Author: Bill

Friday Fictioneers for March 17th, 2023

Friday is another fictioneers day and Saint Paddy’s Day. I’m mostly Irish, but I never drink green beer and I seldom eat corned beef and cabbage. Who tells a better story than an old Irishman? Who does a better poem read than a young, attractive Irish actor?

Unable to find a suitable Irish lad or lass, Mistress of her storybook realm of fibs and fables, Rochelle, in her high magnificentness, dove down under to Australia. From there, she has shanghaied the prompt photo from Rowena Curtin to lead us into the temptation of creating a complete story with fewer than 101 words.

Click on Rowena’s pic to get the lowdown from Sydney on Rochelle’s blog page. When you’ve written your scoop, you can post it with all the other glorious wonders on inlinkz dot com (see Tim’s photo at the bottom of this blog).

If you can do this (and you certainly can), we promise to read it and comment (nicely) with hopes of delightful reciprocation.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin

Genre: Biographical Fiction
Title: Decisions Made
Word Count: 100

***

He felt betrayed. Trapped. Cheated. Conflicted. Confused. Rage simmered, but what burned him up most was his own self-pity. He was numb. What could he do?

Escape to Canada was wartime treason. If he joined the Army as a rifleman (eleven bravo), he’d be forced to kill or to die. He wanted neither. Everyone he knew would consider him a coward.

The walls closed in. What to do?

He could fight and die in a just war. This one was unjust.

He relented and lived through it all.

Then he wrote about it. Now they would all know his truth.

***

Look both ways because “the bad stuff never stops happening: it lives in its own dimension, replaying itself over and over.”
Mind the gaps because “you’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead.”
(Quotes are from The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien)

 

Click on Tim O’Brien to read more micro-fiction stories drawn from Rowena’s photo.

Sammi’s Weekender #302 (breathtaking)

Click on the graphic to find more breathtaking 14-word shots.

Powerlifting Champions

A thousand people talking loudly
coaches screaming
lifter athletes
grunt and groan.
It’s breathtaking.

Look both ways because sometimes tragedy strikes at the last minute.
Mind the gaps for faulty judgements.

 

Friday Fictioneers for March 10th, 2023

For International Women’s Day, Rochelle has invited us to receive inspiration from a yummy photo by Jennifer Pendergast. To save your seat at the FF table, click on Jennifer’s inviting dinner pic for a savory trip over to Rochelle’ place for writer’s just desserts. Be sure to thoroughly peruse all the menu has to offer.

For the record, today is also National Organize Your Home Office Day. Since I kind of stay organized, today I will begin changing my office décor. I could probably finish in one day, but Amazon delivers the goods tomorrow. Today is undo. Tomorrow is do-over.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Genre: Historical Fiction
Title: Talk To Me
Word Count: 100

***

My invitation to the séance arrived via overnight delivery. It was addressed only to Reynolds. My street address had obviously been added by a different hand. I decided to go. My first.

I arrived before the appointed time of 5:00 AM. The door was ajar, so I walked in. The table had only a crystal ball and twelve empty chairs.

I waited. I double checked the invitation. I had the date right, October 7th. But the year said 1849.

As I waited longer, I felt a chill. Then I heard his voice, “Reynolds, Reynolds, Reynolds. Lord. Help my poor soul.”

***

Look both ways when reading Poe.
Mind the gaps for an elusive truth in his biographical history.

Give Edgar a click to mosey on over to where all the other stories are neatly linked up.

Monday’s Rune (Quadrille #171 w/Language Warning)

My dVerse job this week was to “pen” a 44-word poem (not incl. title, or [in my case] postscript) that includes some form of the word gasp. Then to post it and link to Mister Linky, where you can read more flash poems.

Oy, it’s you!

My latest guy wanna-be like is the British character,
AFC Richmond footballer,
From Apple’s Ted Lasso show,
Roy (Fucking) Kent.

Roy is gaspingly sensitive, loving, and caring;
pleasing to his woman,
and says shit and fuck
more than I.
Roy? What a guy! Gasp!

Look both ways and you’re safe in any country crossing the street.
Mind the gaps and keep right, or left, or whatever.

This clip is long (over 12 minutes), but not as long as I spent laughing (until I gasped). If you’re not familiar with Roy or Ted (and language is not offensive to you), give it a bit of a look. If you can, watch to the end.

Sammi’s Weekender #301 (treetop)

Click the graphic for Sammi’s page and to read more 63 word poems or prose.

Down Together

Helicopters are big-ass, noisy targets — preferred bullseyes for AKs or rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) launchers. They’d get enemy kills and loot from the dead machine with one lucky shot.

To live, we flew high or desperately, dumbass low — at treetop levels or less. Other altitudes made things too easy for them. They heard us coming. We did our best to live and to kill.

Look both ways and be a zigzagging target. It’s hard to hit what’s moving.
Mind the gaps so you know where the shots came from.

 

The video with this Billy Joel song is six minutes, but it was my inspiration to the prompt word.

Friday Fictioneers for March 3rd, 2023

To christen March, twenty-twenty-three, and to mark this Rosh Chodesh, our own Friday Fictioneer’s fabulous femme de mystère, Rochelle (aka, the lapping lady on the pool deck), drew upon a Miles Rost a photo to motivate our 100 (or fewer)-word story.

