A Picnic by the River

So many things going on in life! While I keep working at my next novel, it’s a treat to take a break and work on something else. Here’s this week’s 100-word story to a picture prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for the Friday Fictioneers. Tell me what, if anything, it makes you think about:

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Maggie smiled at the children seated around the makeshift table. The dark sky matched their wet coats and mud-caked shoes.

Tina snarled, “It’s still flooded here. Why can’t we eat somewhere else?”

“Our guests are more comfortable here.” Maggie set out a platter of sandwiches. “The river is—was—their home. Please, everyone, help yourselves.”

The oldest boy picked up a sandwich, sniffed it. Then crammed it in his mouth. The other children joined in. Maggie poured hot tea, and they sipped happily, warming both hands.

 It was a beautiful day. If you were in a mood to appreciate it.

***

I actually wrote this also as an answer to a challenge from the Thursday Night Writers, which was to write a 100-word story where the environment contrasts with the main character’s mood. I found this surprisingly difficult, since I’ve spent a writer’s lifetime learning to use the environment to reflect the character’s mood and feelings. i.e., a sunny day reflects a sunny mood, while a view of gray clouds or a flooded riverbank reflects a character’s feelings of depression. Instead, I strove to make Maggie determinedly cheerful despite her environment. I hope I succeeded.

Join the fun! Write your own story to the prompt and post it on your website, blog, etc. Please be sure to credit the photographer — they donate the photos for our use. Then click on the froggie and add your story to the others at Friday Fictioneers. And read everyone else’s efforts — it’s astounding how many different reactions there can be to one picture!

While you’re at it, visit Rochelle’s blog post — she always adds the most interesting historical background to her story and the photo.

Theft of Humor

Or is it just out of fashion?

Hello! Here’s a little story to this week’s picture prompt posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers. This is the conversation that came to my mind when I saw it:

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Sally dumped her bin on the Post Office counter.

“Whatcha got today, kid?” Will asked.

“The usual. Packages. Some letters.”

“Anything rush?”

“You guys still do that these days?” She laughed, but friendly good-natured Will was suddenly scowling at her, looking both angry and hurt.

“We’re doing our best,” he snapped. Instead of sorting through her bin right there while they chatted, he carried it to the back.

She waited, but he didn’t return. Finally she said, “Geez, I’m sorry. When did we all lose our sense of humor?”

“We didn’t lose it,” said the other clerk. “It was stolen.”

Click on the froggie and join the fun!

Try it! There’s a new photo every Wednesday or so. If you’re a writer, or even if you don’t think you are, it’s a good way to get the creative juices flowing. You don’t have to win a Pulitzer — just write a little story and post it on your website or blog — And please, please give credit to the photographer. They share their own work, no charge. Then click on the froggie and share your link on the Friday Fictioneers Inlinkz site. And remember, it’s 100 words or less! I can hear you writers groaning, but it’s a great way to practice Hemingwayesque brevity. Then read the myriad ways other people have interpreted the same picture. Comment and receive comments from them.

I look forward to each week’s new prompt. Both the photos and the stories keep me thinking, about people and everything else we deal with every day. Funny — I didn’t even notice the contents of the bin at first. Now that would have made for some humor!

Life Revisited

A 97-word story to a picture prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and the Friday Fictioneers:

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

The young girl held her father’s hand.

“What’s that thing, Daddy?”

“Well, there used to be something here called an amusement park.”

“Amusement?” She wrinkled her nose. “What’s so amusing about a busted-up railroad?”

“It’s not a railroad. They called it a roller-coaster. Cars went up and down real fast and people rode in them.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “People paid to get scared back then.”

“That’s stupid. We’re scared all the time, and we don’t pay anything. It’s no fun.”

He squeezed her hand, thinking of the zombies.

“People’s lives didn’t have much meaning back then, honey.”

Click the Frog to Add Your Link

My first zombie story! Join in the fun — write your own story (100 words or less) and post it online. Don’t forget to give full credit to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and the photographer. Then follow the sad little frog to share your post by next Wednesday.

Priorities

Here’s a little 100-word conversation that jumped into my mind as soon as I saw this picture. It seemed relevant somehow. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, both for the photo prompt and for hosting the Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“How can you report on something so stupid, Ted?”

“I report what they tell me to report.”

“Seriously? What if they told you to report that the earth is flat?”

“Leave me alone. I’m going to get through this broadcast about a teacup poodle beating up its owner and then go home.”

“Ted, look at me. The government is under water, the climate is haywire, terrorists are at the gates, and you’re willing to do a report on an abusive teacup poodle?”

