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Nadia Kotova

United States

Hey guys! I'm Nadia and writing is my thing. Been doing it since I was twelve and always want to be involved in it. I enjoy all things Disney and Harry Potter. I want my writing to spread a message of hope to all those who read it. Jesus loves you!

Message from Writer

Thanks for all the feedback, everyone! I appreciate anything that helps me become a better writer.
I love you guys!

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Nadia Kotova (United States) published:

But We Didn't

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    Do you remember, you flirted with me the day we met? We were sandwiched together on the subway, I in my large-framed glasses and plum colored sweater, you in your windbreaker and Converse. I glared at you when you told me I looked cute in my glasses. Judging by your harsh response, you were used to having your flattery well received. When we stepped of the subway, we swore we would avoid each other forever. 

But we didn't
...

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Published Work

But We Didn't

    Do you remember, you flirted with me the day we met? We were sandwiched together on the subway, I in my large-framed glasses and plum colored sweater, you in your windbreaker and Converse. I glared at you when you told me I looked cute in my glasses. Judging by your harsh response, you were used to having your flattery well received. When we stepped of the subway, we swore we would avoid each other forever. 

But we didn't

    Do you remember, you ran into me at my favorite pastry shop? I apologized to you for my rude behavior on the subway. You said, now that you'd thought about it, you didn't mind. Then you paid for my pastry. You asked how you could make up for your unkind choice words from that first night. I told you the pastry was enough, but you insisted it wasn't. So, you pulled me next door to Barnes and Noble...

Turned to Stone

Not my Kind of Mystery

    When crafting my mystery novels, I find it necessary to set the mood. Usually I choose thunderstorms, or alleyways at dusk. Sometimes stereotypical, I know. But as I said, for a good mystery, you must evoke the feeling of suspense. Dark is always the best way to accomplish this. However, I discovered this morning as sunbeams seeped through my open windows that blood trickling down the staircase and fingers poking through the banister are incredibly frightening at any time of day- especially when you live alone. 

But We Didn't

    Do you remember, you flirted with me the day we met? We were sandwiched together on the subway, I in my large-framed glasses and plum colored sweater, you in your windbreaker and Converse. I glared at you when you told me I looked cute in my glasses. Judging by your harsh response, you were used to having your flattery well received. When we stepped of the subway, we swore we would avoid each other forever. 

But we didn't

    Do you remember, you ran into me at my favorite pastry shop? I apologized to you for my rude behavior on the subway. You said, now that you'd thought about it, you didn't mind. Then you paid for my pastry. You asked how you could make up for your unkind choice words from that first night. I told you the pastry was enough, but you insisted it wasn't. So, you pulled me next door to Barnes and Noble...

But We Didn't

    Do you remember, you flirted with me the day we met? We were sandwiched together on the subway, I in my large-framed glasses and plumb colored sweater, you in your windbreaker and Converse. I glared at you when you told me I looked cute in my glasses. Judging by your harsh response, you were used to having your flattery well received. When we stepped of the subway, we swore we would avoid each other forever. 

But we didn't

    Do you remember, you ran into me at my favorite pastry shop? I apologized to you for my rude behavior on the subway. You said, now that you'd thought about it, you didn't mind. Then you paid for my pastry. You asked how you could make up for your unkind choice words from that first night. I told you the pastry was enough, but you insisted it wasn't. So, you pulled me next door to Barnes and Noble...

Year by Year

A Little of my Life

Year One: I enter the world during autumn, something C always said reflected my personality. My older sister, A, insisted on dressing me in frilly night gowns and day dresses. She always took better care of me than Mother did. 

Year Two: My hair grows long enough for my sister to adorn it with bows. I toddle around the house, happy and laughing. Cook watches me most of the time because Mother is never seen. 

Year Three: Mother yells at me for constantly asking why. I run to my older sister and she answers willingly. I begin to understand my Mother doesn't love me like she does. 

Year Four: Father comes home from Mandatory Militia training. I hope he will take me on his knee and tell me stories, like fathers in the books my sister always read me. But he locks himself in his office, where I soon learn I am never allowed. 

Year Five: My younger sister, T,...

