

“Back in Abraham Lincoln’s day political candidates fought dirty,” said my fifth-grade teacher.

Suzie raised her hand. “Did they brawl in the mud like wrestlers?”

“Not exactly. What I mean is that instead of proclaiming their own good intentions, politicians spent their time ripping into their opponents.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “They’d make speeches about the other guy’s nasty deeds to make themselves look good. Right, Mrs. Gerard?”

“Precisely. Fortunately, we’ve moved beyond those times as a civilized nation.”

Today, some sixty years later, head pounding, I switch off a mudslinging, political advertisement on television and sigh. “What happened to ‘civil-ization’?”

2 October 2026

Published September 30, 2026 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

This week’s photo features a castle nestled in green rolling hills. There’s a bush of red flowers in the foreground.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

A TWIST OF FATE

“Please help us abort,” begged the desperate father.

Irene refused. “If the baby dies, Hitler wins. He’s murdered enough Jewish children already”

The young Polish housekeeper had harbored twelve fugitives in the cellar of Major Rügemer’s grand home for two years.

One day he came home early and met his uninvited guests.

Despite his anger and fear, he agreed to keep Irene’s secret in exchange for certain favors.

When Rügemer’s family rejected him after the war for his part in saving Jews, the baby’s parents took him in. Little Roman Haller knew the former Wehrmacht officer only as Zaydeh—grandpa.

CLICK to know more about this valiant woman. (It’s worth the watch).

It’s hard not to have mixed feelings about Major Rügemer. Here’s more of his story.

11 September 2026

Published September 9, 2026 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 © A member of the Fields Family who didn’t care to be Identified. 😉

This week we’re looking at the front of a two story building with a classic facade. The front door is covered by a colonial style roof and pillars. Behind it to the right is a red brick building. The windows are multi-paned rectangular and arched at the tops. The yard in front is green.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

AUGUST 18, 1790

Jacob squirmed on the wooden seat between Papa and Grandpapa Aaron. “Why are we in synagogue today? It’s not Shabbat.”

Grandpapa patted Jacob’s knee. “I came to this colony of Rhode Island to escape oppression in Brazil when I was your age.” He pointed to the man sitting in the seat of honor. “This day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

Years later, Jacob told his own son, “I will never forget the day President Washington spoke these words in this very place, ‘The government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution, no assistance.’”

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10 July 2026

Published July 8, 2026 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 © Lisa Fox

This week’s prompt is from a playground. At the top of a double slide is a big orb with a smiley face. There is a railing with little sculpted children betweeen the bars. The sky is blue and there are green trees in the background.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

LITTLE WANDA WITH THE BRAIDS

The SS guard smiled at the girl with tearful blue eyes. “Is there something I might help you with, Fraulein?”

She blushed and twirled the end of one of her blonde braids. “I-I need to see Corporal Gruber…a personal matter.”

“Ach.” The guard held the office door for her and winked. “I’m sure he will be most happy to see you, schatzi.”

Moments later, Corporal Gruber and two other officers fell to floor. Dead. Niuta Teitelbaum tucked her revolver back under her apron.

As she left, she waved at the guard, batted her eyelashes, and whispered, “Heil Hitler, you bastards.”

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27 March 2026

Published March 25, 2026 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

The photo looks to be a lattice or wooden fence covered with spider webs and vines. From the way the photo is framed it almost appears to be a window. Through the openings we see green grass, a tree, and the sky. The webs are so thick they look like they’re made from yarn of thick thread.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

A CANTERBURY TALE

A rock shattered the window. Heart thumping, Prudence picked it up and placed it on the mantel like a trophy. “I’ll not back down.”

She read her advertisement in the April 1833 edition of “The Liberator.”

“…the first Monday of April next, her school will be opened for the reception of young Ladies and Little Misses of Color…”

She recalled the angry white townsmen who had recently banged on her door spewing their heated displeasure.

“Such a boarding school will lead to intermarriage,” they claimed.

Prudence Crandall stiffened her back, glared at them, and said, “Moses had a black wife.”

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It doesn’t exactly go with the story, but it kept playing in my head, and just seems to fit. 🙂

6 March 2026

Published March 4, 2026 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.

The photo shows a cafe behind glass which appears to be on the ground floor of a large building. . There are tables, chairs, and people in the cafe. Skyscrapers are reflected in the glass.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

AMERICAN PIE

Exhausted after a day of household duties, Amelia gathered her receipts. Quill in hand, she squinted at the parchment in the candlelight. “This new world needs its own receipt book. I shall entitle mine ‘American Cookery.’”

She wrote and whispered, “2 pounds citron, currants, and raisins…”

***

“Do you suppose this café serves independence cake?” Elise thumbed through her newly acquired slice of history.

Brandy cast a puzzled glance at the book. “What’s that?”

“First American cookbook. Published by a woman named Amelia Simmons in 1796. I found this facsimile on Amazon.”

“Why have I never heard of her?”

“Good question.”

Little is known about Amelia Simmons.

13 February 2026

Published February 11, 2026 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.

This week’s photo is of a long sidewalk. One woman is walking along it. There’s a wall to right with a wrought iron fence and greenery peaking through. To the other side of the sidewalk is a row of trees and a street beside it.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

DIGNITY OVER FEAR

“What if someone had found out?” Sarah held her daughter tightly in her arms. “What were you thinking?”

Rabbi Aharon Neuwirth scowled. “Obviously our child wasn’t thinking at all.”

As she pulled away, Yocheved’s blue eyes spilled over. She smiled and pushed back a lock of blonde hair. “I wanted to see the opening ceremony. All those athletes from all over the world. Besides, they thought I was just another Arian girl. But…”

“But what?” asked the rabbi.

“They gave me flowers to present to—him. I-I couldn’t. Oh, Mama. Papa. I’ve looked into the eyes of der Teufel himself.”

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17 October 2025

Published October 15, 2025 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.

The photo prompt this week is of a forest/park. There is a picnic table to the right in the background. The tree in the foreground has an unusual rounded branch on the right side of the trunk that arches almost to the top.

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

TAKE ME UNDER YOUR WING

“Run, Havah!”

The sound of her mother’s last scream filled Havah’s head and pounded in rhythm to her footsteps. Beech trees loomed in the forest ahead; their gnarled roots circled above the ground like dancers at a wedding feast. They whispered somber melodies.

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?

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 …’”

The excerpt I shared this week is from my first novel PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. It’s available on Amazon. More about my books HERE

15 August 2025

Published August 13, 2025 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.

The photo is of an old graveyard. It looks like it’s beside a church. At any rate the headstones look to be quite old.

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The following story is a rerun from ten years ago as I’m still on vacation visiting my brother. Actually at this point, I’m bidding a fond farewell to him. The photo is also a rerun. Some of you wrote stories for it. Feel free to rerun yours as well.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

WHERE THE GRAPES OF WRATH ARE STORED

“Water…somebody…please.”

Clara knelt next to the Union soldier and held a cup to his lips. The stench of feces and decaying flesh made her stomach roil. Her back and neck ached from three nights without sleep.

“Don’t you remember me, Miss Clara?”

At once she recognized the bright child from her long ago Texas schoolroom.

“Of course I do,” she whispered. “Save your strength, David. We’ll talk later.”

In one heart-stopping moment something ripped through her right sleeve. The cup dropped and David fell back, quivering in the agonies of death.

Clara Barton never mended the bullet hole.

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