Posts Tagged ‘writing from a photo prompt’

First things first.  For all of you who aren’t my friends on Facebook, here’s a picture of a Friday Fictioneers meeting in New Jersey on Wednesday.  The culprits are: Rich standing, your truly sitting on the left, Sharon on the right.  A great deal of fun was had by all.  Hopefully there will be more meetings.  We’re planning a history tour of Philadelphia next.


On to the writing.   A group of scribblers gathers weekly from around the globe for a virtual fun fest of writing based on a picture chosen after enormous deliberation by our intrepid leader, Rochelle Wisof f (no “h”)-Fields.  Once we’ve written and posted the innermost thoughts of our fevered brains, we read what everyone else has written by clicking on the little blue link critter found after our stories.

No reason you can’t join in the fun.  Possible categories of participation are (singly or in any combination): reading, pressing “like”, commenting, writing your own story and linking it by following Rochelle’s directions, or going mad from trying to do all of these for all the stories.  No matter what you choose, it’s so much fun that you’ll find  yourself happy that Friday comes on Wednesday each week. (Does that make it like Daylight Savings time, giving we get an extra few days and hours of daylight each week?)


Music: The Speech of the Soul

In the thirty years since her initial audition with the orchestra where he was principal cello, their marriage had weathered the drama of the music business, the travel, long hours, and friendly competition.

When arthritis gnarled his hands too much to play, he rejoiced in her first chair appointment, never missing a performance.  Now, after the stroke, he lay locked inside himself, unable to communicate.

By his hospital bed, the cello a hard-won concession, she closed her eyes tightly against tears, whispered his joshing words from that first day, “We could make beautiful music together”, and began to play softly.


“Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination
and life to everything.”
― Plato

“Music . . . can name the unnameable and communicate the unknowable.”
― Leonard Bernstein

“Who hears music, feels his solitude
Peopled at once.”
― Robert Browning, The complete poetical works for Browning

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”
―Victor Hugo

Friday Fictioneers–a group of talented writers coming together weekly to share 100-word stories based on a picture prompt.  Just read or be a part.  (Click on the little character to access all the stories.)  This week’s prompt is a holiday photo from Fictioneers hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

A Made Man

Everything makes or mars us in some way. Which one depends on us.

They say after the first time, it’s easier; has less impact.  Not for me.  Family involved me and, even with family behind me, it was, and remains, difficult.

I’d noticed her before, around town.  When her family was chosen, I went reluctantly to their house that night.  Stomach churning, I rang the bell and stepped back to wait.

Her mother recounts yearly that the money meant a coat for her daughter, now my wife.  It became our family’s Christmas tradition.  The stories we hear bless us year-round.

The real story…One year early in our marriage, we decided there had to be more than just giving gifts to family and friends, so we asked our pastor who at church might need some help for Christmas.  We put the small amount of money we could afford in a Christmas card, drove to the house and, with trepidation, rang the bell.    The single mom told us every Christmas after that what it meant to her to be able to buy a winter coat for her son, a coat she wouldn’t have been able to afford.  It was a humbling yet wonderful experience that we continued yearly with different families.  May you bless and be so blessed this Christmas!

It’s almost Thanksgiving, the perfect time for a Friday Fictioneers piece as  I’m thankful Bill introduced me to this wonderful group of writers who are also lovely people.  Of course, I have much, much more for which to be thankful each day, even though tomorrow’s the day I take to especially thank God, literally, for His abundant blessings to me.  Joyce Johnson, thank you for the picture, Rochelle for hosting and the rest of you for helping me improve my writing and for providing a bar for which to strive.  I value each of you immensely, (even if I don’t get all your stories read immediately this vacation week. 🙂

Cottage Industry

In search of baking soda, she dodged rain drops, running to the neighbors’.  The perfectly-coiffed, blue-white-haired Mrs. Ulrich (“Call me Janeen, dear”) invited her in.

Gratefully sipping steaming tea, she noticed the metalwork displayed…a face and hand.  “They’re marvelous!”

“My husband Tom makes them, dear.  Would you like to see the others?”

She readily agreed.  The metalwork was lovely, perfect for the garden.  Perhaps for Christmas?

In the basement workshop, Tom’s smiling face greeted them.  “Choose something that’s you, dear.”

“No, I couldn’t.” But she drew close to take a better look.  “They’re so life-like!  Where do you get the…”

It’s Wednesday, so it must be time for weekly writing fun with the Friday Fictioneers.  Happy birthday to November-born Fictioneers Lora, Charles, Madison (founder and still participant) and Russell.  Many happy returns and copious blessings in the upcoming year.  Rochelle, you’re the current hostess-with-the-mostess and Sean thanks for this week’s picture.  Read more by clicking on the link at the bottom of the page and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!  (Yes,  I know it’s not until next week, but it’s never too early for good wishes.  And continued prayers for all those still without power and otherwise impacted by Hurricane Sandy.  We’re so grateful for all those helping during this whole time!)

