historical fiction

All posts tagged historical fiction

9 April 2021

Published April 7, 2021 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 © Brenda Cox

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

GREASEPAINT AND KIMCHEE

“Hey kid.”

Philip stood beside his car, waiting for his sweetheart Anna May Wong. He startled to see movie idol Douglas Fairbanks scrutinizing him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You have presence.”

The actor insisted the boy make a screen test.

Still in makeup, heart racing, Philip took a contract home. Instead of the accolades he hoped for, his mother flew into a rage.

She tore the papers to shreds. “No son of mine is getting mixed up with those awful people.”

Two-hundred movies and television shows later, Korean-American actor Philip Ahn laughed. “I’ll never forget. She grounded me for three days.”

***

Although you might not be familiar with his name, I’ll bet many of you remember his face. 

Click if you care to know more.

12 March 2021

Published March 10, 2021 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.

A note of thanks to those who sent photos. The response to my plea was overwhelming! I’m always open to quirky or intriguing shots. Send them to runtshell@gmail.com. 😉 

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE GREATEST GENERATION

Great-Grandpa Harry’s war stories made wonderful essays for my seventh-grade history class.  

“I never seen anything like it.” His faded blue eyes brimmed. “Charles Jackson French. The ‘human tugboat’. Ever hear of him?”  

“No, Grandpa.”   

“A-course not. So Imma gonna tell you.”

I poised my pencil.

 “After the Japs sank our ship, a few of us wounded escaped on a big’ol life raft. Charlie tied the tow rope around hisself. Eight hours o’dodging sharks and bullets, he swam us to safety. Never received the full honors due him.”

“Why?”

Great-Grandpa fisted his gnarled hand.

“Worst reason ever, son. Skin color.”

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19 February 2021

Published February 17, 2021 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 © Ted Strutz

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

NO MAIL, LOW MORALE

           “I have a dream.” Dr. King’s words gave Millie hope for an end to her beloved country’s racial divide as she returned home from the march in Washington.

            Before she could open her door, someone tapped her shoulder. She whipped around to be caught in the blue-eyed gaze of a Raleigh policeman.

            “Mrs. Veasey, were you in the 6888 Postal Directory Battalion during WWII?”

            “And proud of it.” She stiffened. “We were the first black, female division in the US Army.”  

            “I was PFC Nelson…Belgium. No mail for months, until—” He saluted. “Thank you for your service, Ma’am.”

***

CLICK for more info about Mrs. Veasey and the Six-Triple-Eight

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13 November 2020

Published November 11, 2020 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 © Dale Rogerson

CLICFOFUN!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BY DESIGN

“The final Yuletide of the 19th century is upon us. What will the 20th hold? Perhaps we women will be allowed to vote.” Maud settled back against her pillows. “We’ll make it happen.” Light snow fell past her window. Nearby carolers sang, “Silent Night.”

Her latest illustration sat unfinished on her easel.   

“Salutations, my little masterpiece.” She studied the infant in her arms. “I daresay those dark blue eyes shall turn brown. What a dear subject you’ll make, my Humphrey baby.”

“Humphrey baby indeed. Come to Papa, my son.” Maud’s husband Belmont lifted the child. “Merry Christmas, Humphrey Deforest Bogart!

Click to know more about Maud

8 August 2020

Published August 5, 2020 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.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

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Today I’m on my way to North Carolina with a supply of masks to visit my one and only brother. So once more, a SUMMER RERUNIf you wrote a story for this prompt from 10 April 2015, feel free to rerun yours. Thank you for understanding. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ONLY THE MOUNTAIN REMAINS

My dearest Zhilan,

            This night my thoughts turn toward home and you. I cherish the times we invited the moon to join us as we shared rice wine. Remember how we dreamed I would find Gold Mountain?

            Now my journey is hard and my days are filled with the pickaxe and train tracks. Never will I see you again, my fragrant orchid, nor our precious son…

***

            “Fever musta took him.” Levi knelt beside the body and pried a piece of crumpled paper from its stiff hand. “Whatcha make a this?”

            Orville squinted and shrugged. “Jest some ignorant Chinee scribbles.”

Railroad_workers0001

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Weekend Writing Prompt – Peristeronic

Published August 1, 2020 by rochellewisoff

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section.

(A mini history lesson in 53…Of cabbages and kings, of pigeons ant things.)

