ROCHELLE BORROWS ETHEL & CHERYL

Imagine my surprise when I checked FRIDAY FICTIONEERS today to see what photo prompt Rochelle chose for this week’s stories… Not only did she steal my photo and my characters, but she stole Me!  Be sure to read all the stories, by some pretty talented writers, about the chair in Egg Lake on San Juan Island.  Start with Rochelle’s… and maybe try writing at Fri Fic sometime.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

10 FEBRUARY 2017

PUBLISHED FEBRUARY 8, 2017 BY ROCHELLEWISOFF

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Another HighwayThe 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. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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Contrary to the familiar Thoreau quote, this week it’s what I’m looking at that matters in my story. 

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

World Count: 100

ETHEL AND CHERYL AND TED AND ALICE

    Ethel, Cheryl and Ted strolled along the banks of Egg Lake singing “Alice’s Restaurant” in three-part harmony.

            “Walk right in, it’s around the back…,” sang Ethel.

            Cheryl chimed in with, “…just a half a mile from the railroad track.”

            Ted stopped at the lake’s edge and raised his trusty Canon. “Whoa, what a great shot!”

            Ethel frowned. “With all this beautiful scenery why would you take a picture of an old chair in the water?”

            “To post on my blog.” Ted snapped another angle. “I never know when that purple-obsessed midget might snag one of my photos for Friday Fictioneers.”

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Here’s Rochelle with a familiar book… all her titles are available at Amazon

A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… Friday Fictioneers

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A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… a Drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings on the Northside of Chicago…

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s Ethel.”

“It’s December 21st, I assume you want me to help you with your Christmas decorations again. Why can’t you do them early like everybody else? I’ve still got shopping to do.”

“No, no, I’m done with them. I’ve got a hankering for a chili dog, and there’s a new place in Cicero I want to try.”

“For God’s sake, Ethel, just go to the Devil Dog on the corner. You know how far Cicero is, right?”

“Yes, but this place has a jukebox at every table. And, there’s a WalMart next door.”

“Oh… okay, I’ll go.”

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Roger Bultot’s photo reminded me of fun times and good eats in the past and prompted the girls to take a trip.  Thanks to Rochelle for prompting me to write a story.

Here are some 100-word stories by my friends:  

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… Friday Fictioneers

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… a Drabble x Four for FriFic

On the Northside of Chicago, a call button is pushed…

“Ethel, lemme in.”

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“Those stairs are going to kill me. What you want to show me?”
“Check this out, Cheryl; I’m writing a story!”
“What the hell is this photo?”
“It’s my writing prompt for Friday Fictioneers. I’m going to be an author!”
“Oh spare me. Is this before the oil painting, the pottery, or the garden?”
“No, I’m serious this time.”
“You are always serious, Ethel, you just find something new the next day. Okay, what’s with this Friday fiction thing?”
“A writing group that writes on Friday’s. A lady named Rochelle runs it, and she’s written a bunch of books. Look, here’s all the people and their stories this week.”
“Hmmm… if they write on Friday, how come there’s 56 stories, it’s Thursday? Besides, they look like a bunch of weirdos to me, look at that guy with the clown nose, number 53 looks cute, though. What do you want me to do?”
“Help me think of a story, Cheryl. I thought this would be easy, but I don’t see any story in this photo.”
“Quit whining, Ethel. I see a prison in this photo. Do you think Peter Abbey was in prison?”
“Who?”
“Peter Abbey, the guy Rochelle got the picture from. I swear you don’t pay attention to anything, Ethel. Write a story about a prison. How long does it have to be?”
“100 words, no more no less. I hear she’s pretty strict!”
“How in hell you supposed to write a story in 100 words? Maybe we better read a couple stories.”

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“I have to admit, Ethel, some of those are pretty good. Just steal an idea from one of them.”
“I can’t do that if I’m going to be a real writer, Cheryl, they have to be my words. Besides, they might catch on and then I’d get in trouble.”
“Oooooh, what kick you out of being a Friday Writer?”
“It’s Friday Fictioneers because we write fiction!”
“And you write on Friday; I get it. Okay, let’s write a prison story. One for women and there’s lots of cat fights.”
“Good, and mean guards! Someone gets a shiv in this walkway and there’s blood all over.”
“I like that, better start writing this down. I’ll help you.”
“I’m excited, Cheryl, maybe I’ll be a famous author someday.”
“Don’t you mean, We, Ethel?”

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friday-fictioneers

I have always written exactly 100-word stories… no more no less… and as Ethel says, ‘I hear she’s pretty strict!’ and I have never wanted to get on that little ball of fire’s bad side.  But, since this is Rochelle’s fourth year heading up Friday Fictioneers, I thought I’d write 400 words… a Drabble a Year.  I asked the girls to help; I wonder if they can figure out how to work the frog thing.  Thanks to Peter Abbey for the photo prompt.

Here’re some stories from other people who write on Fridays…

A FRIEND IN NEED… FridayFictioneers

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A FRIEND IN NEED… a drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings on the Northside of Chicago…

“Ethel, it’s Cheryl.”

