Photo Copyright: Claire Sheldon

Here we are this week sitting around a large desk. We’ve gathered again to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneers 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 follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by Claire Sheldon. Thanks, Claire.

To read the other stories by 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”

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE STORY by P.S. Joshi

Janie sat and stared at the vacant computer screen. The magazine wanted a nonfiction story about some exciting adventure she’d had in her life.  What adventure? She was fourteen years old for crying out loud.

Then she thought about her summer camp experience. She didn’t know about exciting. It was more terrifically embarrassing. The skunk came out of nowhere.

It must have smelled her sandwich as it followed her. The camp counselor came running when she screamed. All the commotion scared the skunk and it ran off.

Oh, well. She began, Last summer I had an adventure at Camp Wigwam.



















Photo Copyright: J. Hardy Carroll

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–February 5th, 2017. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides or chooses 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. This week’s prompt was supplied by J. Hardy Carroll. Thanks, J. Hardy. 

To read the other stories written by the 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:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


When Lucy, a school friend of mine, was on summer vacation her parents, older brother, and she used to spend every vacation her father had with the relatives in the hills of West Virginia.

West Virginia is a beautiful state but there just weren’t enough jobs for everyone. Families used to move north to Ohio or Michigan to work in the rubber shops or for car manufacturers. They got homesick and took trips back to West Virginia whenever possible.

Sometimes just an older son would make the move, work during the week, and drive back for the weekend.

Once a friend of mine who worked for the Chevy plant said, “The guys I work with asked if I was going home for the weekend.”

This fellow, an Ohioan, lived at home within a short driving distance.

My school friend told me family neighbors down there made moonshine.

“When the revenuers came around,” she said, “the guys used to hide the liquor in the well.”

I thought it was hilarious and could see them scrambling.

Moonshine was sometimes transported in a car with a special tank underneath. A popular movie in 1958 starring Robert Mitchum, “Thunder Road” was about the subject.




Written Act of Kindness Award






Copyright — Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 Once again we have a chance to show our creativity by writing a story for the Friday Fictioneers’ weekly challenge. This challenge is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt supplied for that week. The gracious and talented hostess for the challenge is author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The prompt this week is also supplied by her. Thanks Rochelle.

Genre:  Nonfiction

Word Count:  100 Words


It was the summer I turned twelve. My brother, on a road trip, stopped in Ohio. He decided to take Mom and me back with him to California, a five-day trip stopping nights.

It rained a lot that summer, leaving Dad with a garden full of vegetables to give away.

After a long visit, Mom decided we’d fly back to Ohio. It took eight hours in those days.

Dad came to pick us up at the airport, and was extremely relieved we returned safely. He said, “All I could think about was a thin floor and that long way down.


Clock Near the Park by P.S. Joshi


This is my story for February Storybook Corner hosted by Adam Ickes. It’s a monthly flash fiction challenge where a prompt is given to inspire a story  from 300 to 500 words in length based on the prompt. A new prompt is given the 21st of each month.


My parents and I live in the town of Franklyn, Indiana, in the downstairs apartment of an old building on Park Street. Nothing  exciting happens here, especially on this street. The most exciting things have been reports of a wolf on the edge of town where old man Travis’ land starts.

Bill Burke, the local handyman, swore he saw a small wolf but he tells a lot of fake stories, so few believe him. Some others have said they heard one howling, but most don’t believe that either.

It’s Wednesday, almost 10:20 AM, of a sweltering day in the middle of summer. The worst thing is our computer is broke. I’ve read all my books and it’s too hot to walk to the library.

I grabbed one of my comic books from a box in my room and plopped on the couch in front of the large living room window. Dad said we can’t afford air conditioning,  so I’m feeling the sweat run down my face and neck and soak into my T-shirt.

My best buddy, Sam, is with his family on a trip. I’m bored, bored, bored. It’s another month-and-a-half before school starts. At twelve, I’m too young to get a job; so here I sit. I stared out at the big black-rimmed clock on the black pole near the park. Nothing was there, so I glanced down at my comic and then back out the window. Now there was  a kid about my age standing near the clock pole.

I got up and moved to the front screen door, slowly unhooking it. I swung it open and went outside and down the steps to our walk.  Slowly, foot by foot, I came to the main sidewalk, then crossed the street.

I’d never seen this kid before. He was thin, pale and seemed real nervous.

“Hi,” I said. “You’re new in town ain’t ya?”

“Yeah. Me and my parents just moved here from near Selwich.”

He stood first on one foot, then the other.

“I gotta go home now. Mom and Dad don’t like me to wander very far from home.”

Then he ran off.

That evening at dinner, I told Dad about the new kid. He seemed to think for a while.

“Selwich?” he said. “That sounds familiar. Oh. I know. People spotted a wolf over near there too, just like here. They said it was kind of small and seemed wary of getting close to them. Where in the heck do you suppose a wolf came from? Maybe somebody had it as a pet and it got loose.

I felt a chill all of a sudden, even though it was still hot. I remembered something too. I went and got my comic book, The Mayfield Werewolf.