WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS
As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
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*Note: Due the fact that Christmas fell on Wednesday this year, this prompt is being posted Thursday, the 26th. I’m also leaving the link open an extra day to make up for it.
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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.
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- ***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.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**
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.
- Shalom,
- Rochelle
The Following story is dedicated to my husband Jan.
Genre: Literary Fiction/Tribute
Word Count: 100
LIVING LEGACY
“A-one and a-two…” said the man on television.
“I hate Lawrence Welk.” I stamped my foot.
Mom’s brown eyes flashed as she jumped from her chair to turn up the volume. I grabbed her around the waist and we fell to the floor where she tickled me into submission.
A tower of strength, she always won.
Somewhere along the line, between responsibilities and business-as-usual, without my notice, the tower crumbled.
In semi-darkness, she stares at a blank screen. I search her listless eyes but the spark is gone.
“Mom? I miss Lawrence Welk.”
Her brow crinkles. “Do I know you?”
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