“Cheryl!  What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong?  Nothing’s wrong.”

“But, you never call me.”

“Well, I’m calling you now.  Is your power out?”

“No. I thought you said nothing was wrong?  I know what this ‘nothing wrong’ call is all about.  Your power is out and Survivor is on tonight and you’re afraid you’ll miss it.”

“Okay, yes!  Aren’t you the detective?”

“I guess we always call when we want something, Cheryl, and I want anchovies on the pizza you are bringing with you tonight.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Just on my half will be fine.”

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Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction… This week’s photo prompt is by Chairwoman Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields… go to… ADDICTED TO PURPLE… for more info.

For more stories based on the prompt… 

THE WRITER

While looking for one of my old stories, I came across this one, which I always liked. I thought I’d bring it back for another reading.

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THE WRITER

Last Chanceby Max Welton

It is hard going, but the demolition is scheduled for tomorrow.   The brush that started at your ankles now reaches chest height, the fence is in sight.  Past bulldozers, poised like fierce beasts to devour the hapless sanitarium, you enter the north wing and hunt for room #36.  An excited sadness overwhelms you as you search her room for what was hidden within the wall.  After the accident her decline had been swift.  Seventeen years since you learned the truth about Daisy, it’s now or never.   An unseen hand guides you to a loose wallpaper patch,  glittering Art Deco reveals itself. Her bracelets are safe once again.

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FROM THE DESK OF MAX WELTON

So, that’s it!  The start to my first novel. …

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SCREAM… In an Imaginary Garden

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SCREAM… In an Imaginary Garden

On the Northside of Chicago, a telephone rings…

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s me Ethel, have you decided!”

“Which Ethel?”

“What do you mean which? I’m the only one you know.”

“Haha, decided what?”

“Your costume!”

“I told you, I don’t do Halloween, and I’m not coming over to help you hand out candy to brats.”

“Pleeease.”

“Okay, I’ll wear a scream mask.”

“Because you love the movie?”

“Because you make me want to scream.”

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Ethel and Cheryl decided to take part in the costume party at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads today.  Mama Zen wants us to write about our Halloween costume in 65 words or less at toads.  My friend Björn Rudberg wrote an interesting poem today and introduced me to Mama Zen.

 

CHEF BO… FridayFictioneers

 

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CHEF BO…a drabble for FriFic

On the Northside of Chicago, a telephone rings…

“Hi Cheryl, it’s me, Ethel.”
“What’s up?”
“One word, Cheryl, Chef Bo.”
“That’s two words. What’s Chef Bo?”
“A new Chinese restaurant on Irving! We have to go.”
“You know I don’t like Chinese, Ethel.”
“Well, you like Birds Nest Soup, Cheryl.  And I’ll bet they have barbecued pork.”
“Liked, I found out how they make it, disgusting. I like the pork and I guess fried rice is okay. What’s with the Chef Bo obsession?”
“I have a coupon.”
“Of course you do, Ethel! If you had one to Hell we’d be crossing the river Styx. Okay, but you’re buying.”

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers and C. E. Ayr for the photo prompt.

For more 100-word stories based on this photo, click here… 

FAMOUS LAST WORDS… Shapeshifting 13 #73

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FAMOUS LAST WORDS… Shapeshifting 13 #73

Everyone watching horror movies screams…

“Don’t go down in the basement!”

Yeah, right.

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Friday Fictioneers… THIEVES IN THE LIGHT

I haven’t written much in TedBook lately… Lazy, Busy, Writer’s Block… take your pick.

This story was back in 2012 to a great photo prompt by wmqcolby. While Rochelle at FridayFictioneers is taking a break to write a book, she’s rerunning some of the best prompts from the past. I always liked Thieves in the Night.

Here are the current stories…  

TedBook

They broke the window and slipped in the back door.

“Darker than a son of a bitch! Can’t see a God Damn thing.”

“Shhh… don’t talk like that in here. Take my phone.”

By the light of the silvery cell, they made their way forward.

“Kind of spooky, all these eyes watching us. They said the cross with the man was solid gold, I sure hope so.”

“Shut the fuck up, and follow me.”

Sudden bright lights through stained glass turn the apse into a kaleidoscope.

The Man on the Cross is shimmering to the sound of sirens.

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Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction… This week’s photo prompt is by Chairwoman Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields… go to… ADDICTED TO PURPLEfor info.

To see other Fictioneers’ stories…

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Through the Looking Glass…Again

In 2013 I reblogged a poem by KC called ALICE. I rarely reblog anything, but now she has written another poem that I love and want to share. Step into the World of Kyotzeta.

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The mirror me has other eyes,
I meet them, not from vanity,
Dark they are, and umber hued,
The color of insanity.

Pinned like a butterfly I stand,
Meeting that endless gaze,
Till terrified I wrench away,
And dash into the maze.

The path before me twists and turns,
All distance an illusion,
At every bend another choice,
Each step ends in confusion.

The Sound of Madness watches me,
Her mocking gaze surrounds me,
Laughing as I stumble past,
And walls of glass confound me.

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