If you want to join us in this clean weekly fun cycle, tumble over to Rochelle’s blog and dry your eyes with the bright colors (esp. purple) and get rinsed and dried for a cleverly pressed story of your own. Just touch the start button on Miles’s photo below. We can iron things out later as we fold in our finest fibs.

PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

Genre: Clean Gonzo Fiction
Title: Loaded Laundry
Word Count: 100
***

I was doing laundry and writing when I heard a door slam.

A lady stormed in carrying a full laundry basket. I tried not to stare. She tossed clothes into a dryer and put something else in with them. Then she stormed out, never looking at me or speaking.

Again, a door slammed. I heard several louder noises, like gun shots.

I smelled something. The dryer she used was billowing smoke. Then it exploded.

I woke up with a firefighter leaning over me asking me what happened. There was more to the story, but I only told what I saw.

Look both ways, even doing normal household chores.
Mind the gaps in silent storming ladies.

Click on the firefighters to link-up with more micro-fiction (or non-) stories.

Monday’s Rune: Unconscious Us

Blame it on the Moon

Is that true?
There is a me I don’t know?
One I cannot see,
not of my choosing, but me
nonetheless.

My shadow self,
a midnight me that
neither ends where I begin,
nor begins where I end.

Is there a pronoun for that me?
A he, she, or whatever,
a servile acquiescent person?
A deep and darkly denied secret
which is me
and not me?

Does my shadow me know this me?
Am I influenced by midnight’s shadow
as if possessed by a blind spot,
a truth I can neither deny
nor admit?

Look both ways for the existential self.
Mind the gaps for what is unseen, but real.

 

 

In analytical psychology, the shadow self (aka ego-dystonic complex, repressed id, shadow aspect, or shadow archetype) is an unconscious aspect of the personality that does not correspond with the ego ideal (which is?), leading the ego to resist and project the shadow. In short, the shadow is the self’s emotional blind spot, a trickster.

Friday Fictioneers for February 24th, 2023

Our own Kansas City, major league Girl, pronounced Rochelle, who is in a league of her own, has sent us up to the nosebleed section of Royals stadium for inspiration. It’s her pic, but it’s still football (not baseball) season, for which KC will be smiling and thanking Lubbock, Texas, for sending them the likes of Patrick M. (Superbowl Champs) for many moons. May the Royals be so blessed.

This game is all about telling a complete story in fewer than 101 words (more and you strike out). Click on the stadium pic to hit a home run over at Rochelle’s blog to get her pitch. There you can be umpired on the balls and strikes of Friday Fictioneers. Let the baseball metaphors fly!

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Baseball History
Title: First Base
Word Count: 100

***

Billy and I bummed on cheap wooden bleachers watching the Rangers. Seven bucks covered everything, including Cowtown to Arlington gas and parking.

“Dad, that lady behind me is blowing on me.”

It was hot. I looked back. A lovely young lady was fanning his neck. She smiled. I mouthed thank you.

He punched his glove, but it would take a homer to get us a ball.

“She’s trying to keep you cool. Some day you’ll appreciate such attention.”

He asked, “Do you think she likes baseball?” I looked again. She winked.

“Yep. She and your mother are both big fans.”

Look both ways when life seems like a dreary competition.
Mind the gaps. At those heights, let the ball come to you.

 

Click on Charlie Sheen checking his package (autographed) to get tossed over to inlinkz where you may read more wonderous stories inspired by Rochelle.

Monday’s Rune: dVerse Music Quadrille

Lynda Lee Lyberg caught me at the dVerse bar today thinking of a poem about the mavens of music from the days of my time. While I must bow to the discipline of a mere 44 words, I will eventually make a much longer tribute to the quad of this week’s Quadrille. For today—this:

To Carly, Carole, Joni, and Linda

Music, Ladies! Making music was your life.
It’s been seventy years more
since you made your way writing, singing,
and playing for your sake and ours.

With Anticipation I’ll let Tapestry tell me
When Will I Be Loved since I see
Both Sides Now.

Look both ways and try, try, try to see all sides.
Mind the gaps when the beautiful ladies sing.
It’s where the love is.

Note: Maybe some young ‘uns don’t know that Carly Simon, Carole King, Joni Mitchell, and Linda Ronstadt were literal folk and rock stars for more than sixty years.

Click here to read more 44-word poems with music.

 

Monday’s Rune: Check Out

Acme Technology

I was at the self-checkout
scanning cans of stuff
searching for zucchini by weight
“a little help here”
for a friendly glitch.

It wants to know
How do I pay?
Card of course.
Push or tap?
The machine speaks advice:
“Please, take your bags.”
“Don’t forget your receipt.”

I wanted to tell the young, attractive,
and helpful (human) workers
about back in my day,
food on credit meant
the grocer or store kept your name
in a book, like a bookie,
then the annoying push-thingy machine and carbons
and you had to sign (press hard).
Do you want your carbons?

I would have bored them
with that not so long ago (true) bullshit.
So I took my stuff in plastic bags
and my receipt, and I smiled
and I thanked them by tagged name.
Two people I’d never set eyes on again.

Look both ways, AI (key word is artificial) is coming, scary or not.
Mind the gaps as some things (like legal pot) are still cash only,
but the drug dealers still allow limited time credit.