“Abuse is inherited and often involves mental illness, Marsha. People need to be aware.”

“You worry me, Ted.”

Join the fun! Write your own story (no more than 100 words!). Then post it and share the post link with all of us. Be sure to read our stories — it’s amazing how people will get a completely different take on the same image.

Story of My Life

I’m on a roll! Here’s another 100-word story to a photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and her Friday Fictioneers. Quick and easy, folks. This one is for writers:

PHOTO PROMPT @ Jan Wayne Fields

Cherie looked happily at the little clutch of supplies stuffed into the corner of her “desk”. Never mind that it was a shelf in the laundry room. Yes, she’d gone a little crazy, buying pens and things. But now she could start her new career as a novel writer. She opened a blank page on the computer and stared at it. And stared some more. And wondered if going for a walk would bring up some ideas. Maybe do some laundry. Those supplies would still be here tomorrow. But of course, so would the blank page.

Join the fun! Write a story based (loosely) on the picture prompt and post it on your blog, page, website, whatever. (Be sure to give credit to the photographer, they deserve it!) Then click on the froggie here and add your story to ours. Read a few — we’d love to hear what you think. This link party ends in five days. But that’s okay — There’s another one every week.

Out of Reach

A small story of children trying to understand the adult world, written to a picture prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

He held tight to her hand, his small head tilted back. “Does Mom really live way up there?”

“That’s what the newspaper said.”

“I’d like to live high up where nobody could yell at me.”

“If you lived up there, she’d probably yell at you.”

After a moment he asked, “Did she yell at you when she lived with us?”

“Well, she mostly yelled at Dad. Don’t you remember?”

He shook his head.

“Good,” she said firmly, “it’s better if you don’t.”

“I think Dad remembers.”

“He tries hard not to. So don’t mind if he yells at us sometimes.”

If you’d like to join the fun, write your own story (no more than 100 words!) and post it on your blog, website, media page, whatever. Then click on the New Year’s froggie and enter the link to it. Then read everyone else’s! We want to know what you think.

What’s in a word?

When I was not so very young (i.e. should have known better), I made a casual remark, using a phrase I’d grown up with and never questioned. I said that someone had “welshed on a deal”. Another person sitting at the table took me very severely to task — I had disparaged the people of Wales.

I was stunned.

Until this man spoke up, it stupidly had never occurred to me that the phrase referred to people from Wales. It was just “a word” in the English language that my family had used forever. But my protests of innocence didn’t hold much weight even for me, and I was ashamed of my ignorance.

In an attempt to help, a friend suggested that the man was misinformed, that in fact the word referred to the well-known juice company, or at least to the family that founded it. But aside from the fact that it’s spelled differently, after a lifetime of exposure to the British habit of casually disparaging anyone not considered British (including, oddly enough, the Welsh, Irish, and Scots) I knew in my heart that this very angry person was right. “Welsh on a deal” was another one of those casually damaging phrases we have all inherited from our forefathers, like “jew down a price” (a favorite of my father’s), “indian giver” (a constant in my childhood) or “Chinese fire drill” (that one still slips out).  And did you know that to “gyp” someone is to equate them with the European gypsies who were long assumed to be liars and cheats? Another one I was ignorant of, though I protest that I’ve always known them as Romani people.

Growing up, I was forbidden to use certain words that put down an entire ethnic group. You know the ones I mean. Mama was continually mortified by my grandmother’s use of what we now refer to as the N-word. It was just something everyone Granny ever knew had used since she could remember. I’m sure if anyone had had the nerve to confront her, the response would have been an echo of what I’ve heard so many people say: “Well, I don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

And yet my own mother used “welsh on a deal” without a hint of a blush. Why had no one ever told me what the phrase was supposedly based on? Was it assumed that it was self-evident? Or was it simply from so long ago that everyone had actually forgotten where it came from?

I believe such things go back to the ancient urge to protect your family and your village from strangers, the need to quickly judge if you are under threat, so as to be ready: That person doesn’t look like us, this person doesn’t talk like us, those guys don’t act like us; be open but beware! And let your neighbors know that the threatening others are about. You know, those people.

The problem now is that the entire globe is fast becoming one large village, one human family. We may not like all those relatives that live all over the world, but they’re all related to us as surely as the ones living in our own home, if more distantly. We need to be more careful how we might be putting the family down. Ignorance is no excuse, as we don’t say often enough.

So I’m checking out the words I use, not just in my writing but in my personal life. It’s a simple matter of engaging brain before putting mouth in gear.

