What are Ozlandish Writings?
From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.
Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.
Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The little girl skipped along the shore, feet splashing in the shallow water. She hummed as she went, looking down, seeking pretty seashells and stones. Suddenly, she turned her head and looked up across the sand to where her mother sat under a shady tree. She giggled, and sang aloud: “Mother, may I go out to swim?” Her mother looked up and, smiling, sang “Yes, my darling daughter,” then they both sang “Hang your clothes on a Hickory limb, and Don’t go near the water!”
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
She stood with the skeleton key in her hand... She hated this. The key found the lock and opened the attic door easily. She loved her grandmother and missed her. But this HAD to be done. Everything was left to her and it was her responsibility to go through her grandmother's things and sort them for the house sale.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The woman stood on the shore, watching her seven year old charge, and remembering. It was that long ago that, saddened by the loss of her newborn daughter, lonely and depressed, she had walked through the forest, following a stream to the seashore, when the tide was on the ebb. She stood for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and started walking out toward the receding water. There was a rock out there that was submerged under at least four feet of water at high tide. She intended to sit on it and tie her legs down, and let the water take her. Life held nothing but sorrow and loneliness, and she was ready to give up.