New typography with my brand new (vintage) typewriter! Here’s a few shots of the typewriter, too! Check out my last post for news about my upcoming book, Capturing a Moment, collecting fifty of my works together in one volume! Some are also available on my Etsy for a limited time!
Images of the new typewriter which even types in RED:
Posted in flash fiction, Typography
Tagged 1950s, 1960s, art, beach, beauty, childhood, children, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fear, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, funny, humor, jumping waves, kitsch, life, ocean, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, retro, shore, stepping on a crab, typography, vintage, writing
Coming soon! Wrags Ink., a new publisher in the Philadelphia area, is putting 
out a collection of my typography on vintage photographs! You’ve seen some of them before here and possibly on my Etsy, but this collection has about fifty images and more than half of them have never been seen before! So get ready, readers! My work is also being featured in a few magazines coming out this summer, and I’ll be sure to let you know about that as it comes up!
Also, once the book is out the prices will probably be going up a bit on my Etsy, so if you want any, better get them soon!
Thanks for reading!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, art, beauty, childhood, children, couples, dating, death, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, funny, hipster, horror, humor, kitsch, life, love, marriage, music, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, poetry, reading, records, relationships, retro, romance, sad, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
He stood, toes of his shoes on the edge of the skyscraper he’d worked in for years. He looked down at the ants scurrying around. The height of this particular building was extreme, and he knew what would happen when he jumped.
He went back in and quit instead.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged beauty, decisions, don't jump, fiction, flash fiction, life, live life, people, sad, skyscraper, suicide, suicide isn't worth it, unhappy, unhappy with life, work, writing
“Guilty! Guilty!”
His client jumped a little and then shook uncontrollably in her seat as the lawyer looked over at his pet and said “I really need to get rid of that parrot.”
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged bird, fiction, flash fiction, funny, guilt, guilty, humor, joke, lawyers, parrot, talking bird
1. Who can forget their first big snowstorm?
2. Snowball fights, snow angels, building snowmen, sledding and a nice hot chocolate with mom.
3. A lot of snow for Virginia, but a dusting in Wisconsin.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1960s, art, beauty, childhood, children, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, hot chocolate, life, mom, mother, people, photo, photography, photos, pictures, snow, snow angels, Snow day, snowstorm, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
After a clear win by story number one, I figured I should do this again! It was fun! If you didn’t see yesterday’s post, you can still vote for a limited time, but let’s move on to the new one. Choose the story you think best fits with the photograph and I’ll type the winner onto the photograph.
You may also want to purchase some of my originals from my Etsy before this book makes me famous and I double my prices! 😉
So here is today’s picture.
And the stories:
1. You can just tell she was having a moment.
2. The fresh feel of grass between her fingers made Gertrude, a city girl, smile.
3. Always recognize the small, beautiful moments in life.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, art, beauty, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, kitsch, life, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, sad, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Okay here’s your chance, readers! I’ve been writing flash fiction and typing it onto photos for over a year now, and guess what! A publisher wants to collect a bunch of them into a book! So here’s how you can get involved.
I have a pile of new photographs, and I’m coming up with a few flashes for each one. I will be posting a few of them and letting YOU decide which story you think best fits the photograph. Not enough? You can also always suggest I start over!
So here’s today’s photograph:
And here are the flashes to choose from:
1. Maude always hoped she would leave town someday.
2. The road out of town…
3. The first day of the rest of her life.
So readers, please choose which you want and comment! Thanks!
Dennis.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, art, beauty, Capturing a Moment, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, kitsch, life, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
“When you find all of your dreams fulfilled, it’s time to think up more dreams.”
She looked up at him. “Huh? What’s that from?”
“Me, I guess,” he said with a large, goofy smile. “My dreams are all fulfilled.”
“Really. How so?”
“I have this house I made into a home. My first book is published. And then there’s you. I love going to work most of the time. I am not starving to death, I have my health, you know. My dreams are fulfilled.”
“And?”
“And it’s time for new dreams. Time to start reaching higher.”
“Like…another book?”
