Copyright: J. Hardy Carroll
Here we are again and this week we’re gathered near children playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. We’ve come together to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneer’s group. Our hostess for the gathering is the talented and gracious author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us this week and every week is to write a story with no more than 100 words, not counting the title. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and be inspired by the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by J. Hardy Carroll. Thanks, J. Hardy. To read the other stories by group members, just click on the link given below, then on the smiling blue frog. Next, follow the given directions. The link for this week’s stories is as follows:
Word Count: 99 Words
My First Dolls by P.S. Joshi
I was born in 1941, so one of my dolls was a sailor. My brother was in the U.S. Navy. I was taught a little song about a sailor boy, popular at the time.
Another doll was about as big as I was. It had real hair and a lovely face. The body was cotton, but the legs and arms were a hard composition material.
I was little, and the doll was big, so her toes dragged on the floor. They got worn down through the painted coating.
My brother named her Suzie Q after my nickname, Suzie.
Pictures taken by Cindy Knoke in the lovely Quinault in Olympic National Park.
Lake Quinault Lodge in Olympic National Park, Washington state, was built in 1925. You can see Jim walking in front of the historic old building.
The lodge lies on the shores of Lake Quinault and is nearly empty this time of year, which makes it an ideal time to visit the park.
Olympic National Park encompasses one of three temperate rain forests in the United States. Quinault receives an average of 12 feet of rain per year, making it the wettest place in the lower 48.
This rain creates a luscious forest full of ferns, hanging epiphytic mosses, wild roses and violets, and old growth trees, some over 1000 years old.
The lake itself provides safe harbor to over 100 bald eagles and a myriad of bird and mammal species, including the unique Roosevelt Elk. Quinault is home to four types of salmon, including giant chinooks weighing up to 126…
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What are we doing to our children? Is money more important than a healthy child who feels good about themselves? To some, it seems to be.
Imagine you are a child in school. The lunch bell rings, you head to the cafeteria with your friends, stand in line, select your lunch, and when you get to the cashier, you are told that you cannot have your lunch, for your parents haven’t paid your lunch bill. You are handed a sandwich … or worse, the cashier throws your lunch in the trash and tells you to move out of the line. Your friends … they are looking at you … you feel as if every single kid in the cafeteria is looking at you. You are so embarrassed you wish the ground would open and swallow you. You run to the bathroom in tears. This is happening all over the United States.Some children are eligible for free lunch, but those who are not must rely on their parents to keep money in their school lunch account. …
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Part I of a witty tale about the inventor Stillitoe Cloudwiller and his marvelous invention. For Part II, follow the link.
If ever a man was an innovator, it was Stillitoe Cloudwiller. Others would have been happy to bask in the relative success of the aquatic tripod. After all, whilst this was limited to one prototype, it did at least work, came in under budget, and he managed to sell it and recover his investment. Many, more prestigious projects, have not managed to achieve even this.
But Stillitoe was an argumentative man prone to making wild claims. Just as the aquatic tripod had been developed because of an argument with the ferry company, the Commendable Monocycle came into being when he had an argument with a pair of sedan chair bearers. He swore that not only would he never hire them again, he’d give people a method of travelling swiftly and in comfort that put them out of business. In reality such a method already exists, the horse is reliable and…
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First, Jim Webster discusses the nettles available on his land and prices them. Next, he has another witty book on offer about the animals and people he deals with in his life as a farmer in the northern U.K.
In all candour it was not me that spotted the potential market. My daughter pointed out to me that this country now imports Italian nettles. Obvious, post Brexit, the nettle market will collapse, and it was at this point I felt duty bound to step into the breach!
I did my market research and discovered that they are indeed available. For £22.95 you can get a kilo of nettles!
The problem is that there are ‘nettles’ and ‘nettles’. Take those growing in this picture.
Well, actually don’t take them, they’re a valuable crop. As you can see, here we have a mixed planting with stitchwort. Even if you don’t pick any of the stitchwort with the nettles, we believe that grown together it adds a number of subtle notes to the flavour of the nettles which you’ll find tickle the cultivated palate. I would recommend that you use these…
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First, Jim Webster tells of a trip to London and situations there. Next, he has a witty book on offer that tells of country and farm life in South Cumbria, U.K. There’s a good review for it also.
You know what it is, every so often somebody leaves the door unbolted, and before they know it, I’m away.
Actually with me it’s more a case of every so often people remember me and ask me to come down to London for a meeting. Therefore my aim is to ensure that I attend the meetings and then get to view the finest sight in London. This is a Virgin Pendolino destined for Glasgow. Best viewed from the inside of Coach B as it pulls out of Euston.
Still I got to London and had to stay overnight, so got to mooch about and discover various things. One was Golden Turmeric Latte. Who ever knew it was even a thing? I confess to not actually trying it, the sign was outside a coffee shop rather more exclusive than I am. Still, it’s good to know that London, apparently the one…
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First, a walking adventure Jim Webster takes to a nearby island with pictures. Next, a book by Jim about how to kill an Urlan. A good review follows.
Today was one of those days when I just escaped. I put a couple of butties and a bottle of water in a bag and just set off. The weather, which has been pretty cold and grim for the last week or so, finally broke, and it was glorious sunshine.
It was one of those days when I set off, not entirely sure where I intended to go. But I knew I did have to call in at a shop in town to drop something off. So that was the first part of the journey, the hour walk into town. Once there I decided I’d hit the path that runs up the side of the channel, and then perhaps swing in a wide circle east around the north of the town, and perhaps down through the Abbey. Instead as I walked along the channelside path, I noticed that the tide…
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First, an adventurous tale of a woman who experiments with printed money without much success and ends up with a pirate. Next, a book of entertaining tales told by Tallis Steelyard and written by Jim Webster. A good review follows.
It was with some strong emotion that Mistress Maljie commented that, “Had I drunk less wine I’d have doubtless told Tallis Steelyard fewer stories.” As a friend of hers rather tartly commented, “Had you drunk less wine you’d doubtless have fewer stories to tell him in the first place.”
The discussion was then side-tracked when another of the friends asked, somewhat pedantically, whether, given the number of stories there were, whether it was correct to say ‘fewer’ stories, or whether there should have been ‘less’ stories. At that point I withdrew. It was obvious that the ladies were content, they were relishing the party and could be safely left to enjoy themselves in happy bickering. My duty lay in bolstering the flagging self-esteem of a group of younger ladies who’d discovered that they’d turned up somewhat underdressed for the event, having misunderstood the coded hints in the invitation.
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