friday fictioneers

Where All the Hep Cats Get to Go



“The Wyoming Free Library and Wyoming United Methodist Church often collaborate on book  sales,” Muriel told Gloria. “Everybody in Wyoming and West Wyoming votes at the library on Election Day too.”



“I’m happy with it too,” Gloria said.  “Every afternoon when I come here I get to meet all kinds of characters, from frazzled parents and children to Mormon missionaries.”



“Yeah,” the former opined.  Them city slickers think they’re in the center of all the action and adventure, but hey, we’re where it’s really at.”



“Besides that,” Gloria gushed, “We’re four miles from Pittston, the tomato capital of the world.”



Welcome back yet again to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.  Read her blog for all the interesting details.  Thank  Sandra Crook

for the swell photo prompt.



































The Dull Before the Interesting


“I was given me drothers between the red and blue pills,” Periwinkle told Dora. 



“That really happened?” she asked.



“You know,” he replied.  “A pill, a drink, a box.  It’s different each time.  Me point is, here’s where it got us.



“It seems very mundane considering how we got here,” she reminded him.



“Duh,” he complained.   “It can’t all be magic. There has to be some ordinary paperwork involved.  People think the imagination is all colors and multi media spectaculars.   You always have to fill out forms to get there though.”



“Yes,” she said. “Even the extraordinary is somewhat dull.”



Welcome back yet again to Rochelle’s world at Friday Fictioneers. Please go to her blog to find out all about us.  Yvette Prior has supplied this week’s photo prompt.

Belaboring A Point


“Why did you invite your parents over on the most horrible night?”  Harriet asked Clem.  “It’s pouring!”


“When I was young,” he explained, “they forced me to visit their insane relatives who had perfect rooms no one was allowed to go into, and bowls of wax fruit. They drove me nuts. I wanted the last laugh. I’ll hide their umbrellas when they get here.  Then when they ask what to do I’ll point to those fakes and say, ‘Sorry, those are all we have.’  This way maybe they’ll finally understand my point.” 


She just shrugged and humored him.



Welcome back to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.  Read all about it on her blog.  This week’s photograph has been supplied by Dale Rogerson . Click on Coqui the frog to add your link too.

Distinctive Work


“I feel ridiculous in these leiderhosen,” Hannelore told Urs.  “Are you positive this was the only job you  could get us?”



“Relax,” he said. “We’re a cinch to do well. All we have to do is pop out the clock door every fifteen minutes and play ‘Ach du Lieber Augustin’ on our tuba and accordion.”



“Each hour, of course, we note the time,” he reminded her.  “It’s quite simple. You’ll see.”



“You just don’t get it, do you?” She reminded him.  “We’re in a clock! That doesn’t bother you?”



“You’re such a stick in the mud,” he replied.



Welcome back yet again to Rochelle’s

Friday Fictioneers.   Read all about it at her link.   J. Hardy Carroll has supplied this week’s photo prompt.



Major Adjustment


Clarence, recently widowed after sixty years of marriage, liked to reminisce about his wife Mabel.  A resident at Wilkes~Barre’s Little Flower Manor, he always played Kate Smith’s “When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain” when he felt nostalgic.



“That was our wedding song,” he cheerfully told visitors and friends.  Everyone noticed that he wasn’t handling things well but he never admitted it until he was alone in his room.



That was where he felt free to stare into space, in dead silence.  Until he admitted his problem, no one was able to help him.



Welcome back to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Read all about it on her page.  This week’s photo was supplied by Gah Learner .


Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears A Crown


D’Artagnan and Mecthilde~they always have pompous names~were looking into their mirror in dismay.



“I don’t understand, darling,” the queen said.  “Is it a threat about tomorrow, a reminder of yesterday?”



They’d  been plum horrified for years about the one disadvantage of their family’s curse. Their mirror kept showing them things, but without an explanation.



“Robespierre,” she asked their page, “Might you know where we could find someone who could help us interpret these messages, please?”



“Alas, Madame,” the servant admitted charily, “The cost of leadership is high.  One must always rely only upon one’s wits.”



Welcome back yet again to Rochelle’s  weekly Friday Fictioneers. Read her blog to find out what it’s all about.  This week’s photo prompt was generously contributed by Nathan Sowers and his grandmother, Dawn M. Miller .


The War Between Helen And Nellie


“They’re from the local Fundamentalist church,”  George told Harvey. “Their preacher’s getting them ready for the End Of the World.”



“That reminds me of my Aunt Helen,” Harvey complained. “They called her Nellie, and isolated her so completely from her friends and family.  It’s as if she didn’t have parents, or any other history, until she met them.  Her ‘Helen’ persona was completely eliminated and all her reading material was replaced with only a K.J.V. Bible.”






“Yes,” George admitted. “By control of symbolism,  government, story telling, and education, ideologues can mold a whole new life for someone.”

Greetings, fellow internet people.  Please join us yet again for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Read her page to find out how it’s all done, please.  This particular post isn’t really, ultimately, about religion. It’s about fundamentalism and fanaticism in general, particularly the secularist ideology that currently has so very many people on the shortest of leashes. Thank you to Carla Bicomong for contributing the week’s photograph.

Musical Milestone


“Although my staunchly Irish Catholic family considered it a mortal sin, that day I wasn’t paying attention to the rioting in Northern Ireland’s Derry.


Seated at the living room table, which was cluttered with artifacts of all the vices of our day, I was consumed with my Gretsch guitar, practicing with friends.



“Just think!” Bernie reminded us. “Everybody from Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane to Joan Baez and Janis Joplin will be there this weekend!”



“Feh!” Helen bragged. “We can be just as good. After all, we have been practicing constantly for the past three full months together!



It’s time yet again for Rochelle’s weekly Friday Fictioneers.  This week, Yvette Prior supplies our photo prompt.  Please read Rochelle’s blog for all the details.

The Willoughby Moment


Last night, as I often do, I took a ride on New York’s subways and the L.I.R.R.  I was confronted by the usual cast of characters~the bad musician, the disgruntled black radical on his soap box, and the young woman who routinely loses control of her bodily functions in one of the cars.



“Just once,” I told the conductor, “I’d really like to see a halcyon scene like that inside these cars.”





“Sir,” he explained.  “That’s a Willoughby moment.  We pass by here daily so each passenger can enjoy a respite from all the inevitable insanity.”



Welcome back, yet again, to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Read all about it, please, at her site.  This week, Sandra Crook supplies the photograph.

The Bookworms


Arnold, Wendell, and Mabel were at the Jane Austen convention, for the two hundred and first anniversary of the Regency Period author’s passing.



“Remember,” Mabel told her friends, “Try to pass for really smart. We want to blend in.”



Χαίρετε” , her friends intoned in unison.



“Not quite that smart,” she chided them.



They enjoyed a nice leisurely weekend listening to speeches about life in Georgian England, and finding out all about the object of their admiration.



At the end of it all, Wendell opined:  “One of these days we should at least read something of hers.”



Welcome back yet again, one and all to Rochelle Wisoff~Fields’ Friday Fictioneers, the rules of which may be found at her site.  



Ted Strutz

has kindly agreed to supply this week’s photo prompt.