“And maybe another girlfriend.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
She threw the copy of ReadyMade she was reading at him but he ducked. “See? Everything’s coming up me right now. You couldn’t even hit me with -”
Another magazine hit him square in the face.
“Nice.”
She smiled. “Gotcha! Don’t be so cocky!”
“Hey, can I help it if I’m happy?”
“I’m glad I’m on that list,” she said, getting up and walking over to the couch.
“That doesn’t mean I want to cuddle.”
“Tough. I came over here to cuddle, and cuddle I will.”
“Fine,” he said in his pretend-frustrated voice. He put his arm around her and pulled her in.
“What’s this you’re working on?” she asked, picking up the notebook he had been writing in.
“Ideas. For my next book.”
“Nice.”
“Like I said, new dreams. Not like my first book is doing well. Even the publisher said it wasn’t selling much. Maybe I can use this to get an agent. Or maybe this is the start of something bigger. It just takes the right person to read it, someone like Chuck Klosterman to tweet it, and next thing I know, it starts selling like crazy.”
“Or?”
“Or nothing. I got a book published. It was one of my dreams. I’m happy. It feels good.”
She dropped the notebook onto the floor and it landed on her crumpled magazine she’d used as a weapon just moments ago.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said after resting her chin on his shoulder.
He smiled. “See? I’m getting everything I want.”
She got up and threw the magazine at his face again.
Posted in flash fiction, Uncategorized, Zoey and Xander
Tagged couples, dating, dreams, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, funny, happiness, happy, hipster, humor, kitsch, my first novel, novel, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, published, reading, ReadyMade, relationships, romance, writing
Margaret and Isabel were both quickly sketching the scene as the boy stood at the bridge staring at his reflection.
“Looks like we figured out what our drawings were missing, huh Madge?”
Margaret agreed. The water churned a bit, making her wonder what the boy was really doing since the current was making reflections difficult.
“Ready for our lunch?” Margaret asked her. She nodded and pulled the wicker picnic basket over to their little folding stools. “Mind if I look at yours while you get lunch together?”
Belle was always agreeable and nodded as she pulled out the ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad and some fruit. The final item, a jar of pickles, proved difficult. She strained against the lid as Margaret flipped through her rough sketches.
“These are beautiful, Belle. I still don’t know why you didn’t finish art school with me.”
She gave up on the jar and handed it to Margaret, who easily opened it. “Musta loosened it for me, doll.”
Belle took the jar back and pulled out a pickle. “You know I loved Mitch. He found a job so fast and wanted to get married and all, I couldn’t say no. And who says I can’t create art without that piece of paper? An artist doesn’t need it, necessarily. Did Van Gogh have a degree? Did Rembrandt?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Did they?”
“You’re the one who finished art school, you tell me!” Belle said with a laugh as she took a large bite of the pickle she’d been holding. “Now let me see yours, then we’ll dig into these sandwiches!”
Margaret handed over the sketchpad. “Now don’t go getting pickle juice on them!” A quick wipe of her hands on her long pleated skirt took care of the juice and she flipped through.
“These are just beautiful, Madge. A bit dark for a nice day, but lovely. Will you paint them?” Margaret nodded. “Watercolors?”
“No, I think oils, you know how I love to paint in oils.”
“Think the boys are having fun at the game?”
“Only if the Red Sox are winning, darling. Otherwise we’re going to have two grumpy gusses on the ride home.” The women giggled and ate their lunches. They both looked up at the boy, who was still standing on the wooden bridge.
“What do you think he’s doing?”
“Why looking at his reflection, silly!” Belle said.
“But look at the water, no way he could see his reflection! I’ve seen that look on a man before. That boy is deep in thought about something.”
“Probably a lovely girl he wants to ask out,” Belle said with a smile.
Margaret shook her head in disagreement. “I dunno…he doesn’t seem to happy to me.”
“Really? He seems downright amiable to me. Isn’t it funny how artists see things so differently, even from one another?” She smiled and pulled an apple out of the basket. “Apple or banana? We have one of each.”
