John, ‘The Immigrant’


It was a lovely surprise to see that our intrepid leader Rochelle had used my photo as the prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week. It was taken in Barcelona, walking from Port Vell towards the Monument to Columbus.  I love the feel of Barcelona, the bustle and atmosphere, we had a very enjoyable time there, though as you can see the weather could have been better…

Copyright - Dee Lovering

                                                   Copyright – Dee Lovering

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

John, ‘The Immigrant’

‘She’s with her family, leave her be.’

‘They took her from me, but I’ll find her.’

‘John, it’s been a year, she could be married.  Please, we need you. ‘

‘No! I need her!’

The pursuit of religious freedom led many Puritans to the shores of New England. It wasn’t religion that sent John westwards, though the long journey afforded him time to reflect on it and the argument with his parents.  He had defied them and left them to struggle.  But the moment he had laid eyes on Dorcas Coleman, he wanted her; nothing would stand in his way.

 

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A brief note on my story. One of my ancestors sailed to New England in 1625 to join the colony of English Puritans who had settled there.  He was one of the first settlers of Rowley Mass. and did marry Dorcas Coleman in 1648.  I have used some poetic licence with their meeting, but I feel it goes someway to explain why he made the journey alone. Although another ancestor, also called John, settled in Virginia,  in all the research the man in my story is called ‘John, The Immigrant’ hence my title.

Twenty years from now…


 

Quote for the day…

Penarth skyline

 

‘Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed with the things that you didn’t do  than with the ones you did do.  So throw off the bowlines.  Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’

……………….Mark Twain

Home at Last


Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

                                            Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Home at Last

The ties that bound me were severed so long ago, I have forgotten why. The cold seeps into my bones, forming a brittle frost. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach would signal hunger to a brain able to care or respond.

The light surprises me, it’s intense and blinding. A flashlight means police and an order to ‘move on, get out of here.’  But this light is too strong and never wavers. As a whisper of summer fills my nostrils and glides sweetly over my tongue, I think I am smiling.

 I am held tight.

 I am home, at last.

 

 

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My thanks to Doug MacIlroy for the photo prompt that sent chills this week and to Rochelle for continuing to lead the Friday Fictioneers whilst getting her novel edited and now ready for publication, many congratulations. You can read more below and on her website

‘Beginning on April 20 Please Say Kaddish For Me will be available to preorder from Kindle in ebook form and to preorder from http://www.a-argusbooks.com/GalleryComing.htm in print form. Release date scheduled for May 8′.

 

Leaving


The photo this week, courtesy of Jen Pendergast, reminded me of a visit to Canada a few year ago.  We wanted to take a train back from Edmonton to Calgary and were told that no passenger trains ran from north to south, only west to east.  On the drive back, we watched the longest freight train we have ever seen, mile, after mile, after mile and reflected that Canada was indeed a vast country.

Thanks to Jen for the photo and to Rochelle the conductor of Friday Fictioneers, collecting more and more writers each week.

Copyright Jen Pendergast

Copyright Jen Pendergast

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

LEAVING

Stella took the subway. Seeking the protection of strangers, she slowly made her way through the crowd. People grew restless as the train approached; she felt pressure in the small of her back, then heard the familiar menacing voice near her ear. As she was forced forward the crowd parted, as she stumbled they watched in horror as a figure tripped over her.

Stella watched impassively as the remains of her husband were collected and bagged. She remembered his threats, what he would do to her if ever she tried to leave him, and smiled at the vagaries of fate.

 

 

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And The Band Played On


Thanks to Rochelle for continuing to keep the Fictioneers in tune and to David Stewart for his photo this week, there was a bandstand like this one, in the park near where I grew up, those were the days…

Copyright David Stewart

                        Copyright David Stewart

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

And The Band Played On

‘When we’re married, you won’t go away to sea anymore will you, Wallace?’

