THE OLD FLOUR MILL

 

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Photo Copyright: Shaktiki Sharma

Here we are for another week. Today we’re touring the inside of an old flour mill. Our hostess for this weekly gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to write an original story with no more than 100 words, not including the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Shaktiki Sharma. Thanks, Shaktiki.

To read the other stories by the group members, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/09/14/16-september-2016/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE OLD FLOUR MILL by P.S. Joshi

Mrs. Forest and a couple parents  watched as the second-grade class climbed off the school bus.

They were going to see the local Historic Society’s Stop No. 12 on the Biggerstown Historic  Tour. It was the old flour mill on Higby Road.

Until it was included on the tour, it had been the home of elderly Mr. Henderson. His grandfather had operated that mill for years until he retired when the Pickwick IGA opened selling bagged flour. The farmers now sold their grain to a huge company with headquarters in Chicago. Mr. Henderson also lived there with his son.

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A little update:

An update on Kawanee’s move.

Safe at mom’s house. The moving truck broke down, I’m sooo glad my uncle decided to drive the truck. It took Penske 1.5 hrs to get someone to help him, then 4 hrs or more to get the truck fixed.

The transmission filter failed, there was no transmission fluid in it. They said it was bone dry, instead of taking 15 or 16 hrs, it took 30 something hours. If it had been me broken down on the side of the road and stuck there for that long would be dangerous.

Then me and my best friend drove straight to Florida, Sunday and drove back Monday. 26+ hrs in the car, and my friend’s car is acting up. Seems like anyone who tries to help me gets sucked into my well of bad luck.

Mom keeps the house at 80 degrees and she has no internet… I’m sleeping on the…

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DIRK AND BIG BILL

 

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Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–September 11th, 2016. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides a picture prompt. The challenge for each member of the group is to write an original story or poem with no more than 200 words, not including the title and inspired by the prompt.

To read the other stories written by group members, just click on the link below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link to the other stories this week is as follows:

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2016/09/11/sunday-photo-fiction-september-11th-2016/

Genre: Fantasy/Humor Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

DIRK AND BIG BILL by P.S. Joshi

Dirk had always been a soldier. He couldn’t remember when he’d been anything else. When he wasn’t attacking something he was in the barracks. It was his life.

His Master Sergeant, Big Bill, was always there to direct him and the others. He was a hard man but fair. There was someone above him giving orders, but Dirk wasn’t sure who it was. The voice was loud, though, and Bill heeded it.

Every day was pretty much the same. Dirk wasn’t sure what they were fighting for but they always seemed to win. It seemed to be the point of it. They fought in a building and outside in the tall grass. If a man got left behind, Bill always went back for him. Dirk was glad. He would have hated to be separated from his friends.

There was that voice again. “Bill, how many times do I have to tell you to pick up your action figures? You know if your dad or I step on one of those in the dark we’ll really be upset. It hurts like the dickens. And don’t leave any in the yard. It would damage the lawn mower. Are you listening to me?”

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…Authors… progress report on the initial GoReadMe! Campaign…

Add your name to those reading Seumas’ books.

Seumas Gallacher

…the throwaway line in one of my blog posts last week which instantly transformed into SUM’THING BIGGER THAN ALL OF US, ‘coz my pal, the tireless-WURK-for-other-scribblers, Susan Toy, turned it into a real event… instead of the ‘GoFundMe’ begging pleas we see ad inforeverum for various projects, m’Lady, Sue invented the ‘GoReadMe! Campaign’, which invites people to read one book from a chosen author, and then for each of these readers simple to tell sumb’dy else about the book and that author… reviews are great, but this is even more focused in terms of helping writers get readership… Master Gallacher, ‘ere, is the first one up, ‘Guinea Pig Gallacher’ if yeez like, known to many simply as ‘Pig’, but that’s another story… I’m tracking the good folks who’ve already declared their participation in supporting the campaign, and I’m sure there are many more who are…

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THE SEAMSTRESS

 

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Photo Copyright: Sandra Crook

Here we are again this week. Today we’re at an antique store and viewing an old sewing machine. We’re gathered here to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneers group. Our hostess is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us is to write a story with no more  than 100 words not including the title.  It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Sandra Crook. Thanks, Sandra.

To read the other stories by the group members, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/09/07/9-september-2016/

Genre: Nonfiction Memoir

Word Count: 98 Words

THE SEAMSTRESS by P.S. Joshi

It’s the end of the 19th Century. An aging woman is bent over a sewing machine in a tiny southwestern Ohio village. She now has four grown married daughters and one grown son. Her husband is the village blacksmith and she’s the seamstress.

The village is surrounded by rich land with large farms owned by German-Americans. This couple had once made a good living. But her husband is now ill with pneumonia and she has glaucoma and will gradually grow blind.

These are my paternal great-grandparents. My father was born in the village in 1897.

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