Direction From A Dream

A few days ago I had a dream that said something to me about my writing efforts. You can read the dream and my interpretation of it HERE. The upshot is: I’m going to direct my efforts toward writing books for children and teens — writing the kind of stories my grandchildren enjoy. 🙂

I also want to publish another book of poetry and short stories like Silver Morning Song.

This blog, Friday Tales, was my little experiment. A way of separating the writing I was doing with the Friday Fictioneers group from the regular journal posts and poetry on my main blog. However, I’m going to abandon this effort and go back to posting everything I write on Christine’s Collection.

Thanks to all of you who subscribed to Friday Tales. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll join me at

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Now available in paperback and e-book from, as an e-book from Kobo


Murray’s Car

Another Friday Fictioneers tale has come my mind in response to the prompt sent around Wednesday. Though I’m very late, I really do enjoy the exercise, so will go with the first scene that came to me.

Many thanks to Rochelle for being our host. Check out her blog if you wish to participate. and thanks to Sandra Cook for the photo prompt.

Sorry I haven’t read everyone’s contribution this time, but I’ve been editing…and downloading…and editing… Am happy to say Silver Morning Song is now available as a paperback from

Now on to the story, in 100 words…

PHOTO © Sandra Crook


My friend pulled over when we heard sirens approaching. Then I gasped. “That looks just like… But it can’t be…”

Three cruisers screeched to a stop. Police, guns drawn, headed inside. One officer was on his phone ID-ing the tag. Murray’s number.

I jumped out and ran toward him. “Stay back, Ma’am,” he ordered.

“But that’s my husband’s car!”

“Two guys shot here,” another policeman called through the doorway.

“Shot. No!” I screamed. “Murray!”

“You’re positive this is Murray Bassant’s car?”


“Reported stolen forty minutes ago. We’ve been looking for it.”

“Stolen? Then Murray’s not here. Oh, thank God!”

Some Secrets Can’t Be Kept

Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting this “Friday Flash Fiction” writers group, and to J Hardy Carroll for contributing this inspiring photo — to which he holds the copyright. Surely many upbeat tales will come of such a fun scene. To read them all, click on the link on Rochelle’s blog.

When I saw this picture I immediately thought of a family at the fair. This world can be such a fun place for children. Then I thought of Barb…and a painful twinge reminded me that life is sometimes neither fun or fair. Hope you’ll bear with me, fellow Fictioneers, if I take a moody side trip today.

photo © J Hardy Caroll

Genre: Brief Biography — Non-fiction

Some Secrets Can’t Be Kept

Oh, girl, how much of your childhood was marred by that molester your mom lived with? But Barb and her younger brother kept their terrible secret; no one guessed.

Age eleven: Uncomfortable bloating, pain in her abdomen.
Current live-in comments, “She looks like she’s pregnant.”
Mom’s stunned, “Nothing could be worse!”

Twelve: Surgery reveals widespread cancer.
Launching counter-attack with chemotherapy.

Fifteen: Doctors abandon treatments, admit battle’s lost.
Barb’s a fighter; still looks forward to taking her driver’s test in fall.

Just-past sixteen: January; frigid day.
Classmates in flimsy dresses shiver in the bitter wind, standing beside her grave.

RIP, little live-wire.

“In silver sandals she goes walking up those golden stairs;
and though we miss her so, we know she’s happy to be there.”

—Song lyrics by Dolly Parton


The Spider Did It?

Our host, Rochelle, gave us another Friday Flash Fiction prompt two days ago. Many thanks to Rochelle for her diligence, also to Sarah Potter who contributed the photo.

Sorry I haven’t been reading and commenting, being knee-deep this week in formatting the print version of Silver Morning Song. (Amazing how many revision pdfs you can download to CreateSpace and they don’t start rejecting them!) Now that task is behind me — until I discover the next “need-to-fix” — and I was musing on the spider web prompt when a scene came to mind.

So, better late than never; better short than long. This week’s tale is coming in at 67 words — a record for me. You can find the links to other Fictioneers’ stories, at Rochelle’s blog, Addicted to Purple.

The Skeptics

“Now here’s a lesson, children,” said Mom. “Never let spiders live in the house. Blinky got loose last night and now he’s gone.”

Seven-year-old Karl eyed the spider. “It looks pretty small for having eaten a whole hamster.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure Dad didn’t step on Blinky instead?”

His little sister’s forehead wrinkled. “Santa Claus turned out to be Dad, too.”

Mom sighed. Innocence lost.


He Calls It ‘Clutter’

Our beloved Host, Rochelle, has sent us another Friday Fictioneers prompt, so I’ll allow the creative artist, Marcel — my character from last week’s post — to exercise his talent in art interpretation again.

Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting this group so faithfully. You can find her, and the link to other Fictioneers’ stories, at Addicted to Purple. Thanks also to Roger Bultot for donating the photo that prompts us to tell our tales this week.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The Perfect Gift

Danny approached the artist. “What’s this?”

Marcel explained, “This sculpture represents the busyness of life, the rat-race we’re running, cluttering our world with stuff, yet always reaching upward for more.”

Danny eyed the fabrication. “Yeah. I can see clutter.”

“Hey. Perfect gift for that someone who already has everything.”

Danny’s eyes lit up. He pulled out his VISA.

On April 1st Harold walked into his friend’s back yard and froze. “What on earth…!”

Randy sighed. “Christmas gift from my brother-in-law. He calls it ‘Clutter’.”

