Friday Fictioneers

A Special (For Me) Friday Fictioneers

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The photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers is one I took this past Spring when I woke to the epitome of “The fog comes on little cat’s feet.” (For photo buffs, I took the photo on a Nikon Coolpix L110 set on “Landscape.”) I could hear the cattle but couldn’t see them, and since I was up early and the fog was a sound suppressor, the quiet really did make me feel as if I’d woken in another time.

Where I live now, even though I’m a born Virginian, I’m on the wrong side of the Civil War. It’s a place where, when I say “Civil War,” strangers feel obligated to speak up and correct me: “The War of Northern Aggression.” Well, bull… pucky. When a group of citizens from a country fight their own countrymen, it’s a civil war.

So, when I re-looked at this photo again to write something for Friday Fictioneers, I looked over the ridges and valleys and imaged the barriers that presented to an escaping slave. (Granted, slavery wasn’t as widespread in the Shenandoah Valley as it was among the planters of the Piedmont in Virginia, but it existed here.) To get to the famous Underground Railroad, a slave from the Valley would have to go north, probably staying in the mountains, go through a gap in the Blue Ridge Mountains, to a Quaker-settled area in what is now Loudoun County. From there, they’d be smuggled farther north into Maryland and Pennsylvania.

I know only in my intuition some Valley slaves probably tried the trek, and I’m sure it’s unknown how many made it and how many didn’t. I, however, wrote a story where someone did succeed, “Pillar of Salt in the Promised Land.”

The Underground Railroad had a specific “code” known to fleeing slaves to hide what brave men and women, on both sides, accomplished. “The Promised Land” was Canada, where many escaped slaves ended up. Some returned after Emancipation; some didn’t.

To read stories by other Friday Fictioneers, click on the frog-like image at the bottom of the story. I’m eager to see the stories written for my photo. If you don’t see the link on the title, “Pillar of Salt in the Promised Land” above, click on the Friday Fictioneers tab at the top of the page and select it from the drop-down menu.

A More Challenging than Usual Friday Fictioneers?

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This week’s photo was quite the challenge–as you’ll see when you read the story.

I grew up on a farm which had a lot of forest throughout it, and a walk through the woods revealed some very interesting, natural works of art: two different types of trees whose trunks had fused, trees that grew around or through abandoned farm equipment, a forgotten scythe, rusted almost away, which had been imbedded in a tree branch but which had been “carried” up as the tree grew. Many a bovine skeleton fired my imagination–and followed me in my dreams–back then.

So, this week’s picture made me smile before it stumped me, and then an idea came to me. Some might consider the story, “Thus Endeth the Lesson” blasphemy. Just relax. It’s fiction. Or is it the future?

If you don’t see the link in the story title in the paragraph above, hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers tab at the top of the page and select it from the drop-down menu.

To read other offerings (that’s foreshadowing my story, by the way) from Friday Fictioneers, click on the frog-like icon at the bottom of my story and enjoy the fruits of our fecund imaginations.

A Friday Fictioneers Gross-Out

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Warning – don’t look at today’s photo prompt if you have a weak stomach. It was so gross-looking Madison Woods wouldn’t even use it as a cover photo on the Friday Fictioneers Facebook page. So, eat your breakfast first, or not, before you take a peek.

When I took a look at the picture I was reminded of being sent into the corn field (not like the old Twilight Zone episode, by the way) to pull corn for dinner to find myself surrounded by ears of corn with this really icky-looking fungus called corn smut. Totally harmless to humans but just plain yucky to look at. I’d lose my appetite for fresh sweet corn every time.

Before you look at the photo, I’ll explain what it shows–a cut grapevine where the sap has oozed out and bacteria and fungi have grown in the sap, which is a really tasty growth medium for such critters. Completely natural but gross to look at. It was, however, a really inspiring photo, in an odd, warped way, but, hey, I’m a writer. These things happen.