Sunday Through Saturday

    Sunday curls up on a park bench, reading a book with a peaceful look on her face. She pulls her luxuriously long caramel colored hair over her shoulder. Every once in a while, she glances around at the people walking past with her large, soft brown eyes. She always smiles at them, even to those who glare at her. Some don't notice her at all. Occasionally, a girl or boy will smile back. A few might engage her in conversation. Yet she remains truly noticeable only to those who a wholly willing to observe her. 

    Monday resides in an ally. She stands with one foot propped up against the wall. No one likes her, and it's no wonder. She sneers whenever people come by. Unlike Sunday, everyone notices her- how could they not, with all her angry looks from under thick, dark eye makeup and haughty tosses of her scraggly black hair. Some wish she didn't...

Sunday Through Saturday

    Sunday curls up on a park bench, reading a book with a peaceful look on her face. She pulls her luxuriously long caramel colored hair over her shoulder. Every once in a while, she glances around at the people walking past with her large, soft brown eyes. She always smiles at them, even to those who glare at her. Some don't notice her at all. Occasionally, a girl or boy will smile back. A few might engage her in conversation. Yet she remains truly noticeable only to those who a wholly willing to observe her. 

    Monday resides in an ally. She stands with one foot propped up against the wall. No one likes her, and it's no wonder. She sneers whenever people come by. Unlike Sunday, everyone notices her and how could they not, with all her angry looks from under thick, dark eye makeup and haughty tosses of her scraggly black hair. Some wish she...

Flash Fiction Competition

Drowning in Fire

    "Pascal!" I shouted over the crackling of the fire. Embers sprayed as some unidentifiable article of furniture collapsed. I tried to pull air into my lungs, but it was almost like attempting to breathe in water. 
    Flames licked up the walls on either side of my living room. How had I managed to sleep through their invasion? Unaware of fire's fingers wrapping themselves around the doorframes and curling around the banister. 
    I tried to call to Pascal again, but the bitter ash of smoke stuck in my mouth. My parents had locked me in the living room when they'd left so we couldn't be alone together when they were gone. They loved him, though. He'd offered to come over today to unclog my bathtub. 
    And now, because of my long hair, he would burn alive. 
    I slithered along the floor like Mom had instructed me to do when I was...

Returning

Fourth of July

    The dirt road sprays underneath the car. It's narrow to the point where we barely fit, so if anyone creeped on from the other direction we'd be stuck until one of us backed all the way down to the end. Trees closed over the top of the road and their trunks encroached on its edges. If it weren't for the shot gun shells that always littered the clearing at the end of the dirt, I'd think we were the only people who ever came down to this part of the Red River. 
    When we reach the little clearing, my parents, my brother and I pile out of our Mazda that isn't designed for this kind of terrain. My grandparents and aunt follow behind us in the former's blue Jeep which fairs much better in all the dirt and rocks. 
    My brother and I wait to be sunscreened and bug sprayed, then instantly climb down...

Talking to “You”

Little Girl Run

    You watch from the window as the little girl runs through the street. She's only playing, you know, but as her thick black braid whips around her face, you wonder if that childlike imagination contains too much reality and not enough pure imagination. When she runs, her face contains a mixture of peace and freedom. But when you see her climb into her car with her backpack each morning, her face is drawn. She always appears solemn unless she is running around in the street.
    It's cold today, but that doesn't seem to faze her. She simply pulls her hot pink hat closer around her ears and buttons her coat with the fraying hem.
    A car drives down the street as she rounds the corner of the cul-de-sac, causing her to leap to the curb right in front of your house. You pause for a moment. The quiet part of you just wants to watch her run again...

Paint me a Picture

    Paint me a picture, woven with blue
    Free as the summer sky, wide open and true
    Ripples of water that remind me of you
    
    Paint me a picture, colored with green
    Sprightly as spring and the grass field's dancing sheen
    Reminiscent of all the things that you've seen

    Paint me a picture, cloaked in scarlet 
    Blooming of roses; the flashing red carpet 
    The ruby gleaming of you, little starlet 

    Paint me a picture, flecked with yellow
    Soft touches of sunlight through open windows
    The color of you, so playful and mellow
    
    Paint me a picture, graced with purple
    Stately with rings of things that are royal
    The shade of your eyes brimming with loyal

    Paint me a picture, speckled with pink
    Tiaras and...

