Before you leave

Every now and again, something comes into your – space – for lack of a better term – that touches you.

Thank you, David, for sharing this on your blog so I could share it on mine.

Live & Learn

Josh Farrow is an Illinois-born kid who played punk rock music as a teenager, eventually headed to Nashville in his early 20s to chase after his future wife — pulling triple-duty as lead singer, songwriter and ringleader.  He is inspired by the New Orleans funk of Allen Touissant and the Chicago blues of his hometown — chasing down success on his own terms, bringing with him a sound that’s smoky, soulful, and signature.

“Before You Leave,” was a finalist in the John Lennon Songwriting Competition.  

This old house feels empty
There’s nothing I can hear
But the sad and silent echo
Of better years

I feel something breathe
In this dead and hollow room
It’s just this heavy old heart
That’s hanging on you

So before you leave
Darling, won’t you le me down easy?
Before you go
Won’t you help me ease my achin’ bones?
So before…

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On a Footprints Challenge

A fellow blogger (and one who is dear to me) has issued this challenge. Of course, I cannot but help myself and will definitely participate. How about you joining in? We have until July 10th to come up with 150 words… easy-peasy, right?

A Frank Angle

It’s challenge time!

Long-time visitors to my little corner of the world know that writing fiction isn’t my thing. With over 1,900 posts, I’ve written one fiction post. Actually two because the original post did turn into a short story challenge that involved me changing my original story.

Not that I’m changing my format in on these pages, but what the heck – let’s try it again!

1. Write a short story based on the image below in the genre of your choice.

2. The story must be 150 words or less.

3. Publish your story after I post mine (Monday, July 10th @ 12:15 am Eastern US) AND link back to the post with my story (not this post).

4. Display the image above your story

5. The story title must be Footprints in the Sand

6. Display the following image after the story.

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The Importance of Female Friendships

In the past few years, I have been cultivating, nourishing, seeking women friendships.  It has become obvious to me just how important it is to surround ourselves with kindred spirits with whom to share our happiness, sadness, success, failure, hopes and dreams.

Some of them I’ve known all my life, some since Grade 2, some from high school, a few through College or during university classes or even at the gym, and some have found their way into my life over the internet, through blogging.  I never realised just how important each and everyone of them would become to me.  What is wonderful is some are my age, some younger and some older.  There is no age barrier in friendship.  Each one has something to bring to the table, so to speak.

As fate would have it, as I was faffing away on Facebook, wasting time instead of being productive as I’m on standby for house issues, I landed on this Ted talk.  How can we not love Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda?

Pay Attention

Very wise words that I felt should be shared with all my creative friends and family. For those moments when you despair and lose sight of what it is that you do. And for those who have lived through difficult times that blind you to what and who you are.

Time to sit up and pay attention

In Flow with Otto

munchow_0949-072.jpgI think all creatives yearn for some kind of success, some kind of recognition for the work we do. Success is maybe not why we photograph, write, paint or travel—or whatever creative activity we do—or ought not to be. The work itself, being creative, is a reward good enough if we only let ourselves not get obsessed with the thought of success. The craving for success can actually get in the way of our creative endeavour.

Nevertheless, we do feel good when we experience some kind of success, whether it’s monetary gain or just some heartfelt feedback from a good friend. I am sure you know what I am talking about.

Success is all in our minds, though. You cannot control how the world will receive and perceive your artistic work, but you can be in command of how you feel about it yourself. If you let yourself feel good…

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Miracle. All of It.

A thought-provoking piece indeed. Why can’t we be more like elephants?

Live & Learn


If you were an elephant living wild in a western city…

  • You’d have one two-fingered hand swinging from your face – a hand as sensitive as tumescent genitals, but which could smash a wall or pick a cherry. With that hand you’d explore your best friends’ mouths, just for the sake of friendship.
  • you’d smell water two miles away and the flowers at your feet
  • Grumbles from trucks and cabs would shudder through the toxic ground, tickle the lamellar corpuscles in your feet and ricochet up your bones…You’d hear with your feet, and your femurs would be microphones
  • As you walked 10 miles for your breakfast you’d chatter with your friends in 10 octaves
  • You’d have the happiest kind of political system, run by wise old women, appointed for their knowledge of the world and their judgment, uninterested in hierarchy for hierarchy’s sake, and seeking the greatest good for the greatest…

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Why not this year, my dear?

I so loved reading this particular post, I just have to share it with you all! Kristine has said what I have started doing since last year. If we don’t start now, when do we start?


Tell me. Tell me again, dear, why this cannot be your year.

Speak to me of how good girls don’t claim the brass ring. I need a good chuckle.

Because yes, I will chuckle. Do you not know your good awaits? It awaits you. You feeling worthy of it. You having the skills to handle it. You with your beautiful insides carved by pain to hold more joy.

Why wouldn’t this be the year you leave the significant other who hasn’t treated you the way we all hoped he would treat you?

Why wouldn’t this be the year you publish that book to rave reviews?

Why wouldn’t this be the year you finally remember to bring your reusable grocery bags into the store each and every time?

(I have friends who accomplished the first two things last year. That last one? Forget it. It’s far too lofty even for the…

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Story Time – Friday iFictioneers

It’s Thursday, so it’s Friday Fictioneers time – one day late or one day early, you choose!  It was the perfect day to clean out my garden (I’ve the scars to prove the roses resisted my efforts) so I forced myself to stay away from the computer.  This came to me as I soaked away my aches and pains.  Good thing I had my cell nearby to type out my rough draft!

So… Thank you Rochelle for both hosting and providing this second-hand photo (first for me, though).  Any of you want to join in, click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to.  Or, just click on the blue frog to read more wonderful stories!

Get the inLinkz Code

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count:  100

Genre:  Memoir with extras

Story Time

Though still light outside, Mama lit the oil lamps.

“Night falls so quickly,” she explained.

Turning to my grandmother, I begged, “Oh, Mémère, raconte-moi une de tes histoires. Je t’en prie!”*

“Chérie, you already know them all off by heart!” she laughed.

“Surely not all of them – please!”

She patted the seat beside her, beckoning me. I ran across the room and snuggled next to her warm, comforting body.

“Which one do you want tonight, ma ‘Grande Bardiche’?”

“Tell me one I’ve never heard before, like the one where, to help put food on the table, you were a bootlegger!

*Oh Granny, tell me one of your stories. I beg of you!

As for the ‘Grande Bardiche’ – my grandmother called me that and could (would?) not give me a proper explanation.  Thanks to the Google, I have found out this is some kind of pole weapon, which now makes sense as I once was a tall string bean of a girl…