Today’s story is called “Try Not to Notice.” If you don’t see the link on the title, hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers tab above and select it from the drop-down menu. At the bottom of the story itself you’ll see the link to read other Friday Fictioneers’ offerings. Just be prepared for grossness because we’re all going to go there.

And here’s a virtual sick bag, just in case.

Friday Fictioneers!

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The cool thing about being a writer is you can look at a common, everyday thing and find something sinister in it. And not just find something sinister, you write a story about it, and, then, you and the readers never look at that commonplace thing the same way again. You, the writer, did that, changed the everyday to the mystical, the horrible, the sinister, or the romantic.

Okay, I rarely turn things into something romantic, but I’m sure one day I will.

I hope you remember this week’s story, “Shadows,” the next time you wash your hands or take a shower or fill the bathtub.

If you don’t see the link on the title, “Shadows,” above, hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers tab above and select it from the drop-down menu. To read other offerings by other Friday Fictioneers, click the link “Click to view/add Link” after the story.

Friday Fictioneers Heard it Through the Grapevine!

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You’ll get it when you see the picture. I’d thought when I saw this week’s photo that whatever story I wrote had to have the title “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” but the muses had a different idea.

Once again, Friday Fictioneers has encouraged me to expand my comfort zone with writing. I’ve been adamant about not writing fantasy, mainly because I’m no good at it, but this week’s story definitely has a fantasy element to it.

Because the Friday Fictioneers community of writers is so supportive, you have immediate comfort when you want to try something new. No one is going to say, “Oh, God, that was awful!” They will tell you what stood out for them, what line stays with them, and, if you are a bit off, the critique will be constructive.

And Friday Fictioneers keeps growing. We’d already become international a few months back, but last week there were 73 links to stories left on Madison Woods’ blog. That doesn’t count writers who post story links on participants’ blogs but not on Madison’s. I think we can safely say a couple hundred people participate in this weekly fun-fest.

My story this week is called “Asylum.” If you don’t see the link on the title, then hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers tab above and select “Asylum” from the drop-down list. Once you’re at my story, you can read other Friday Fictioneers offerings by clicking on “Click to view/add link” at the bottom of the page.

Friday Fictioneers – Being Creative at the Car Repair Shop

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It’s been one of those weeks where few, if any, opportunities to write have been presented or made–more like a week of Friday the 13th’s. Monday was a travel day. Tuesday was one of those days where you rue home ownership: A plumbing issue and meeting with the insurance adjuster for the storm damage to the roof. Wednesday was phone-calling to arrange roof repairers and set appointments for plumbing estimates, then conducting part of an interview for a newspaper article. Thursday was roof repair, receiving plumbing estimates, baby-sitting, and the second part of the article interview.

And that brings us to today, Friday, as I sit at the car repair shop because both driver-side windows will go down but won’t come back up. At least they have free Wi-Fi because the inspiration for today’s Friday Fictioneers’ story came to me about ten minutes before I left the house.

The link to read other Friday Fictioneers is below my story, “After The Rapture.” If you don’t see the link on the title, hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers’ tab above and select “After The Rapture” from the drop down menu.

If It’s Friday, It Must be Friday Fictioneers!

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Today’s Friday Fictioneers photo brought back many fond memories of weekends at the family farm in Reva, VA. Wild berry bushes were abundant, and my cousins and I, usually under the supervision of one of my uncles, would take buckets and be gone for hours. We’d return to my grandmother’s house with our fingers and tongues and clothes stained and our bellies full. My cousins always went for the blackberries, but the tart, little, red raspberries were my favorite.

This photo was serendipitous too because last Thursday at a special reading event sponsored by my writing group, SWAG Writers, Jim Minick spoke and read from his book, The Blueberry Years. The book is the real story of Minick and his wife’s adventure as blueberry farmers in southwest Virginia. I left the reading with a copy of the book and a desire to plant my back yard in blueberry bushes, because wouldn’t it just be full circle to take the grandkids berry picking?