Slow Seeing

That's Why I Write in the Willow

The lone willow sweeps its bows in the center of the open field, guarding over the blooming wildflowers. Lovely little blossoms bob brightly in the wind. Long grass ripples in waves amongst the flowers. They carry them along in their tide. Purples, pinks, reds, blues, yellows, and oranges play with each other. Everything in the field is open and free.

That's why I write in the willow. 

But the wildflowers, as beautiful as they are, cannot compete with your beloved sunset.
  
Painted across the sky are varying shades of soft yellow and brilliant orange, making the colors of the flowers pale in comparison. Pinks and purples tangle together other amidst the last wisps of vibrant blue slowly fading into the stars. Red swirls throughout everything else like Van Gogh employed himself a bringer of pretty vandalism in the sky. All the colors spill from the setting sun, cascading down over the horizon. 

The weeping willow silhouettes against the vivid...

Open Prompt

Ordinary

My name is Francis. I am fourteen years old. I have brown hair and grey eyes. A passerby wouldn't glance twice at me. To such, I would be a perfectly normal human being. But I am anything but ordinary, and I am certainly not human.
    My father was though. Until he married my mother. 
    Her people have a special kind of trickery, you see. They're all beautifully irresistible to humans. She ensnared my father with her charms by making him believe she was human, deviously luring him into her trap. She convinced him to love her, to marry her. Then, she transformed him with her good-for-nothing magic. 
    It isn't real magic. Not the kind humans believe in, anyways. All Mother had to do was lace a string of abalone pearls around his neck and bring him to the ocean. Something about the pearls and salt water managed to turn him into one of her...

Open Prompt

Ordinary

My name is Francis. I am fourteen years old. I have brown hair and grey eyes. A passerby wouldn't glance twice at me. To such, I would be a perfectly normal human being. But I am anything but ordinary, and I am certainly not human.

Writing Small

Fire Burning

I stared, entranced, at the flames licking around the barn. Embers jumped like crickets at each crackle. Smoke curled from the burning rafters. Sirens sounded as fire kissed the stars, snapping me back into reality. Shaking, I clutched the matchsticks in my hand, but I didn't remember lighting the barn. 

Truths and Untruths

Ten Things I Wish People Believed about Themselves

  • You are beautiful. Seriously. No matter what people tell you- no matter what the mirror tells you- you are beautiful. God handpicked every single one of your features specifically for you. That nose you hate, the freckles, the messy hair, each was chosen for you. God could've given them to someone else. But instead He gave them to you. You look exactly like the way you were made to look. It is a fact: you are beautiful, whether you or others think it or not. 
  • The names people call you don't have to be who you are. I have been called a toothpick and a woman-hating troll (even though I am a woman). Yeah, my arms are the circumference of a spaghetti noodle! I'm a stinking toothpick and proud of it. When someone takes a truth about you and skews it, don't let it pull you down. Be proud of who you were made! But you know what I'm not?...

Songwriting Competition

Just Sing to Me



(Verse 1, slow and quiet)

Sometimes we get sick on the sorrow in blues
Find pain in breakup tracks unrelated to you
You have nothing but ballads stuck in your head
That echo all the broken words ever said
(Speeds up a little bit)
Oh, baby, when you realize life is stuck on repeat
Shelve the long notes for something upbeat
Come find me and tell everything on your mind
There's no better solace here you can find

(Pre-chorus, gains a little more speed and volume)

Don't get so caught up in others' broken records
Forget that depression and live something better
I'll be waiting for you to unlock your fetters
Escape from dejection to hope with believers

(Chorus, moderately fast and loud)

Tangle me up with the passion in your words
Teach me a sweet song that I've never heard
Harmonize all the things that you've learned
Stuck on the melody-y-y
Let me listen to the lyrics in your...