Copyright Sean Fallon

Power Source

When the redolence of pumpkin pie filled the house and brightly-hued leaves beautified the yard, Mom brought out the jar.  As the spareness of winter approached, she said it reminded her where her power came from.

She somehow remembered what every battery represented: a friend who’d helped when Dad  lost his job, the blessings of a thriving garden, each of us.  Some were more whimsical—one for the flowers Dad gave her each birthday, one for each memorable trip they’d taken, one for libraries.

There was a bigger jar each year.  Mom said the jar reminded her of God.

(If you got this via email, I made a few small changes, changes that came to me while cleaning this morning.  I think they make the story better, but I hope you enjoyed it either way.)

Today’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt is from our fearless leader, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  The Fictioneers say hello to Sebatian Joshua Pendergast, born Nov. 4, 2012 to fellow Fictioneers “Elmowrites”, AKA Jen.  Sebastian, we’re eagerly awaiting your first submission. 🙂  My story is inspired not only by this picture and the sci-fi riff always lurking about the Fictioneers, but by all those still suffering from Hurricane Sandy.  Prayers go up for you daily.

To read all the stories, go to

The Way It Spozed To Be

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

We’d obeyed The One’s commands…no fossil fuels, fats, sugars, big business or AC, keep moving in the winter; worship only in the theater, on TV or on Sunday afternoons.

No Old Ones as teachers of survival–hadn’t wanted them to suffer.  No young to save–too inconvenient.  Nature had been tamed.  We were in control.

In hidden pockets, the Rebels lived with the old skills, drinking deeply of life.

We drank only Kool-Aid.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  It wasn’t supposed to be so cold.  We weren’t meant to die…were we?

If you enjoy this story, go to the Friday Fictioneers site and read more gems.  If you don’t enjoy this story, go to the Friday Fictioneers site to find lots of better stories.  🙂  Here’s the spot:  Feel free to “like” and comment on the stories, too.  Authors love feedback.  Thanks to Ted Strutz for this week’s picture prompt and to Rochelle for graciously hosting the whole shebang.

Fair Trade

He’d never understood the appeal…throwing balls at pins for a teddy bear, for Pete’s sake (or for Helen’s or Jane’s), cotton candy and other junk food, buying Chinese-made junk, gaggles of giggling girls pretending they weren’t glancing sideways at the slightly swaggering pseudo-studs. What a joke!

Spotting the subtle shimmer, he slipped into the space between the booths, felt the requisite chill. Amidst the yells of food hawkers, he almost stumbled over a dice game. A falconer flew his peregrine to the roars of crowd. If he hurried, he’d be just in time for the jousting, truly a manly sport.

Here, (done on Wednesday, but also my Thursday post), is my Friday Fictioneers submission for this week.  Every week, a large group of us from all over the world  turn our brains into mush in an attempt, sometime vain, sometimes wildly successful, to craft  a variety of ideas and themes into various types of literary masterpieces, all based on one picture that Madison Woods puts on her blog, usually on Wednesday.  If you feel so inclined, join in.  If you only care to read, you may click on the link at the end to access all the stories.  This week’s picture is from Raina Ng.

As for this piece, criticism of any kind, except rude, is welcome.  (And before you mention it, I know to be grammatically correct it would be “Until Death Doesn’t Us Part”, but that doesn’t have the right ring to it.)

‘Til Death Don’t Us Part (more…)

The Friday Fictioneers  virtually gather each Friday (and often on Wednesday and Thursday as well) to publish their 100-word pieces inspired by a picture prompt posted by Madison Woods on her blog.  New writers are always welcome and you can read any or all of the other entries by clicking on the link at the end of my piece.  The photo this week is by Sandra Cook.

The Journey
Life in eight haiku

Young and filled with hope
Gentle smooth wide path beckons
Birds singing in trees

Walking together
Joyful talk with much laughter
Sturdy trees grow close

Dangerous trail now
So slippery and narrow
Easy to plunge off

When I trip or fall
Your hands help me rise again
Sun’s rays warm us both

Dark verdant foliage
Tempting us to turn aside
Onto wayward path

Weary from our walk
Searching for flowered meadow
Welcome refreshment

Dark clouds overhead
Continuing side by side
Weathering the storms

Long journey ending
We reach the top together
Home awaits us there

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly fun-fest that consists of writing a 100-word
story, poem or introduction to a story

  based on a picture prompt posted by Madison Woods.
This week’s intriguing picture is by Lora Mitchell.
If you’d like to read or join in, click on the little link at the end of this story and get ready for some fun. (more…)