27 February 2015

Published February 25, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The next picture is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Can you tell us in a hundred words or less? Take the road less traveled if you dare! 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I enjoy comments and welcome constructive crit. 


PHOTO PROMPT -© Dawn Q. Landau

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            “A moving picture is the last thing I want to see, Amy,” said Lizzie Le Prince. “‘The Great Train Robbery,’ indeed—starring Thomas Edison as the ring leader.”

            Amy patted Lizzie’s hand. “Let it go, dear. It’s been thirteen years.”

            “It was Edison all right. He had Louis murdered for his invention and tried to take sole credit.”

            “Police didn’t find any evidence. Louis just vanished without a trace.”

            Across the aisle in the darkened theater an elderly man peered at them over his program.

            “Poor Lizzie, my dear little martinet,” Louis whispered. “Perhaps a simple divorce would’ve been kinder.”            



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Another Step Closer

Published February 24, 2015 by rochellewisoff

As much as I’ve always loved FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, I knew that it was a watered down version of the persecution the Jews in Eastern Europe before the turn of the last century. My family suffered at the hands of the Czars. The history of what happened to them has always haunted me.

Nine years ago I started my first novel, equipped only with the desire to tell the real story that few really know and a minimal amount of writing experience. In a matter of months I had written a one-hundred-and-fourteen thousand word manuscript. It was a beginning, the first manifestation of a dream. A dream that many told me was a pipe dream, but I felt compelled to keep going. I continued to work on the first manuscript and wrote a sequel.


Standing: Nettie Weinberg, my maternal grandmother. I don’t know the other woman’s name, but I’m pretty sure she was my great grandmother.

I had no idea where to go from there.  A fellow student in my Hebrew class, writer Annie Withers, read my first manuscript and told me it was a story that needed to be told but needed a lot of work. She invited me to a small critique group of experienced writers who met every other Monday night. I came to look forward to these meetings with happy anticipation and dread. It can be painful to hear that your baby has warts. For the most part these dear ladies encouraged me.

Annie introduced me to Kansas City Writers Group and to Ozarks Writers Group (OWL). Going to workshops and networking with other writers helped me hone my skills. It was also at OWL that I learned how to pitch to an agent.

The first agent turned me down with “This is just excellent, Rochelle, but…” he went on to say that he wasn’t working in a market where my book fit. I wasn’t surprised since I’d gone to his website and checked out his clients. Nonetheless, I framed that letter. It was the first of more than one rejection.

Meanwhile the novels have gone through many revisions.

Three years ago I pitched the first novel, PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME, to agent Jeanie Loiacono and she accepted it with enthusiasm and, this past week she took on the sequel, FROM SILT AND ASHES. I’m thrilled to have an agent who believes in my works and is committed to finding an publisher for them. 



20 February 2015

Published February 18, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

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*NOTE: When linking your story in the inLinkz, you’re given three boxes. The first one is for your URL and the third for your email address. The second presents with your blog and story title. It would be helpful if writers would backspace over that and type in your name. This way we can all tell who the writer is at a glance. Thank you. 

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. What thoughts crystallize in your mind? Can you tell the story in a hundred words or less? 

My story follows the prompt below. I enjoy honest comments. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            I’ll never forget Mike O’Hara, my fellow New York sanitation worker. What a storyteller. Every Friday night me and the boys would settle round for a long listen.

            “So I says to Mr. King, ‘whatcha make a dis rock I dug up?’”Mike took a long swig of beer. “Heavy sucker.  Looks kinda like a red diamond. King says he knows a jeweler who’d kill for it.”

            “This might be your tallest tale yet, O’Hara,” said Pete.

            Mike had the last laugh when his “sewer garnet” made headlines in 1886. Pity he didn’t sell it hisself. Could’ve made a fortune.   








13 February 2015

Published February 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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:D In case you missed it we were mentioned in WordPress’s Daily Post 10 February 2015  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2015/02/10/highlighted-blogging-events/


The next photo is the PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell me in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the Blue InLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100


            When Sarah and I were five, Grandma sold Jack. Mama took to her bed for a month.

            “Why she sell my daddy?” asked Sarah. 

            I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat. 

            “Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s a servant.”

             Six years later the old biddy sold my best friend. I haven’t seen her since.

            On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.

            This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.                      



Black and white twinsReal life twins. It can and does happen. 


Published February 9, 2015 by rochellewisoff

purple swimmer


            A few years ago I made a terrible mistake that ultimately affected my health. I allowed my passion to write to replace exercise, including swimming.  

            One day I went for a routine checkup. My doctor, who had taken care of me through years of anorexia, told me I needed to lose weight.

            “Pre-diabetes and hypertension,” she said, “Rochelle, I know you love to write but get off the chair once in a while.”

            Diabetes runs rampant on both sides of my family. My father died from congestive heart failure as a result and another relative went blind. Neither prospect appealed to me.

            Averse to taking medication I opted, with my doctor’s agreement, to control my sugar with diet and exercise. My elliptical trainer came out of moth balls. I found a pool and religiously counted carbs. My numbers, weight and blood sugar, went down.

            Exercise in no way takes away from my writing time. In fact, the pool is my think tank where more than a few story lines have emerged. There are still sedentary days when I neither swim nor write as I fight my tendency to “awfulize” and tread the waters of self-pity rather than meeting the challenges head on.

            This morning, in the lap lane next to mine, a young swimmer battles the water. I feel a bit winded myself as I watch her. Arms flailing, she works hard to keep her head above water. I wish I could tell her how much easier it would be if she kicked less and let the water carry her.  

            Perhaps one day, I’ll take my own advice.  Copy of Mermaid

6 February 2015

Published February 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Can you get lost in it? What kind of story does it tell you? Share it in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive crit. 

garden maze

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Melanie Greenwood

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Perhaps it seems I’m late to the party as last week, 27 January, commemorated the seventieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. In my opinion, every day is a good time to remember. 




Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100


            There is a museum in Jerusalem called Yad Vashem. Although I live five miles from it, I’ve never wanted to visit.

            “Come with me, Hannah,” says Zvi. “The candles are pretty.”

            My brother is relentless.

            “No, Zvi. Let me forget.”


            The maze of mirrors is filled with reflections of six candle flames.  

            “Shoshana Stein, six years old. Romania.”

            Disembodied voices intone names in an endless requiem for the dead.  

            “Moishe Lapinsky, sixteen years old. Poland.”

            One point five million children murdered.

            “Zvi Goldberg. Four years old. Ukraine.”

            At my brother’s name, I sink to my knees.

            I will never forget.     

Little Zvi with border

Original Artwork – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Yad Vahem Candle room

The names I used in my story are fictitious. The names in the following snippet are real. Haunting in its simplicity, the candle room is an experience I’ll never forget. 

30 January 2015

Published January 28, 2015 by rochellewisoff

The disc and the dragonfly

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. Does it spark an idea for you? Step outside the fuse box and switch on a story. 

My story will follow the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest feedback for it’s how we grow as writers. 

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright Ted Strutz

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100


            “Eddie, why did you do that?”

            “I dunno,” he mumbled.

            Eddie hung his head and stared at Mom’s shattered porcelain teapot. It never occurred to him when he threw his ball at the cat that he’d miss.

            “Special Ed.” His sister Karen stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “Retard.”

            “Impulsive and disruptive,” his second grade teacher told Mom the day he stuck a piece of foil in the electrical outlet. “He’ll never amount to much.”




            “Why did Eddie do that?” Karen whispered.

            “Impulsive and fearless.” The tall Marine handed her a folded American flag. “A true hero.”




American Hero.

.folded flag

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