But, of course, my Friday Fictioneers offering isn’t quite so bucolic. I hope you enjoy “May the Punishment Fit,” then go to Madison Woods’ web site and read some other great 100-word stories. Then, give it a try yourself.

(If you don’t see the link in the story title, hover your cursor over the Friday Fictioneers tab above and select “May the Punishment Fit” from the drop-down menu.)

Damselflies and Friday Fictioneers

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Friday Fictioneers are coming up in the world–we have our own logo now. Very nice. I’m hoping to see this all over the Internet to show how big this Friday exercise has become.

I’m finally coming down off my Tinker Mountain high (sung to the tune of “Rocky Mountain High”), though I still have to open my notebook and look at the notes from the critique of my novel excerpt–just to make sure I didn’t dream all those nice things people said. I don’t have to pinch myself, thankfully.

Today’s photo prompt you should recognize. It graced the header of Madison Woods’ blog for the whole time we’ve been doing Friday Fictioneers, and I wondered how long before it would be the photo prompt. Turns out it was when Madison migrated her blog to a web site for her own domain name.

For some reason when I saw today’s photo prompt, I remembered a long line of “city boys” I dated from college to…well, a long time. I was much easier on them than my dad was–he always managed to find some country lore or food to embarrass them. (Someday, I’ll write the mountain oyster story.) It was a good weeding out process, I realize now. Decades ago, it would only endear those hapless souls to me more. Such is maturity.

“Not Tonight, Dear” is today’s story, and I’m dedicating it to all those city boys I’ve dated. We weren’t being mean. Honest.

To read more offerings from Friday Fictioneers, go to Madison Woods’ web site and have a read. Better yet, take a stab at writing your own 100-word flash fiction.

Friday Fictioneers From Tinker Mountain

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For those of you who’ve wondered, Tinker Mountain is a mountain next door to Hollins University in Roanoke, VA, and is the location of the writers workshop I’ve been attending all this week. Today’s the day my story gets critiqued, but more on that later today.

Being involved in this workshop is certainly inspiring, and one thing I’ve learned is the economy of words. Another way Friday Fictioneers connect with a writer–and I’ve said this before–you learn how to cut and pare until you’re down to the essentials.

Obviously, this week I’m done with the sweet, cutesy stuff and am back to the dark side of things. About time. And I hope you find the title, “The Atheist’s Wish,” just a tad intriguing.

For other offerings (Read my story, and you’ll see that’s a pun.), go to Madison Woods’ blog and have a read or several.

Friday Fictioneers Take Flight

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In more ways than one, this week’s Friday Fictioneers inspiration photo was right down my alley, or should I say, runway. Not only was it aviation related, but it was also a picture of an aircraft I had the privilege to fly (under close supervision, of course, since I’m not airship-rated) for several, incredible hours over the Virginia countryside some years ago.

Goodyear doesn’t usually allow passengers on its airships–it’s pretty impractical anyway–but they do allow press and VIP’s on board. (I was aviation press not a VIP.) When I mentioned I was a pilot, the Captain put me in the right seat and talked me through take-off and maneuvering the huge gas bag around. The blimp is so long that unexpected downdrafts aft can take you by surprise, as do unexpected updrafts forward. This means you’re constantly manipulating the controls–no automatic pilot here! It was great fun, and I learned a lot in a couple of hours.

My story this week, “Surly Bonds,” is based on an actual event. Its last line and the title come from probably the world’s most famous aviation poem, “High Flight,” a copy of which has hung in my home since I became a pilot. I choke up every time I read it; it’s an aviator thing.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr. was an American aviator/poet who joined the Royal Canadian Air Force to fight in World War II before America entered the war. In August 1941, after flying to 33,000 feet in a Spitfire, Magee was inspired by what he saw there and afterwards wrote the sonnet, “High Flight.” Four months later, he died in a midair collision, but the words of his sonnet live on. Many aviators  since have memorized it, and rather than send you to a link, you can read it here.

High Flight
by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds–and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of–wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

To read more Friday Fictioneers’ offerings, go to Madison Woods’ blog and enjoy.