friday fictioneers: one artist’s rendering…

Remodeling spaces is a form of art.

Could it be that Picasso dabbled in fixer-uppers before painting anatomically grotesque women?

An artist begins with a blank canvas. So it is when I behold the before…imagining in my mind’s eye what will come after.

While I do not strike the carpenter’s hammer or turn the plumber’s screwdriver, mine is the creative vision.

The inspiration. The design. The materials. The textures. The colors.

My aesthetics power the coalescence of the parts.

And when it comes to details…I’m the devil.

Never for symmetry, instead by gut instinct.

If it feels rightIT’S MAGIC!


…master bedroom…this artist’s vision come true…


…daughter’s bedroom…also this artist’s rendering…


for more great 100 word stories on the photo prompt.)








friday fictioneers: dribble and drool


“Delicious! Best I’ve ever tasted.” proclaimed my host, the Emperor of Japan.

I almost puked just looking at those frothy, deep-fried, tempura caterpillars and their egg sacks. Yet the media would have had a ball with the diplomatic backlash.

My brain went into overdrive trying to concoct some way of getting out of the pickle in which I found myself. I’d even trade these delicacies for a bottle of those nasty dills  my mother-in-law bottled and sent us every month.

And then, all eyes were on my cleavage where insects and dribble had settled.

“Tantalizingly delicious!!!” exclaimed the Emperor, drooling.


Photo courtesy of Madison Woods…for Friday Fictioneers.




friday fictioneers: an eye for an eye…

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Roger Bultot

So it began, the subjugation of humankind to earth’s other species. 

“About time, don’t you think?” exclaimed the ivy to the flowers clinging to its twiggy branches. “I’ve been waiting for this day ever since my ancestors put down roots. Generations  of my kind have put up with humans stepping on us…uprooting us to plant something more to their liking. Who died and made the human God anyway?”

Nearby patches of grass peeking out from cracks in the asphalt chimed in “Down with humans!!!”

An uprising the likes of which the world had never seen was underway.

Mankind would pay.

friday fictioneers: the devil incarnate…

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Adam Ickes

It was devastating to see her sitting there, on the edge of her bed, scissors in hand, cutting her dress into shreds. Thin, wiry strands of hair fell carelessly across her face. Eyes swollen and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks, she was in agony. 

We approached, my toddler and I, fraught with anxiety at the horrible scene. Uncomprehending, we tried to console the poor soul. 

She would have none of our pity. Flailing her arms to keep us away, we could only watch as her consumption began.

Alzheimer’s was feasting on my mother.

I could do nothing.

Except cry. 


Malcolm, Mildred, Jason and Joy

Had to share this Friday Fictioneers piece. A mind-bender for sure…at least for this often clueless senior…

This is where you are and this is what we're doing

Malcolm and Mildred had lived here for years. At first just a house, they’d eventually made it their home.

Mildred was pregnant, and if history (and the size of her tummy) were anything to go by, she was pregnant with septuplets. At this stage in proceedings Malcolm had taken on the role of hunter-gatherer. Every morning he’d be up early scratching around, looking for items that would sustain his ever-growing family. Lately things had been quiet. Times were tough.

Jason and Joy had lived here for years. At first it was their home, but the rat problem had become intolerable.

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part. And hey, if you still can’t get enough – why not check out my almost-FREE eBook, People Watching. US link here, UK link there.

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friday fictioneers: finding the hidden value…

PHOTO PROMPT  Copyright -Mary Shipman

“Now that we’ve taken the walls down to the studs, remind me…what are we looking for?”

“Great grandad’s last will and testament, stupid!”

“And why would it be hidden in the walls?”

“Because he was always stuffing pieces of paper in random slits in the walls. Slits he’d just randomly slice with an ax.”

“I hate to keep asking…but was he a nut case or something?”

“Or something. Eccentric is what grandma called her dad.”

“So why do you think he had any money to inherit?”

“He won a Power Ball. He never spent a dime of it.”

“I’m in!”


friday fictioneers: purgatory…enroute to heaven

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Ted Strutz

“House…I know what you’re going through.”

Remodeling is no fun. Not the kind you go through to get things spiffied up around one’s castle, or the kind you go through to keep things working inside your mouth.

I’ve been through both kinds in recent years, and I can attest to both being brutal to the brain and to the body.

While in the midst of reconstruction it’s as though my brain has gone AWOL. Totally missing in action. Gone. Out to lunch.

My body meanwhile vacillates between anesthetization and sudden urges to purge my urethra.

Contractor and dentist… …frenemies. 


friday fictioneers: running from ourselves…

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Sandra Crook

With environmental catastrophes occurring the world over, it’s no wonder we’re running for the nearest exit.

Folks are finally getting wise to global warming. 

