A few quick updates.
I finished the June challenge at 750words.com. 750 words every day. Some words are worth keeping more than others, but I did indeed write over 22,500 words in June.
Half of NaNoWriMo. How do those folks do it?
I had previously mentioned entering short story competition. Alas, I was not the victor, but you should check out the winning stories here (they are thoroughly awesome), and if you're so inclined, submit a story for July here.
The competition for June was to create a story no longer than five hundred words, using a picture as the basis for you story.
Below is the story I submitted, entitled "One Hundred Years". Hope you enjoy it! We'll have some more updates on The Seven Stars in the coming weeks!
-Tim
One Hundred Years
For her he planned the perfect evening, and he was lifted beyond boundaries corporeal when she smiled.
He hired a boat to take them through the evening mists of the lake, the elegant wooden prow cutting softly through the mirror of the undisturbed water. The setting sun ignited the mists, and the light warmed her face. The sight of it, he thought, was almost too beautiful to behold.
"The world itself yearns to compete with your beauty," Connor said. "But it is only magnified." She blushed and laughed, a musical, erotic trill that lilted over the water. He could almost see it.
The Grand Minister had been hesitant to allow them on his private estate, or to have them on his lake. But Connor needed only to remind the Minister of his support on the tax vote, and that he knew how the Minister quelled his opposition in ways most ungentlemanly.
He knew there would be fireworks that night, so they dined on the balcony of the governor's villa. "This is so magical," she said, "like a fairy tale. Oh, Connor, how I love you." He smiled as the world was illuminated by the sky-borne incandescence. How marvellous the lights were, like a half-drunk god breaking the rules of the world he created by making split-second suns in the night. He adored how the radiant spokes of the fireworks reflected in her eyes, and it made him tremble with anticipation.
"I love you," he said. "The evening has just begun!"
The governor had only assented to the use of his villa with Connor's great persistence, and a reminder of how Connor helped him build the pyre for the bodies of the young girls and boys. The ritual had not worked. Connor knew it wouldn't from the start.
From the balcony they went inside for dessert.
"I have a question I must ask you, my love," Connor said. She smiled again, the picture of beauty.
They went to the governor's study, a room lined with archaic books and items from his travels. He sat her in the chair by the fireplace and he knelt in front of her.
"Please wait a moment, my dear." He gently kissed her hand.
In the wine cellar, he found an bottle appropriate to the occasion and said the words as he opened it and poured two glasses.
She was there, her appearance silent and unnerving. She was dressed in the same orange-red dress and hat as always. She smiled the same smile, her white pointed teeth glistening with saliva.
"She's ready," Connor said. "In the other room." He handed her a glass and raised his own. "I think you'll find her especially sweet."
The Dark Mistress stared at him.
"Yes," he said, "a virgin, too. You needn't ask. How many times have we made this arrangement?"
With that, she raised her glass, and they both drank.
"To another hundred years."
