Friday! Time for the Attack of the Fictioneers!
We’re mostly harmless, really. We’re only a vast swarm of storytellers set in motion by Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s weekly choice of – usually strange – photo prompts. All we’ll do to you is expose you to a huge assortment of hundred word tales…and, just possibly, infect you with the irresistible urge to join in.
How do you do that? Easy – go to Rochelle’s site and you can read all the details, and then start typing away. Come, transform yourself into a Fictioneer. It’s fun! (Or, of course, just go to Rochelle’s Linky List to read all the other stories of the week.)
Our music teacher was very dedicated, but kind of strange. Ten or fifteen years of teaching kids with three left feet to march, plus battling with the school board over money for new instruments (the band and the football team got into an argument) – it all wore him down.
So when Mr. Dolber showed up at the dress rehearsal for the school musical, the English teacher who was directing didn’t even blink. Three-tone saddle shoes with floppy green bows? Plaid knee britches? Hey, he always looked like that, or worse. “Emory, this piano’s a mess. Can you tune it?” was all she said when he walked in.
Mr. Dolber always did throw himself into his work.
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(With apologies to high school music teachers everywhere! And to Emory Dolbers, if there are any.)