The violinist is one of my players who, being a Christian, was forced to get out of Mosul last June when they invaded. He made it into the Kurdistan Region of Iraq where he was supported by other players from the orchestra. He now teaches music at a school there. Nobody is really safe in Iraq at the moment, but he is, at least, resettled and safer.
He is one of the gentlest, kindest people in the orchestra, as well as being a very fine player who, like many, managed to teach himself violin without any teachers, by learning from masterclasses on YouTube.
Our story is about love and heartbreak. My sister and I collaborated on this story – I hope we can be the Coen Brothers of sisters!
2) What motivated you to write this story and submit it to the festival?
I wanted to try to write a story THAT short.
3) What movie have you seen the most in your life?
It would have to be Goodfellas. Every time I come across it on TV, I simply cannot click away and must watch it in all of it’s nuanced genius.
4) How many scripts and stories have you written?
I’ve written a few stories in my life, countless expository video scripts for clients (I run a video production company,) but just starting out to write my own narrative…
1st CHAPTER and FULL NOVEL FESTIVAL
Submit by November 15th and SAVE $50 on Full Novel Submissions. http://novelwritingfestival.com/
Watch “Large is the Smallest We’ve Got” by Jed Hamilton
Synopsis:
An unlikely mix of people, thrown together by the LA Earthquake, 1994.
A story of love lost and found…
A story of greed and corruption. ….
A story about a phoney ghost-hunter show… and a dog that looks like a panda.
I hear a tinkling,
A sound part gurgling,
As water laughs in a fountain unseen,
While I rest my head with a lean
On the rough skin of a wood
I sit under with a contented mood.
Afternoon crawls past with my unwanted needs,
And I watch through cracked lids
The thousand stars that shine in the light of day,
Which sunlight makes as it splinters past leafs in its way.
Beyond my green roof and in the distant sky,
Clouds appear like hills that fly;
While a playful air blows past my face,
Bringing the smell of lemons from above and coolness from a distant place,
The heavens change in a slow dance to their distant part,
In a riot of colors as they make a timeless art.
I sigh, satisfied,
Spending thus my afternoon at hand, For what…
Let me be your rag doll.
Drop me where you may.
Place me on your pillow when you leave for the day.
Genre: Rhyme, Relationship
Rag Doll
by Linda Ward
Let me be your rag doll.
Drop me where you may.
Place me on your pillow when you leave for the day.
Tear my shoulder from loving me,
and fix me when you find the time.
Leave me in the toy box,
when you need some peace of mind.
Let me be your comfort,
when the world has beat you down.
Take me for granted,
knowing that I will always be around.
Trim my hair the way you like,
even though it doesn’t grow.
Then undress me late at night
No one will ever know.
Let me be the tattered toy,
you live your secrets through.
Then throw me in the corner,
and swear I never loved you.
But keep me with you forever,
when you’ve thrown all your other toys away.
Cherish ALL the stains that
can never be washed away.
I kn.ow I am just a rag doll!
But, some one has to be!
Sometimes the greatest gift in life.
Is the the one that comes for free
* * * * *
(Definition of a rag doll,
A limp, ineffectual person, as in You won’t get a decision from her; she’s a rag doll when it comes to making up her mind. This expression transfers the limpness of a soft doll made from scraps of cloth to human behavior
Second def.
v. in American Football, an engagement between a defensive linemen and offensive lineman where the defensive linemen tosses the (typically 320 lb.) offensive lineman away like a rag doll, usually with ensuing similar deleterious actions imparted to the ball carrier. It would be the reciprocal of a pancake, where the offensive lineman drills the defensive lineman backwards into the ground and then lands on top of him.
Urban def:
To be forcefully grabbed and shaken with such ferocity that the recipient resembles a ragdoll
Literal def:
n.
A stuffed cloth doll, traditionally made from leftover scraps of material.
A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.
Genre: Rhyme, Romance, Love
RAGING BATTLES
by Saloni Verma
A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.
The world was such an empty place before,
Then came her prince-on-the-white-horse to the fore,
They shared a bond that could last forevermore
The world wasn’t so empty anymore.
He was a soldier of the state,
Serving the country was his fate,
He loved his girl and his nation,
He was his country’s true citizen.
They walked the lush gardens hand-in-hand,
They scoured for shells in the golden sand,
They ran gleefully in the rain,
They were not aware of the upcoming pain.
One day, he got called for his duty,
He was called to serve at the front;
They were taught to show no pity,
The enemy had to face the brunt.
The girl was left alone to ponder,
The state of her lover she often wondered;
She passed her days lying in wait,
She couldn’t leave everything in the hands of fate.
She heard the radio day and night,
Heard the horrific results of the fight;
They often recounted the names of the dead,
With worry did her forehead always sweat.
He called one day, “How are you, my love?”
“Lying in your wait”, she only sobbed.
He told her of his friends’ death,
She only said that she was sitting with awaited breath.
He recounted the booms of the guns, the missiles, the bodies,
He told her how they had to live as a quarry;
He said he was proud to fight,
He said he was content he was right.
Though the barrels made him shiver,
He had always the strength-filled quiver.
She longed to see him day & night,
She heard from them one twilight,
He had been martyred by the enemy’s cannon,
“He was our bravest soldier”, said the Captain.
Her heart burst with paramount grief,
Battles raged in her heart as on the streets;
“How ironical”, she thought grimly of her loss,
That it should come at a time after their country had won.
She walked then between the gunpowder and debris,
She now only felt the thorns of the roses, on her feet;
Come and see the blood in the streets, her heart cried
Come and see the blood in the streets!
Come and see the
blood in the streets!!
Once again, I see truth’s reflection,
after falling from grace-
no one else
could ever take your love’s place.
I could search all of my lifetime,
but never find another you-
true colors cascade,
love’s light comes through.
Down hallways of mirrored images,
which echo unto the past,
I think of the stains
that lonely shadows cast,
while the truth of higher love
opens my eyes to see–
yours is the only true vision
that’s ever been revealed to me.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 