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, January 4, 2011

December Story by Relay Caedmon

(Inspired by picture Christmas Island)  Click here to listen to a podcast of this story

When she opened her fathers car she noticed the fresh and frosty winter air, which made her cheeks go red at an instant. “Are you sure we came to the right house dad!” She looked at him while he still sat in the car and held a cigarette in his hand, and he looked at her with a mysterious smile. “ That my sweet Ann will be a surprise for you.”

Slowly he put out the cigarette and gently dropped it into the small garbage bin between the two front seats of the car. The doors of the vehicle weren't easy to close so he had to use more force than neccesary. While he struggled Ann started to walk the small stone layed  and narrow pathway to the house, which seemed to be familiar in a distant memory of hers.

The roof of the house was covered in thick white glittering snow with a chimney pointing up, as if in desperation of being engulfed by the amount of snow around it. The scene in front of her was like it was taken from a christmas card. The big pine trees further away from the house were covered in snow, which made the weakest branches of them to bend slightly down of the weight. It was completely silent all she could hear was her fathers fruitless fight against  the lame  door from the car he once bought from a distant friend of his.

“Dad are you still sure it is your friends house, I cant see if anyone is home!” Her shouts made him to stop for a while and to look up at the house, “ You could be right, but lets open the door while I bring our bags!”  She looked at the carved wooden door which didnt really look like the door they had at home in the city. The carved lines formed  mysterious figures  and symbols. She reached out her hand and tried to see if it was locked. To her suprise the doorknob gave  and the door was opened up. “Dad The door was already open!”

She walked into the hallway and noticed that the walls were covered in postcards from top to bottom. She took down one with a cover of a cute cat at a christmas tree.  On the back side of the card all she could read was  All love from  Lisa to Santa. Santa! Her eyes narrowed to read carefully thru the card again but didnt see anything else than just those words. In the meanwhile Erik her father finally succeded in closing and locking the door of their car  and carried their two bags to the hallway.

“Dad, you said we rented this house over Christmas from your good friend! But who is your good friend? there must be thousands of postcards on this wall?”  Her father smiled when he glanced over the wall. "This house belongs, belive it or not, to Santa, it is some of his postcards you see on the walls". She went silent just looked at her own father with disbelief written all over her chilled face. “Santa.... Here??” He looked at her and knew that it would take some time to convince her that it was Santas house, and that they were to celebrate Christmas there.

As if by some mysterious power the living room fire already had started and spread its warmth over the place. And all the decorations had, as if they know someone was there, started to light up the place. Was this a real place or were they a part of a postcard themselves? After all what can be better than to celebrate christmas in Santas own house.

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