WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

MAKE. EVERY. WORD. COUNT.

THE RULES:

• Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
• MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. 
  
• While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
• **IT’S NOT A RACE TO SEE WHO CAN POST FIRST.  TAKE YOUR TIME. EDIT. POLISH. THEN POST.**
• 😉
• ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***

• • REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
  • 🙂

  

• 😉

• Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.

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• 😉 My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 😀

• 

  Copyright – Björn Rudberg

get the InLinkz code

 Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

ALL THINGS MUST PASS

            “‘A sunrise doesn’t last all morning,’” I sing and strum the chords that take me back to a New York television studio thirty years ago.   

            There to meet a friend, I loaned my Martin to an aging musician for his last live performance.

            “You don’t happen to have a capo, do you, Miss Guitar Lady?” he asked.

            Something in his serene eyes and genuine smile reached to the depths of my soul. 

            My fingers move on the fretboard where his once did. I never changed those strings.

            And as VH1’s cameras recorded history, George Harrison made my guitar gently weep. 

 

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It’s not the best quality but here’s the clip that inspired my story. If you’re in a hurry and would rather not commit to 14 minutes the impetus for my story really starts at  the 10:00 mark on the bar.