Revisionist History ~ #fridayfictioneers ~ 2/21/14

It’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word flash fiction time. Rochelle, our glorious host and task master, reminds us to write a beginning, middle and end and to Make-Every- Word-Count. Some days that is more difficult for me then others. Today I wrote 100 words  and then hacked it in half. Inspired no doubt by my attempt the brevity of writing 6 word stories.

david-stewartcopyright  David Stewart

 

Revisionist History

“My Great-Great-Grandmother Martha was a daughter of the American Revolution.” Hannah beamed.

“My Great-Great-Grandmother Mary was a slave.” Letitia retorted.

They stood staring at the cracked Liberty Bell. The annual field trip to Philly never changed. Always the same story told and retold.
 

Word Count: 45
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P.S. Please make sure to read the others.

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The Patient Lovers ~ #fridayfictioneers ~ 2/14/14

I had a story preplanned. I mean its Valentine’s week after all. This one would be romantic. It had to be. I’d actually already written it. “Cheater Cheater” you cry. I know.

Then I saw this week’s prompt. It demanded its own words. I would have to begin from scratch. And so I did. Here is my 100 word entry for this week’s Friday Fictioneers hosted by the ever glorious Lady of the Lake, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

janet-webbs-sangria

 

The Patient Lovers

“Look Ms. Thomas”, Melany revealed new ink upon her shoulder, traveling remnant from Barcelona.

I was back in Art History class, Patrick’s black curls and cerulean eyes laughing from the first row. Black Irish he once explained. We spent endless hours upon my couch nestled over pitchers of Sangria, drinking love. He’d scroll sacred geometry, ball point pen in hand, upon my feet. I’d trace the golden ratios of his face in my sketchbook. We’d dream a life we’d build together in Cadaqués.

Now he was a tattoo artist in España, and I a NY Fashion Teacher, nearly our dream.

 
Word Count: 100

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P.S. Please make sure to read the others.

Photo copyright – Janet Webb

Estate Sale ~ #fridayfictioneers ~ 2/7/2014

The weekly flash fiction challenge of writing a 100 word story is upon me. Please make sure to read the other writer’s contributions. And if you’re inspired please join the wild adventure called Friday Fictioneers. You can find the rules on the site of our gracious host Rochelle.

Estate Sale

They started inside her front door lined up like an airport runway. I traced luminescent stepping stones up the staircase to her bedroom.

“Come in Baby”. No matter how quietly I crept I could never surprise her. She’d a sixth sense for my presence- said she could feel my love coming.

Upon her bed I cradled her frail head, tenderly stroking the soft skin of her underarm. Comforting me like the satin edging on her bathrobe always had.

“What’s with the lamps?”

“They keep the demons at bay.”

“Nanna…..”

“Hush child. It’s time to go. The light will protect me.”
 

Word Count: 100

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The Dilettante and The Countess Penelope of Arcadia

This weekend I took to sketching the wonder twins. If you’re not familiar with the misadventures of this dynamic duo please go now and begin reading. Seriously read first then come back for the sketch.

I wanted to draw these two as they’ve brought me endless entertainment. Once I completed the artwork I sent it off for review (and praise of course). I was feeling pretty good about it. It went like this.

“This is absolutely fabulous, darling — I think you made me look very sexy. Penny thinks you made me look old, for which I smacked her, and then she said — well, actually, you ARE old, so I suppose that makes sense, for which I smacked her again, and she cried child abuse, and I said, OH, so you’re a CHILD now, are you? and took away her cosmo (she can really only have one or things get messy) and she cried and threw a hissy fit and I had to send her to her room without dinner.

Oh, and Penny (and I quote) “totally wants that Clash t-shirt” “

D&C w-logo

Darlings as she refers to her lovely minions, followers I mean. Our favorite Dilettante deserves to have a pink greyhound in hand and Jimmy Choos on her feet. The Countess I decided needed a little Dickensian flair in keeping with her oft used cockney accent- only one of her many personas.

Now the perfectionist I am already wants the countess’s hair to be darker and her fuchsia highlights to be brighter. I fear I may have toned her down too much and if so she’d be the first to say so.

P.S. If anyone out there can supply the countess with the vintage Clash Amplified t-shirt please let me know. Hell!…….Two please. I want one as well. Yes I realize I’m also old enough to be the countess’s mother but I really don’t know what that has to do with anything. Cool is cool! (except perhaps when you say cool).

Honestly sometimes we have to live vicariously in drawings, try on all sorts of vintage couture, jewels and choos – our own pretty women goes to the opera moment. No not the hooker with a  heart of gold thing.

Though I did get to wear a Golden Nugget showgirl costume once- sequins, plumed tail and all. My friend’s father’s company manufactured them. Already 5’11” I was unusually tall for a twelve year old. I fit the costume perfectly…..okay okay all but the bust line. But it made no matter to me. I felt like a showstopper.

Now please check out the sneak peak of the Dilettante’s upcoming book cover art if you haven’t already. And introduce yourself to these two ladies. And readreadread.

I guess next I’ll have to draw Jessica B. Bell. She is my newest guilty pleasure from the mind of Helena Hann-Basquiat. You can read JBB’s stories from the beginning here.

 

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Now let me introduce you to Helena Hann-Basquait, Tuesday Talent Interview Style.

I’m Scatterbrained, really – if you can believe it. One of the few drawbacks of being a dilettante is that I’m constantly juggling many different projects (oh, and did I ever tell you that I can juggle? Yep. Learned when I was twelve – I wanted to join the circus). If a ball drops now and again, I’ll never admit to it – I’ll just keep on juggling and smiling.