What I Found Inside the Shadows


    "Allura, stop dancing and help us find the crowbar.” Manya snapped.
    Arms spread out, Allura paused midtap to acknowledge her with glassy eyes. “What?”
              I gathered the bobby pin stash and zipped them into an inner pocket of my backpack. “Crowbar, Allura. Just in case we can’t pick the locks or the drawer is sealed.”
              She nodded vacantly. With her multicolored bangles jangling, she began her search underneath the bunk she shared with Vanessa. 
              “Can you all believe we are actually going through with this?”  Shadow asked as she stuffed spray paint into the bag. 
              We smirked at her. Of course we could believe it. After months of fantasizing about the riches stored in Principle Pereami’s desk, the six of us could finally launch our plan to take them for ourselves.  
              “If he didn’t want us have the stuff he wouldn’t instruct us not to open it every time we entered his office.” Cille added snidely. 
              “Whaddya think’s in...

What I Found Inside the Shadows


    "Allura, stop dancing and help us find the crowbar.” Manya snapped.
    Arms spread out, Allura paused midtap to acknowledge her with glassy eyes. “What?”
              I gathered the bobby pin stash and zipped them into an inner pocket of my backpack. “Crowbar, Allura. Just in case we can’t pick the locks or the drawer is sealed.”
              She nodded vacantly. With her multicolored bangles jangling, she began her search underneath the bunk she shared with Vanessa. 
              “Can you all believe we are actually going through with this?”  Shadow asked as she stuffed spray paint into the bag. 
              We smirked at her. Of course we could believe it. After months of fantasizing about the riches stored in Principle Pereami’s desk, the six of us could finally launch our plan to take them for ourselves.  
              “If he didn’t want us have the stuff he wouldn’t instruct us not to open it every time we entered his office.” Cille added snidely. 
              “Whaddya think’s in...

Songwriting Competition

Just Sing to Me



(Verse 1, slow and quiet)

Sometimes we get sick on the sorrow in blues
Find pain in breakup tracks unrelated to you
You have nothing but ballads stuck in your head
That echo all the broken words ever said
(Speeds up a little bit)
Oh, baby, when you realize life is stuck on repeat
Shelve the long notes for something upbeat
Come find me and tell everything on your mind
A more perfect song no one could write

(Pre-chorus, gains a little more speed and volume)

Don't get so caught up in others' broken records
Forget that depression and make something better
I'll be waiting for you to unlock your fetters
Escape from dejection to hope with believers

(Chorus, moderately fast and loud)

Tangle me up with the passion in your words
Teach me a sweet song that I've never heard
Harmonize all the things that you've learned
Stuck on the melody-y-y
Let me listen to the lyrics in your...

Songwriting Competition

Just Sing to Me



(Verse 1, slow and quiet)

Sometimes we get sick on the sorrow in blues
Find pain in breakup tracks unrelated to you
You have nothing but ballads stuck in your head
That echo all the broken words ever said
(Speeds up a little bit)
Oh, baby, when you realize it's all stuck on repeat
Shelve the long notes for something upbeat
Come find me and tell everything on your mind
A more perfect song no one could write

(Pre-chorus, gains a little more speed and volume)

Don't get so caught up in others broken records
Forget that depression and make something better
I'll be waiting for you to unlock your fetters
Let go of the desperate to hope with believers

(Chorus, moderately fast and loud)

Tangle me up with the passion in your words
Teach me a sweet song that I've never heard
Harmonize all the things that you've learned
Stuck on the melody-y-y
Let me listen to the lyrics...

Songwriting Competition

Just Sing to Me



(Verse 1, slow and quiet)

Sometimes we get sick on the sorrow in blues
Find pain in breakup tracks unrelated to you
You have nothing but ballads stuck in your head
That echo all the broken words ever said
(Speeds up a very little bit)
Oh, baby, when you realize it's all stuck on repeat
Shelve the long notes for something upbeat
Come find me and tell everything on your mind
A more perfect song no one could write

(Pre-chorus, gains a little more speed and volume)

Don't get so caught up in others broken records
Forget that depression and make something better
I'll be waiting for you to unlock your fetters
Let go of the desperate to hope with believers

(Chorus, moderately fast and loud)

Tangle me up with the passion in your words
Teach me a sweet song that I've never heard
Harmonize all the things that you've learned
Stuck on the melody-y-y
Let me listen to the...