“Apple, dear. Bananas are always bruising, and I can’t stand that.”
Belle handed her the apple and started peeling the banana back. “A few little bruises never hurt anyone, I’m fine with this banana.”
At that a loud crack could be heard coming from the ballpark, and the women turned to look in its direction. Cheering could be heard from the crowd, even from where the two artists were sitting.
“Sounds like a home run.”
“The boys will be happy then, hopefully.”
“Yes,” Margaret said as she picked up her sketchbook. She stared at the dark charcoal sketches she did of the boy.
“Well I’ll be, our subject!” Belle said, forcing Margaret to look up.
The boy had gone.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers
Tagged 1940s, art, artists, baseball, beauty, Boston Red Sox, couples, entertainment, family, Fenway Park, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, hipster, kitsch, life, love, marriage, old, painting, park, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, picnic, pictures, playground, relationships, retro, sad, sketching, vintage
This is an origin story to one of the many characters in my first published novel, The Z Word, available here both in paperback and for the Kindle. Follow us on Facebook as well!
Marie happily ignored the doorbell as she played with her Nintendo DS. Her mom and dad called to her to answer it, but she pretended not to hear and then threw on her headphones so it would look like she couldn’t have possibly heard them over her game.
If she’d only kept them off, she would have heard the screaming.
After another half hour or so of taking care of her virtual dog, her stomach growled so she threw the game onto her bed and ran to the kitchen for a snack. She grabbed a banana and jar of peanut butter before she noticed the odd crunching sound coming from the foyer by the front door of her family ranch home.
As she stopped and listened to the odd sound curiosity got the better of her and she went into the living room for a quick investigation. She saw Grover, her dog, hiding under the couch, his little tail sticking out, and a muffled whimpering coming from the little guy. As she turned into the foyer, she dropped the banana to the marble floor.
“Mom?”
Her parents were both attacking the mailman, tearing at his flesh and apparently eating it. Her father had his severed arm and was biting a finger off when he noticed her. He froze for a moment, like a kid caught eating sweets right before dinner, and then growled.
“Dad? Mom?” They both turned on the ten-year-old and lunged for her, causing her to fall backward onto the floor. Her mom’s bloody hand grabbed onto her foot and yanked but Marie wiggled her foot out of the sock and tried to pull back. Her dad was too quick for her and gripped her ankle. As his teeth neared her flesh Grover jumped out from the couch to protect her and started barking. He bit her dad’s hand, forcing him to let Marie go. She jumped up and backed away toward her room as both of her parents grabbed Grover and started tearing him apart.
Marie screamed and ran to her bedroom as fast as she could, shutting and locking the door behind her. Her bed seemed the safest place, so she jumped into it and hid under the covers, waiting. After a few minutes of silence, scratching started at the door, followed by banging. She screamed again and realized she would have to come up with a better plan.
She ran to the window and saw her best friend and neighbor, Joey, walking into his home with his dad. She slammed her hands against the window, and Joey looked over for a second before his dad pulled him inside. Her screams went unnoticed as the neighbors’ front door slammed. She was on her own, and the hammering on the door intensified. She ran to her dresser and tried to push it in front of the door, but her small body couldn’t make it budge so she gave up and threw on a new sock and her sneakers. The banging continued at the door and she screamed at it. “Go away!” The other side was quiet for a second or two before it started again with renewed violence.
As Marie threw some things in her backpack a crack appeared in the door, which grew larger with each slam. Eventually her father could see her and started making a sound that made her blood run cold. She was out of time and ran to the window again, leaving the bag behind.
That’s when she saw Joey run out, a little blood splattered on his t-shirt. She watched him look at some nearby neighbors who clearly resembled her parents and he ran around his house to the deck between her window and his. He climbed under it and disappeared. She knew she had to go there as well. She turned and looked as the door splintered from its hinges. She yanked the window open, jumped out, and ran straight for the deck where her best friend was hiding. Maybe he would know what to do.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged childhood, children, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, friends, friendship, horror, sad, The Z Word, zombie, zombie apocalypse
A Flash of Inspiration 