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

Saturday, February 19, 2011

ENCORE by Llola Lane

As she stared down at her mother she wondered where the years had gone. When DID her mother get so old? Time flew by so fast. She couldn't help but think of days... weeks... months... even years gone by. She looked at the violin lying on the chair. Her mother loved it so. She tried to remember the first time she had heard her mother playing it. Seems like she had to be very little. She vividly remembers laying in bed, her mother tucking her in and then the sweet music of the violin as she drifted off to sleep.

Her mother had given her and her brother many bedtime violin concerts. She even remembered the first time she asked her mother to let her try and play it. Her mother smiled and looked very pleased that she had taken an interest in it. She was as good a teacher as she was a volinist. It took her several days just to learn how to hold the bow and play a decent cord though. But she eventually made the violin sing.

She smiled to herself. Those were wonderful times. How she wished she could turn back the clock and have them back again. As her mother grew famous she put away the childhood violin and bought a more expensive one. The one from her childhood stayed in its box in the attic. That is… until it was snuck open now and then by the daughter.

That memory of her playing the violin in the attic made her chuckle. Her mother had come home early from a concert and caught her playing it. She thought for sure she'd get yelled at but her mother just smiled and said that if she wanted the voilin it was hers to keep. But best to keep it in her room where she could practice more often. She gave a big hug to her mother and said if she didn't mind... she liked the way the attic echoed the music, and could she just keep practicing up there? Mother nodded and gave her approval and that was the beginning of not having to sneak around anymore.

She had no ambition to be as famous as her mother. The violin playing was just a hobby. But she DID agree to play in the school orchestra. When she was 16 she was asked to play THE solo piece for the schools big annual concert. Her mother smiled and told her how proud she was of her. She even let her wear the same white dress with ruffles that she had worn when SHE had her first concert at school. It fit the daughter like a glove. Her mother told her that she looked like and angel. All the butterflies in her stomach soon disappeared when the curtain went up and she saw her mother and father in the audience. After her solo was over everyone stood up and clapped... her mother and father lead the loudest applause.

Years later, a mother with children of her own... Her oldest son came to her and asked him to teach him how to play the violin. She was so happy to pass it on to him. That violin has been a big part of their family. Hopefully it would be passed on for generations.

She sighed. Fast forward. She has been where she is today twice before. Once when her grandfather passed... and then again when her grandmother passed. But it was different then. They were home with a nurse. They had both asked her mother to play. And she DID play... on that childhood violin from so many years ago... and she played her BEST concerts ever for them.

So many years. So many memories. But now... back to reality. Now it is HER turn to give her mother the BEST concert SHE had in her. As she slowly lifts the violin to her chin and the bow to the strings she looks around the room. Her husband is there... her brother... and her father. He has tears in his eyes and nods to her approvingly. She plays ever so quietly. A not tooo somber piece. Her mother whispers for an ENCORE and she plays her mother's favorite Strauss piece. As the music comes to an end she hears her mother whisper...

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