Songwriting Competition

Just Sing to Me

(Verse 1, slow and quiet)

Sometimes we get sick on the sorrow in blues
Find pain in breakup tracks unrelated to you
You have nothing but ballads stuck in your head
That echo all the broken words ever said
(Speeds up a very little bit)
Oh, baby, when you realize it's all stuck on repeat
Shelve the long notes for something upbeat
Come mind me and tell everything on your mind
A more perfect song no one could write

(Pre-chorus, gains a little more speed and volume)

Don't get so caught up in others broken records
Forget that depression and make something better
I'll be waiting for you to unlock your fetters
Let go of the desperate to hope with believers

(Chorus, moderately fast and loud)

Tangle me up with the passion in your words
Teach me a sweet song that I've never heard
Harmonize all the things that you've learned
Stuck on the melody-y-y
Let me listen to the...

Turned to Stone

Not my Kind of Mystery

    When crafting mystery novels, I find it necessary to set the mood. Usually I choose thunderstorms, or alleyways at dusk. Sometimes stereotypical, I know, but as I said, for a good mystery, you must evoke the feeling of suspense. Dark is always the best way to accomplish this. However, I discovered this morning as sunbeams seeped through my open windows that blood trickling down the staircase and fingers poking through the banister are incredibly frightening at any time of day- especially when you live alone. 

Paint me a Picture

    Paint me a picture, woven with blue
    Free as the summer sky, wide open and true
    Ripples of water that remind me of you
    
    Paint me a picture, colored with green
    Sprightly as spring and the grass field's dancing sheen
    Reminiscent of all the things that you've seen

    Paint me a picture, cloaked in scarlet 
    Blooming of roses; the flashing red carpet 
    The ruby gleaming of you, little starlet 

    Paint me a picture, rained with yellow
    Soft touches of sunlight through open windows
    The color of you, so playful and mellow
    
    Paint me a picture, graced with purple
    Stately with rings of things that are royal
    The shade of your eyes brimming with loyal

    Paint me a picture, speckled with pink
    Tiaras and...

Zoom Out

Mountains Made of Lovely Thoughts

    What a lovely place it is inside my mind. 
    Chaotic, to be sure. But a bit of chaos is a bit of interest in my book. 
    Lots of thoughts play around. Some stay off by themselves and some tangle hopelessly with one another. That's how ideas work. They're messy.
    
When I was young, the thoughts were not so lovely. They lied to me.
    You are nothing
    No one loves you
    You are worthless
​    
Everyone has forgotten you
    You are alone
    Completely and utterly alone

    My only friends then were those thoughts. As you can imagine, they didn't make for very good company.
    The thoughts are still there, of course, but I don't believe them any longer. You see, I found a Friend. A Friend who gives me better thoughts that make mountains of good things within my...

Seventeen

    "I am seventeen today." I say to my reflection in the mirror. 
    There are diaries on my bookshelf filled with dreams of seventeen. I'd begin my senior year, top of the class of course, with Finn Carter as my boyfriend. I was obsessed with Finn Carter in the eight grade, I'll admit, but I had no idea he would end up working at Dairy Queen and growing wheat grass in his window sill.
    The drama program of my fantasy soared under my abundance of talent. I imagined the envy of every girl on the school directed at me in all my genius. They'd say Wow! I wish I could act like Cadence Bostwick. 
    In my seventh grade entries, I worked at Justice. One dream I am very glad did not become reality. Middle schoolers are incapable of style, which, if you have every walked through a middle school, is evident. 
   ...

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21 Likes from Others

But We Didn't

Liked by 4 people

Not my Kind of Mystery

Liked by 4 people

But We Didn't

Liked by 1 person

A Little of my Life

Liked by 4 people

Sunday Through Saturday

Liked by 3 people

Ordinary

Liked by 4 people

Freedom

Liked by 3 people

Fourth of July

Liked by 2 people

Paint me a Picture

Liked by 3 people

Little Girl Run

Liked by 1 person

Paint me a Picture

Liked by 4 people

Fire Burning

Liked by 1 person

Brightest in Shadows

Liked by 1 person

Just Sing to Me

Liked by 1 person

Just Sing to Me

Liked by 1 person

Not my Kind of Mystery

Liked by 1 person

Seventeen

Liked by 4 people

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