Will we succeed in turning back the clock? Probably not. Nature has a way of forging ahead, regardless of mankind’s agenda.

There’s no fixing the holes we’ve burned through the ozone layer. 

There’s no fixing the erosion we’ve caused by stripping the land of its trees.

There’s no bringing back the wildlife forced into extinction because of our greed.

We will pay for our sins…unless we come to our senses.

Question is…are we too late?


friday fictioneers: …of butterflies and innocents…

Copyright - Renee Heath

It felt like my insides were oozing out through all my pores,

as my tears spilled uncontrollably down my cheeks.

Could my heart break any more than into a million, tiny pieces?

I drown in sorrow. 

What madness this that another mother’s offspring should savagely gun down my own?

Is there no safe haven for the butterfly, newly emerged from its cocoon?

What price heaven, that my innocent should die?

As for me…

I will glue my brokenness back together again.

I will live happily…as best I know how.

Until my eyes light once more…

on my beloved butterfly.



friday fictioneers: pretty, pretty princess…

Copyright - Douglas M. MacIlroy

He was a corporate guy in a suit and tie,

but in a pink hat with matching pearls, he was just one of us girls.

By day he managed employees, sat in on meetings, and problem solved.

At night he happily chucked it all to play “Pretty, Pretty Princess.”

A couple of decades later, he’s still commuting for a paycheck. 

He’s traded floor fun for quiet, relaxed evenings in a chair, Nook in hand, head nodding. 

Memories, always fresh, still linger…of bygone days with his little girl.

All grown up, but still his pretty, pretty princess.

His pumpkin pie. Her pops.



friday fictioneers: living la vida loca…

copyright - DLovering

Once upon a time not so long ago, two strangers met online.

A date soon followed.

As if to bless the occasion the night skies rained down streams of fireworks in celebration of Mardi Gras.

Moira sizzled. Wavy hair the color of New Orleans sunsets framed her porcelain perfect face, while cat-like eyes the color of emeralds bore holes through an onlooker’s soul.

Hovering protectively nearby, a hand cupping her elbow was Jeff, looking every inch Superman’s alter-ego, Clark Kent.

Fairy tales do happen “when you wish upon a star.”

It did for this lady-of-the-night and her financier, knight-in-shining-armor.

Ooh-la-la. IMG_2610

friday fictioneers: “oh what a tangled web we weave…”

Copyright-John Nixon

Life has become a tangled mess of lamenting.

What coulda, shoulda, woulda…but won’t.

There’ll be no coming together on this.

Dad favors my dating Albert, his financial advisor’s son. I’ll be set for life, according to what I hear when mingling with the jet setters at the country club.

Then there’s mom who’s always pushing Bradford at me. “He’s so good to his mother and his sisters. He’ll treat you like a queen. He already worships the ground you walk on.” Yada, yada, yada.

There’ll never be a good time to break the news.

“Mom and Dad.This is Sheila…my wife.”

friday fictioneers: …finding home…


I’m taking a different path, and not settling.

It’s risky. I’ve bills to pay, a place to rent.

A friend once said “If you love where you are, you’ll find a job that you like. If you take a job and don’t like where it is, you’ll always struggle to make it work.”

Dancing is my passion. Happiness is my home.

Both are possible.

It’s mine if I remain true to what I want. 

There. Ahead. My oasis.


I dance. I thrive. of my favorite shots of my precious martin o'connor photography

…one of my favorite shots of my precious daughter…by martin o’connor photography

friday fictioneers:…trespassers, beware!

Copyright - Danny Bowman

Madame Pele is said to make Kilauea Iki her home.

So when you walk this terrain, know that you are trespassing upon sacred land.

All may seem quiet, but just beneath the surface she rumbles and groans her displeasure at being contained. 

Hawaiians know better than to disregard Pele’s ferocity.

Her anger can quickly explode into fiery bursts of magma which kills all in its path.

If you let it, the stillness will lull you into daydreaming.


The goddess of fire surrounds you.

You trespass at your own risk.

I’ve been there.

There I remain.

One with my ancestors.    

friday fictioneers: “lions and tigers and bears…oh my!”

Copyright -Sandra Crook

Busing from the airport in Calgary to Banff in the Canadian Rockies, I kept watching for wild animals…like a moose or a grizzly. 

After riding for miles, I spotted something. It was some distance away so I couldn’t quite make it out. It moved, or so I thought. Squinting my eyes as though they were a pair of binoculars, I was sure the animal had lowered its head. 

My imagination was running away with me,while my common sense struggled to get a foothold.

“It’s a lion!” 

As a truck with bales of hay drove by, the light bulb went “click.”

(Note: I rewrote the last two lines to stay within the 100 words AND to lessen the confusion of readers who thought I was drifting outside the parameters of the photo.)