Oh, but you were trying to get me to shamelessly promote myself. Right. Well, I write terribly ironic self-deprecating semi-autobiographical post-modern memoirs (not to put too sharp a point on it) and when I’m not, I write creepy, weird fiction under the name Jessica B. Bell

 
Who inspires Helena

Musicians with poetic souls. Morrissey. Amanda Palmer. Robert Smith. Eliiot Smith. Patti Smith. Hephestus and the Blacksmiths (I just made that last one up ‘cause I couldn’t think of another Smith). Writers with musical souls. Nick Hornby, Dr. Seuss, Christopher Moore. Neil Gaiman.

 
What Helena Does

I find I do an awful lot of two things: inhaling and exhaling. I’d like to think I’ve actually become an expert at them. While I’m doing that, I work for a Talent Agency, actually – we hire what you’d call Extras for various television and film productions. I’ve even done some Extra work myself when the occasion calls for it.

 
What Helena does best

I do this combo thing with my tongue and little finger – when I’m eating an ice cream cone – god, where did you think I was going with that? Perverts.

I’d have to say I do self-deprecating humour best. When one secretly loathes oneself, who better to laugh at? (Oh, and now I’ve made you uncomfortable. Don’t be – I want you to laugh at me, too!)

 
What other profession Helena would like to attempt

You’ll laugh. But if I had it to do all over again, I would have studied language or linguistics, and gone to work at the UN or something. I have a natural talent for languages that I never truly developed.

 
What turns Helena on creatively, spiritually or emotionally

Good music played loudly. Seeing an amazing band – someone truly unique – live. I’ve had a few opportunities like this in the last couple of years, and it’s been phenomenal. The same with excellent films – sadly I can’t say I’ve seen any of those in recent years, but I can always revisit my favourites, like American Beauty, Fight Club, The Game, 12 Monkeys (are you seeing a theme? I like them dark and weird).

 
Where to find Helena

Oh, you’ll never find me, darling. Oh, unless you mean my social media stuff. Well, there’s the blog of course, and then I occasionally tweet (is that the proper verb? Dear god!) and you can follow me @hhbasquiat

 
Where Helena got her Talent/Education

I spent several months in isolation in a tiny little town in the Catskills, and buried myself there like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, and when I finally broke free, I emerged as a fledgling version of the dilettante you know and love. From there, it was a long strange memorable trip.

 
Finally borrowing from Bernard Pivot- If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Well, I hope She’ll smile, open Her arms and say: “Darling! What took you so long? It’s been terribly dull here without you!”

Lineage ~ #fridayfictioneers ~ 1/31/14

claire-fuller-2Copyright -Claire Fuller

 

Lineage

“Amy did you see this?” John tossed me the morning paper.

Stradivarius stolen from Milwaukee symphony concertmaster

“Hmmm. That’s terrible. I’m heading out to the shop”.

Grandfather Lipinski had taught me to shape curves, gently bending wood, balancing tone shave by shave releasing her glory. I made violins as he had. Like our ancestors before us. As he’d taught his apprentice Antonio to do in Cremona; Yet Gypsies we were called. And a Genius he was touted for centuries.

Opening Poppa’s ornately carved chest I withdrew my birthright. Lips caressing velvet varnish, my chin upon her rest “Welcome home”.
 

Word Count: 100

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P.S. Please make sure to read the others.

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This is one of those Friday Fictioneer moments. Where a photo sparks multiple directions. Some days I can barely write the one story and then on other days like today, my inspiration split, two come forth. When this happens I try and make an executive decision and cull the lot. Not today.

On my way into work this morning the news of the stolen Stradivarius came over the radio. I have an intimate connection with the violin which is a story for another time. But my obsession with the sound of the Strat is well known in my family. None would be surprised to hear I wished I’d stolen this masterpiece, the violin Ex-Lipinski. Just to play her for a moment (even horribly) would be incredible.

But when I first saw Claire’s photo my initial thought, actually memory, was of my first kiss, if you can call it that. It took place in 6th grade Woodshop. So of course I wrote that story. Which I am posting below for safe keeping.

 

Learning to Smoke

We’d cleaned our stations, sawdust swept, tools returned-my miniature rocking horse nearly complete. Upon the workbenches we awaited the class bell. Mr. Handly instructing “Sit still”. My BFF and I hurriedly gossiped.

Bobby and Frankie sat on the other side. As first steadies in sixth grade go we’d never actually gone anywhere. Everyone just knew, including us, that Bobby was MY boyfriend.

Little hairs perked upon my neck, Bobby tapping my shoulder. Mid-Giggle I turned. Thrust back suddenly he planted his kiss. Head hitting the vice I sprung up, flushed, sore, bell ringing and ran red-faced seeking solitude. 

The Woo Way ~ #fridayfictioneers ~ 1/22/2014

Good Afternoon Friday Fictioneer Addicts and fellow readers. Your mission (should you choose to accept it): Write a 100 word story. As always, should you get caught going over the word limit we may have to disavow your actions (no fear-no firing squads here). The inspiration you require is in the dossier provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This message is set to self destruct in five seconds (God, I hope my story isn’t that bad). Good Luck!

bjc3b6rn-19Copyright – Björn Rudberg

 
The Woo Way

“I’ll show you the way” she mumbled under rancid breath, once manicured fingernails full of dirt. Wax on, Wax off my ass. The sweltering heat reminding she hadn’t showered in days.

Jean Paul, her answer to a  prayer. After Weeks of go-sees, cattle-call lines, presenting her portfolio to disdain, she was tired. “Come away with me”, he’d whispered over the nightclub’s boom-boom-boom.

“We’ll make wine.” She knew he meant love.

“Where?”

“Madeira…….my home”

Wiping her brow she looked over the hill’s expanse. From behind JP’s arms encircled her. Gently he kissed her neck. “God you’re beautiful”.

Our Home, she blushed.

 

Word Count: 100

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P.S. Please make sure to read the others.