And it’s really not so hard to say “didn’t honor our agreement”, is it?

Buses Are aComin’

My first novel was set in the Sixties of my young adulthood, and I’ve never stopped trying to understand that troubled time. For that reason I accepted an advance copy of this book by Charles Person in exchange for an honest review:

I did find this book surprisingly hard to get into at first, given that the subject is something that affected my own life. I understand that there is a lot of anger and pain behind Person’s memories, and I needed to make myself ‘see’ firsthand events that I was mercifully spared at the time.

But the story is slowed by long passages that pretty much make the same point over and over without adding any more to it. I felt like my head was being pounded on or preached at. And like any human, I couldn’t help resisting. Charles Person has every right to make this point with the book, but I wanted the story behind it, not the same anger over and over. I bookmarked pages and highlighted a lot, and I sincerely believe that if I took just my bookmarked pages and the highlighted passages and made a new book, I wouldn’t be leaving much out, and the horror of it all would still be there.

I believe the point he wants to make is not the buses or their riders, the point is what happened to those buses and riders, and the eternal question WHY? Why did such things have to happen? To any human being? And why are they happening still?

I was well over halfway into the book before we were actually on the buses. I began to learn about why the buses had to come, about what happened on them and the treatment of the people who volunteered to go on them. I learned about the hideousness and the inexplicable murderous hate. And the ability of so many to rise above it and carry on. And finally I was glad to have read this book, both for my own research and for my own humanity.

Then in the last chapter or so, it returned to being a polemic. This book is heartbreaking, and a necessary read for all who want to understand its truths. I’m glad for this bit of illumination into my own history. But trying to pound it into the reader over and over gets in the way and makes the book much less effective than it could have been. There is a reason the buses had to come and why they are still coming. And they will keep coming until we do understand and do something about it.

I’ll get by. . .

with a little help from my friends.

Here’s a quick 100-word story I wrote to a prompt from our prompt guru Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

“You gonna reopen, Nate?”

“Nope. I’ve had enough.”

One by one we surveyed the damage and sat to commiserate. Then Pete came in and found a broom. We watched in silence as he swept mud and seaweed across the floor. He had trouble with one big pile so Janetta dug up a garden rake and helped him push that mess out and down toward the beach. Georgie swished Nate’s mop around, Mayor Greensom started scrubbing counters, Martha and I straightened up outside and Singh went to find industrial cleaner for the grill.

Nate was open for business in three days.

Join the fun! Write your own story, post it on a website and then click on the frog and add it to the rest!

Back in business!

A Scam in Two Acts

I first wrote this as a reply to a blog post (https://laurierking.com/2020/07/the-case-of-laurie-and-the-monegasque-prince/) by writer Laurie R. King, New York Times bestselling author of the Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes books and many others. It was such fun to write that I decided to brush it up and re-post it here. My event is a bit dated now , but hers just happened, so don’t think they aren’t still out there!

Please be sure to follow the link to her blog to get the full flavor of the high-jinks!

Dear Laurie R. King,

I’ve never had the opportunity to correspond with a scammer via email, but I once spoke to a scammer on the phone. They managed to freeze up my computer and fill the screen with an appallingly scary message and an emergency number to call (purporting to be Microsoft, I think, but it was years ago).

I was freaked out, so I called — what’s the harm, right? The “technician” wanted me to pay them $3000 (via credit card number) to figure out what was wrong with my computer and “fix” it. I hung up, re-booted the computer and it was fine.

A day or so later I got a phone call from “the IRS” saying that my audit showed problems, but if I paid a portion of what was owed (via credit card number), I would not be arrested for tax fraud.

I played dumb and was able to string him along for a good hour. Finally I asked him what part of Ethiopia (I picked that out of the air) he was from. That’s when the accent really started coming out – he was not Ethiopian! He was furious! He wouldn’t tell me where he was from, though, no matter how nicely I asked.

Finally I couldn’t keep from laughing, and he screamed at me that the sheriff (which soon turned into an FBI agent) was on his way to my door so I’d better either pay up or run! I kept saying, “Well, they aren’t here yet — what’s keeping them? Are you sure they’re not coming for you?” It quickly degenerated into him screeching into my ear about how disgusting American women are and how dare I threaten him. The harder I laughed, the madder he got.

They are trained to stay on the line as long as they can keep you talking, but finally he couldn’t take any more and hung up.

It was a great story to tell over drinks.

BTW, I changed my number!

Sincerely, Eugenia Parrish

Have you had to deal with anything like this? I’d love to hear your story.