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 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.
DAUGHTER-IN-LOVE
Art nights. Sometimes the boys and I painted with melted crayons. Other times we’d make things out of modeling clay you harden in the oven.
One of my attempts remained intact until my youngest son brought home his fiancé to meet us. Despite her profuse apologies for knocking him off a shelf, I assured her it was nothing to lose her head over.
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.
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?”
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.
For Jeffrey, trying to learn Latin was somewhat akin to pushing a cart sideways—uphill. Verb tenses made him tense. Nouns didn’t compute.
He stared at his teacher’s one word comment scrawled across his most recent quiz. “Mr. Bland, what does ‘tennible’ mean?”
Mr. Bland leaned back in his chair. “Let’s explore the Latin roots. ‘To have. To hold.’ Teneo, I have. Tenet, you have…from that root we arrive at ‘tenable—capable of being held.’”
Jeffrey presented his paper. “Why did you write it on my test?”
Taking it from the boy, Mr. Bland frowned. “That’s not tenable. That’s ‘terrible.’”
My brother Jeffrey and his wife Debbie.
*The title is Latin for Handwriting. The story itself is not my own, but my brother’s. It was too good not to share.
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.
I hope the new format for the inLinkz works. Just click on the froggy. I’ve put the update off for a month. Don’t you love updates? I think I’ve done this right. I’m still resisting the new WordPress dashboard. 😉 In any event, after wrestling with the new inLinkz format, here’s my ‘story’ for this week.
Genre: Hysterical Fiction
Word Count: 100
DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?
“It’s not what you look at that matters…,” said Sandra.
“…it’s what you see,” said Shrawley.
“Our Fairy Blog Mother posts it almost every week like it’s highly significant or something.” Russell repositioned his clown nose while his pooch, Liza Jane, warbled a tune. “Ask Louisa May Alcott Wisoff-Fields yourself.”
“You yanks are so obtuse,” fumed Ali. “Don’t you see the flying saucer over the market?”
“Pfft!” Dale rolled her eyes. “Give it up.”
Rochelle’s frustration mounted. “The prompt is a mere suggestion. Use your imaginations, please.”
“Oooh. Now I see it.” Russell pointed to the Coors sign. “Bottoms up.”
As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.) Many thanks.
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.
When I saw this picture, I decided it was the perfect time to rerun one of my favorites. Some of you might remember this one from four and a half years ago.
Genre: Hysterical Fiction
Word Count: 100
FIRE IN THE HOLE
Two months ago my husband bought a dehydrator, a nifty gadget that reduces ten pounds of apples to less than a pound of mummified slices in a matter of hours.
“Think of the money we’ll save,” said Jeff.
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes.
The final straw came when he dehydrated jalapeños.
A short time later the dog begged to be let out. With my howling baby tucked under one arm and a handkerchief over my stinging nose I blindly kicked open the front door.
It took a week to fumigate the house. It’ll take longer to let Jeff back in.
As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.) Many thanks.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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.
“Hurry, wife. The city’s crumbling around us.” The aged patriarch bent to fasten his sandals, and straightened with a groan. “Oy. I’m too old for this.”
“Do you prefer the blue tunic or the beige?” She held them up. “I think the blue brings out my eyes.”
“Woman! Are you meshuga? An angel warns us of the incoming wrath of God and you’re concerned with clothes?”
“No fashion sense.” She rolled her eyes. “You really believe this judgement mishegoss, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“Angel shmangel.” She shrugged. “Lot, my love. I take everything you say with a grain of salt.”
*For those unfamiliar with Old Testament Bible stories, when God delivered Lot and his family from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the angel had instructed them not to look back. Lot’s wife did and turned into a pillar of salt.
***
ANNOUNCING:
My Coffee Table book A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY is now available on Amazon KINDLE, Paperback or Hardcover. Hardcover is also available at Barnes & Noble.com
I’m not crazy about the formatting job they did on the Kindle, but it’s all there. 😉 I’ve yet to see the paperback version so I reserve opinion. Nor do I understand why the paperback and hardcover are the same price.
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.
Grandma Tollard met Jeannie at the front door, her long grey hair askew. She seized Jeannie’s arm with one bony hand. “Thank you for coming, dear.”
“What happened?”
“I…we, that is…he…he had a heart attack and—”
“Did you call 911?”
“—he’s dead. I called Fr. Jenson.”
Grandma clutched her lace peignoir robe at the neck and led Jeannie to the bedroom. Biting her quivering lip, Jeannie pulled the sheet over her grandfather’s grinning countenance.
She wrapped a comforting arm around her weeping grandmother.
Grandma sniffed. “I’ll never forget his final words to me.”
“What were they?”
“‘Hi-ho Silver!’”
Many thanks to my BFF Jeannie O’Hare for her generosity in allowing me to share her strange but true family stories. Some things just can’t be made up…but they can be embellished.
Jeannie and me
To hear my interview on Impact USA radio last week CLICK HERE
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.
“Raaaawk! Perry pecked a pack of pimpled pipers.” The bird flapped his feathers and strutted across his perch. “Perry’s pimpled pipers ate pickled peaches. Raaaawk!”
Connie swept bird poo beneath his post, dumped it in the trash, and shook her head. “It’s Peter Piper, you silly goose.”
“Hoooonk! I’m a goose!”
“No, you’re a Mynah bird.”
“Raaaaawk! Mynah place or yours, sexy thing?”
“Don’t! Stop it, you dumb bird.”
“Don’t! Stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
Outside, her husband’s truck juddered into the driveway. She met him at the door. “Russell Gayer, why can’t we have a dog like normal people?”
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.
Darren scratched his ear with a straightened paperclip. Gina slapped it from his hand. “Stop! You’ll perforate your eardrum!”
“Then I won’t havta hear your nagging.”
“Ohhh, just do your homework.”
“Do your own.” He rolled his eyes. “Sisters.”
“My report’s done.” She stacked three typewritten pages and paper-clipped the corners together. “Consider the lowly paperclip. Know who invented it?”
“Who cares?”
“Some think it was Johan Vaaler, a Norwegian. But it was actually an American, William D. Middlebrook, who even patented the machine to make them in 1899. Whaddya think?”
