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

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Moments in Time - part 1 - by Lillian Morpork

Percival Cedric Pierce-MacDonald stood hunched over his workbench, making the last, minute adjustments to the object sitting there. It was an odd gizmo, about the size of a young child’s shoe, and just over one inch thick. He made the last adjustment and put down the tool, straightened and stretched, easing the ache in his back.

‘Well, it’s done,’ he thought.‘ I think before I try it, I’d better take an hour or so to rest and eat.’ Covering his invention, he turned and went upstairs to the kitchen. Making himself a sandwich and a cup of tea, he moved to the sitting room and settled in an easy chair. Munching and sipping, he thought about what he was about to do. ‘I guess I really should leave a note for the housekeeper, otherwise she’ll panic and call the police, and my family, and get them all upset. And if I’m going to be gone for some time in the here and now, I’d best pack my camping gear. I may need food and water and not be able to use what is available in whatever time I end up in. I think I’ll wear my sturdy camping clothes and boots, too. And take along a medicine kit. Since I have no idea what I will face, it’s best to be prepared for anything.’

Finishing his lunch, he took the dishes to the kitchen, rinsed and put them to drain. Then he dug out his camping gear, went to his room and changed, and back to the kitchen to gather food that would stay edible for a long period. Filling four water canteens, he attached them to his belt. Gathering the bundle of tent, bedroll, and other camping gear, he went down to the basement. He picked up the little box he had made and put it in his breast pocket.
When he was about to leave the house, he thought ‘I don’t know what the weather might be where he arrived, he opened the bundle with the tent and bed roll, and put in cold weather clothing, and a Mac and rain hat. With that closed again, the note for Mrs. Kennedy prominently displayed on the mantel piece, he was ready to go.

As he stepped outside, a voice hailed him. “Hello, PC, going camping? Looks like you plan on staying for a while!” Doctor George Parson (GP to his friends) laughed.

“Yes, GP, I’m off for a while, don’t know how long, so I’ve prepared for a long stay. Tell the others for me, will you? I’ve left a note for the housekeeper, but you’ll be seeing them before she does.”

“Sure thing, PC. I hope you have a good time. If you discover anything new, tell us about it when you come back.”

With a nod and a wave, PC got out his bicycle and rode off down the street. He was heading for the country where he wouldn’t be seen when he set his gadget. It wouldn’t do to disappear in front of someone. He chuckled, thinking of the reaction if he was seen.

An hour later, he was standing on a deserted country road, far from any buildings.
Taking the box out of his pocket, he opened the front, adjusted the settings, and paused. He had set for the year 1917. Would that be different enough to be sure his time machine worked? Given the changes since the turn of the century, he thought it would. ‘Well, here goes,’ he thought as he pushed the button. Once more, the road was deserted.

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