
Road Trip, a new flash fiction on vintage photograph project!
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Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, art, couples, dating, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, friends, funny, gas prices, humor, kitsch, life, love, marriage, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, road trip, romance, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, art, bad short cuts, beauty, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, friends, friendship, funny, getting lost, humor, kitsch, life, love, people, photo, photograph, photography, pictures, sense of humor, short cut, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
This is one of my favorites to date. I love apocalyptic stories (hello, I wrote one!) and I was so excited to find three related images I could work with. This story is about two lovers who emerge from their bomb shelter to find they’re the only survivors of atomic bombings.
What I really love about these is that you can rearrange them into the order you want, and the story still works! See:
If you like this, please check out my Etsy and the upcoming book Capturing a Moment, which collects a bunch of similar stories. Apocalyptic Tryptic is also available.
Posted in flash fiction, Typography
Tagged apocalypse, atomic bombs, end of the world, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, life, love, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, romance, sad, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Every morning, Albert woke up before sunrise for his ritual. He climbed from bed right into his work pants, replaced the ribbed undershirt he’d slept in for a fresh, clean one, carefully put on his starched and ironed white button-down shirt, and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders.
Like all men of his day, Albert knew the importance of remaining clean-cut. After a quick visit to the kitchen, where he started the coffee, he headed back through his bedroom to the bathroom.
The bathroom ritual, after actions unmentionable in polite society, of course, included a shave, washing his face and brushing his teeth for three minutes, no more, no less. He would then pomade and brush his gray hair, wipe off his glasses on the special cloth he’d bought from the kindly door-to-door salesman, and then return to the kitchen.
Before Helen passed he’d always walked in to find some form of eggs, toast, orange juice and something from the meat group, but since her death he just couldn’t get the hang of making breakfast. He’d tried for about a year, the eggs were always either burnt or too runny, plus he always forgot to get orange juice at the market. So these days, if he even ate, it was toast and a pear from the tree that Helen planted back when they bought the small, suburban home.
The emptiness of the kitchen always got to Albert when he first walked in. The smells of the past haunted him, and he often forgot about her passing because he swore he could smell the ghosts of bacon frying in a pan. But whenever he walked in with a smile, adjusting his suspenders, his expectations were always disappointed. It was always empty, the sound of the coffee machine the only noise in the house and the counter meticulously organized and clean, just as he’d left it the night before.
And so he would stand with his back to the counter, as if talking to Helen like in the old days, and pour a coffee. But now, instead of sitting at the table, he ate at the sink, letting the crumbs of his solitary piece of toast fall directly into the empty sink. It kept him from having to wipe down the table, and since he kept the place immaculately clean, just as Helen did in her day, it saved him some time.
The final part of Albert’s ritual was to put on his tie, his shoes and his jacket. He walked up to the rack by the door, took his hat off the post, placed it on his head and opened the front door. The sun would just be rising as he turned and looked at his empty, dark home.
“I love you, honey. See you at supper,” he always whispered before he shut the door.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Uncategorized
Tagged 1920s, 1930s, art, beauty, couples, death, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, kitsch, life, living alone after a loved one's death, love, marriage, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, polaroid, vintage, writing
Artwork by Shalaya Holliday. Her work can be seen here.
They sat on the park bench facing each other as the lights came on and illuminated the area.
“I love this park. Especially for people watching,” he said to her. She returned a smile.
“Yes, it’s always a good spot for that.”
His eyes scanned the area and rested on a twenty-something girl with a flowered skirt, tank top and blue and white striped oversized cardigan. “Take her, for instance.”
“Yes?”
She was kind of bent over sitting on a bench across from them with her elbows on her knees, her long hair hiding her hands that could have been on her chin.
“I like her cardigan.”
“Yes, yes we both like her cardigan, but that’s not what I meant.”
She looked at the girl a bit more. Finally he broke her concentration.
“Well, is she sad? Her body language tells me she might be considerably morose.”
“I think she’s just on the phone. He hair is hiding it from our view.”
He looked again, this time with her point in mind. “You know, you might be right. But her face still looks sad, and her mouth doesn’t seem to be moving.”
The girl’s face suddenly broke into a smile, and from that to laughter.
They looked at each other and both said at the same time, “Phone.”
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged anime, art, couples, dating, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, funny, hipster, humor, illustration, love, people, people watching, peoplewatching, Philadelphia, Rittenhouse Square, romance, shalaya holliday, writing
Set in Stone is part of the new book Capturing a Moment, available for preorder on my Etsy. The original is also available on etsy. Support a starving artist! 🙂
Posted in flash fiction, Typography
Tagged 1960s, 1970s, beach, book, Capturing a Moment, couples, dennis finocchiaro, fiction, flash fiction, love, people, photograph, photography, picture, published, romance, shore, starving artist, typography, wrags Ink, writing
Hopefully you’ve been following my work all this time and know all about the flash fiction pieces I type onto vintage photographs. If not, they look like this:
Well now my book is available for preorder! The WONDERFUL publishers over at Wrags, Ink have seen fit to put out a collection of around fifty of their favorites, and now for the first time it’s available for preorder! So please check it out here on my Etsy. You can also order it with a bunch of goodies here for a few more dollars.
Thank you all so much for your continued support!
Posted in flash fiction, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, art, beauty, book, childhood, children, couples, dating, death, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, kitsch, people, photograph, photography, photos, published, publishing, typography, very short story, vintage, vss, writing
A magazine for and about artists.
Hello all! Care to see my work in yet another magazine? The wonderful crew over at Racing Minds Magazine have featured me in their August issue.
The online version is here. A paper copy is also available here if you care to purchase it. Please check out all of the amazing artists, photographers and creative minds that come together in this excellent publication.
Posted in flash fiction, Typography
Tagged 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, art, artists, beauty, childhood, children, couples, dating, death, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, funny, hipster, humor, kitsch, life, love, magazine, magazine publishing, people, photo, photograph, photographers, photography, photos, pictures, published, Racing Minds, relationships, romance, sad, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Come back tomorrow for the finale of The Melancholy Robot!
The robot watched the man purchase a hot dog from the vendor. It mimicked the man’s actions – moving its jaw hinge up and down, chewing imaginary food. Its jaw made a grinding sound since it wasn’t created for this purpose. It knew that food would ruin its mechanisms and internal clogs, and that it had no swallowing apparatus. So the robot looked away.
Posted in flash fiction, The Melancholy Robot
Tagged art, beauty, dennis finocchiaro, eating, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, food, funny, hot dog vendor, hot dogs, humor, Jessica Smith, kitsch, life, people, robot who wants to be human, robot who wants to eat, sad, The Melancholy Robot, writing