“Yeah. I can see that!” Harold laughed until he had to sit down.

Randy mumbled something unrepeatable.

Art Must Be Flexible

Wednesday again and here’s the Friday flash fiction photo e-mail. Our beloved Rochelle faithfully inspires our creativity regardless of the weather or the season. If you wish to join in, just skate over to HER BLOG and click on that frozen blue frog.

Funny what pops into your head when you see these photo prompts. This morning I got a notice via BookBub about a new book on sale today on Amazon: in his book, Hunting Evil, journalist Guy Walters writes about the search for escaped Nazi war criminals. I’ve read a few accounts on this subject before, enough to know the CIA— or its forerunner— had a finger in that pie. Then I saw today’s prompt — ah, modern art! — and the wheels started spinning upstairs.

PHOTO © Ted Strutz


Marcel stepped forward as visitors approached.

“And this object signifies…” one bewildered fellow asked.

“CIA activities in our world. This top wheel represents J-Edgar Hoover, the organization. These next three, international espionage, recruitment of foreign moles, political assassinations. This one, investigation of organized crime; the small disc underneath, wiretapping. Narcotics surveillance; scrutinizing politicians. This central wheel represents covert mind-programming experiments…”

The visitors all blanched; one fellow fainted.

The art director hurried over. “Try something different. Please! This is the fifth fainter this morning.”

To the next visitors Marcel explained, “This object signifies famous English writers. The top wheel represents Shakespeare…”

Christmas Greetings to All

Friday Tales

lamp-18696_640Then Simeon took the baby Jesus up in his arms, and blessed God, and said,
“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word:
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.”
And Joseph and his mother marvelled at those things which were spoken of him.
Luke 2:29-33

Wishing all my readers a happy and peaceful Christmas holiday.
Thanks for reading and following this blog. I appreciate you all.

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Princess and the Pea Green Stripes

I’m a bit slow getting my story posted, though I wrote it mentally soon after I saw the prompt. One of my first thoughts was “like looking for a needle in a hay stack.” In this case, a hat stack. I decided to go with that. So who’d be looking, and for what?

Many thanks to our kind, long-suffering moderator, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for taking such time and effort in formulating encouraging replies to all our stories. Check out her blog, Addicted to Purple, for more info about the group, or details on how to post your own.

Special thanks go to Bjorn Rudberg for this hat collection photo which has spurred us Friday Fictioneers to spin some unrivalled yarns.

Photo prompt © B Rudberg

Joel eyed the stacks of hats. “This’ll take forever! Just take one of these on top.”

Natalie puffed in exasperation. “Princess wants the one she saw Tiannia’s mom knitting. Bring home a different one and she won‘t wear it, okay? Now, we’re looking for a pink one with two white and green zigzags, narrow white zigzag between.

“You spoil that girl.”

“You don’t appreciate how sensitive she is.”

“At the moment, no, I don’t.”

“Princess has the soul of an artist.”

“She could probably feel a pea under ten mattresses.”

Natalie grabbed a stack. “Let’s get started!”

A Light Look

Friday Fiction Story time again. Our photo prompt this time is supplied by Sandra Cook and Rochelle W-F is our light-hearted host for this group endeavour. Every week dozens of writers hand their muses this same picture and all manner of stories come forth. If you’d like to read others’ stories or add one yourself, hop over to her blog, Addicted to Purple, and click the blue frog.

Being a caregiver can be an every-minute-of 24/7 occupation. When my father-in-law had Alzheimer’s, Mom snatched bathroom breaks when she could, always afraid he’d wander outside looking for her.

A LIGHT LOOK (Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh)

That light looks so familiar, Adina thought. But where’s Henry? Why has he left me here?

“Mom! Stop!”

Adina turned and saw Judy running toward her.

“You were to stay in the house and wait for me, Mom.”

“But I have to find Dad. We’re going somewhere.”

Judy took her by the arm. “You’ve an appointment, remember. I’m taking you. I just stopped to pee first.”

Adina chuckled. “You’re too old to pee, Judy.”

Judy burst out laughing, then wiped a tear. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Why does she laugh, but cry, too? Adina wondered. What’s wrong with that girl?


Another Friday Fictioneers prompt popped into my In-box early this morning. Our dear moderator, Rachel Wisoff-Fields rises in the wee hours and works by flickering screen-light to zip our photo prompt around the world. (Okay, she may schedule it, but how romantic does that sound?) If you wish to post a response yourself, go to Rochelle’s blog and click the blue frog.

Today’s drizzly-looking photo was supplied by Dale Rogerson. It will undoubtedly engender tales of cold hearts and tears of sorrow, but my mind went to an account of a woman whose sight was restored by an operation. A scene that seems dreary to us would look quite novel to someone who’s seeing it for the first time. And I wanted to add a touch of romance just for fun.


“So this is ice.” Her sensitive fingers stroked the coolness, as she’d done all her life. “It’s amazing!”

“Wait til you see it in sunlight. Sparkles like diamonds.”

“Diamonds?” She looked blank.

I pulled the small box from my pocket and opened it. “Diamonds. I’ve been waiting, dearest. I wanted this to be one of the first things you’d see. I love you, Jeanie. Will you marry me?”

Her face flooded with delight. “Yes,” she whispered, and I was in heaven.

She fingered the gems. “They’re so beautiful.”

“Beautiful as your eyes, Sweetheart.”

“As beautiful as my doctor’s hands.”

Note: To avoid confusion (see comments below), this last line should read,
“As beautiful as a surgeon’s hands.”