PERISTERONIC

“Cher Ami.” said Grandpa, “was a hero of the Great War. The Krauts shot a hole in his chest, blasted out his eye and blew off his leg. Yet nothing could deter him from his mission.”  

“He must’ve been a tough.”

“Yessir. Two-hundred of us doughboys owe that tough carrier pigeon our lives.”       

October 4, 1918

LA CHAUMIÈRE DE DIVINE

Published April 18, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to Roscanvel, Brittany. Your mission is to wander around using Google Street View until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words. When you’re satisfied, post a link to the InLinz site and share it with your fellow writers. Remember that reading and commenting on other posts is part of the experience.

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting What Pegman Saw. 😀

Click to the dancing frog to participate

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

LA CHAUMIÈRE DE DIVINE

The September breeze ruffled Paul’s hair as he paced the perimeter of the stone cottage, contemplating his losses.  

“It is poetry, this place. Nothing like cruel Paris,” he’d told his companion and their two sons. “The clairvoyant was right. We will flourish here. Here we laugh, we cry; here we live, we die like legends.”

An infant’s squall rousted him from his musings. He hurried toward the sound. Entering the bedroom, he found his children’s mother cradling a newborn. She flashed a weary, yet jubilant smile. “Paul, say hello to your daughter.”

La perfection!” Taking the little one in his arms, he marveled at her delicate features. “Created by the angels, sent by God. I shall call her Divine. What do you think?”

Almost as if she understood, Divine grasped his finger. He thrilled to her touch. “I am your father, Saint-Pol-Roux le magnifique. Ma princesse. Welcome to Divine’s Cottage.”

Poet Saint-Pol-Roux

Divine’s Cottage

HOUSE OF JACOB

Published March 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman journeys to the port of Hadera, Israel. As always, walk around until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then share it with the other contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on the other stories is part of the fun.

Contributions have again been declining, so Pegman may go into retirement soon. I’d encourage you to show your support for this prompt. Thanks.

I’ve been a Pegman MIA for a while. Too many challenges lately, including the writing of a novel in progress.  I understand that facilitating a blog challenge is can be daunting. Participation and reciprocation are the key to success. On that note, I apologize for not being more faithful. With the location being in Israel, how could I not show up?

Thank you for your diligence, Josh and Karen

 

Genre: Historical Fiction for Women’s History Month 😉

Word Count: 150

HOUSE OF JACOB

Hannah gazed at the chubby infant in the crook of her arm. After hours of torturous labor, she was weary, yet too excited to sleep. She studied the baby’s perfectly formed hands and paper-thin fingernails. “I was so sure the Almighty would give me a son.”

            The baby opened her eyes and formed an ‘o’ with her lips as if trying to answer.

            “On this day in 1891, our Moshavah Hadera welcomes another soul. A new life in a new village.”  Full cheeks glowing with perspiration and joy, the midwife lifted the newborn from Hannah’s arms. “What will you be when you grow up? A teacher, maybe? A doctor perhaps?” The child whimpered and sucked her fist. “For now, a hungry girl.”  

            Hannah held the child to her breast. “Do you regret not having your own children?”           

            “I’ve helped birth hundreds of children.” Olga Hankin laughed. “They’re all my own.”  

*

*

Herzl Street

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT- DEVOUR

Published January 11, 2020 by rochellewisoff

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s Comment Section

This morning I’m taking the liberty of rerunning a Friday Fictioneers story from November of 2016. It’s historical fiction, a bit embellished perhaps…but, hey, that’s the fiction part. I added 8 words to meet the word count. (Title not included 😉 ) 

“…it was intended to be the Mercury theater’s own version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying, ‘Boo!’ Starting now we couldn’t soap all your windows and steal your garden gates by tomorrow night so we did the next best thing.” Orson Welles, October 30,1938

THE NIGHT AMERICA TREMBLED

            In 1938 my dad sprang for a new RCA Victor 7K1 console.

            The radio took a prominent place in our home. President Roosevelt’s voice filled our living room. I loved Charlie McCarthy. My sister adored Bing Crosby and soap operas like Our Gal Sunday

            One night, putting the finishing touches on my Halloween costume, mom turned the dial. “Stardust, Ramon Raquello and his orchestra.”

            I rolled my eyes. “Boring.”

            A panicked voice interrupted. “Ladies and gentlemen this is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed…”

            We cowered, believing, as many Americans did, invaders from Mars had landed.

            What a pity they weren’t real and didn’t devour the Reichstag.

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.

 

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