‘No love, I promise. But these jobs bring in more money than I was earning in the orchestra.  I get to see more of the world too.’

Maria smiled, sensing it was best to leave things there. He had promised.

The letter telling him the band had been transferred to the White Star Line came three days later.

‘Look, I’ve been assigned as the new bandleader love, I could make some good contacts for the future.’

With Maria’s blessing he boarded RMS Titanic on 10th April 1912

♫ ♫ ♫

Wallace Hartley was born in my home town of Colne in Lancashire.  A large bust of him stood outside the library and I used to pass it most Saturdays when I went shopping with my mother. The story of how the band played on as the Titanic sank, was told to every pupil. The town is very proud of its famous son. You can read more about him here

Wallace_Hartley wikipedia

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

180px-Wallace_Hartley_memorial

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

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An Enchanted Place


All over the world, (yes that’s right) writers are busy staring at the photo prompt and putting fingers to keys to say just what they see.  Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo this week and to Rochelle for leading us along the Friday Fictioneers trail.

13 March

 

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

An Enchanted Place

Fairies danced here once. My sister, cousin and I watched them at twilight as they danced about in the clover, their flimsy wings translucent and dotted with pale colours. No adult believed our stories, laughter and a pat on the head was their usual response.

Life moved on as life does, we three lived ours in different countries, until death robbed us of our cousin. Returning to this place where we played and laughed together, I feel the loss of the child I knew and the weight of the adult I’ve become.

I won’t come back.

The diggers arrive tomorrow.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

Note: Our enchanted place is no more, except in my memory. Fifty houses now stand in the field I was remembering, where we ‘saw’ the fairies long ago.

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A chat between two writers


Dee:

I first met Claire and Helena through the flash fiction site ‘Friday Fictioneers‘ and I’m so pleased that I did. Their writing, though very different is quite brilliant.

Originally posted on Claire Fuller :

Last week I had an online chat with Helena Hann-Basquiat a Canadian writer, about our recent and forthcoming publications.

My novel Our Endless Numbered Days, has already received positive reviews in the national press, and Helena currently has a Pubslush campaign taking pre-orders for Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume Two, and is also publishing a Shakespearean-style play, a tragi-comedy called Penelope, Countess of Arcadia. 

Overheard over coffee at Helena’s…

The one, the only Helena Hann-Basquiat, everyone's favorite dilettante

I’ve just grabbed a coffee, are you sitting comfortably?

Claire Fuller Colour

Yep!

The one, the only Helena Hann-Basquiat, everyone's favorite dilettante

Well, Claire, I guess to start off, I should say that I really only know you from Friday Fictioneers, but that I’ve already a respect for your writing. I can’t recall how long ago you announced that Our Endless Numbered Days was being published, but I recall being excited. How long a journey has this been for you?

Claire Fuller Colour

The book sold in the UK and Canada nineteen months ago…

View original 1,648 more words

Making Tracks


I’m late, I’m late… thanks Rochelle for keeping us on the straight and narrow and to Dawn for a lovely photo from her trek to Machu Picchu – it’s on my list…

Copyright Dawn Q.

Copyright Dawn Q. Landau

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Making Tracks

The juiciest blackberries grew alongside the tracks; with a sick husband and five children to feed, Anna happily accepted nature’s help. Becky snatched the pail from her mother, furious the others were never sent picking.

At lunchtime Anna set off to look for her. Though her eldest child might have womanly curves, she was still a child. Anna found the half-filled pail, but no sign of her daughter.

In a car heading out of town, Becky smoothed her new dress.  She felt the driver’s eyes on her body and smiled.  She could handle him, just like the boys in school.

 

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Sending warmest congratulations to Rochelle on having her second book accepted and to Claire Fuller whose debut novel ‘Our Endless Numbered Days’ has received some great reviews.  I am full of admiration for them both, it is lovely to share their company and their well deserved success, they have set the bar very high for us lesser mortals…