The Crown of Victory

Or rather the icon of victory. I am proud to present, my proof that I won NanoWriMo 2007 . . .

That's pretty much the award . . . and the knowledge that I actually wrote over 80 pages in 30 days - mostly between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and midnight.

Thank you to everyone who supported me in my endeavor: those who asked me about the progress of my novel, those who patiently put up with my incoherent babble regarding the latest word counts and plot problems, and even those who laughed at me for posting a sign at my desk that read "At lunch. Will return from noveling at approximately 1:00." (The sign was Plan B. I couldn't make the sticky note stay stuck to my forehead.)

I crossed the finish line. Panting, wheezing, holding my ribs and thinking I was going to cough up my spleen, but I made it!

And I must express my gratitude to my characters: Gwen, Trev, Arin, and Feather - who have filled my pages with interesting dialogue. I must also apologize for the portions of my novel that were hammered out at two in the morning, when I was bleary eyed and prone to writing descriptions of clothes for sheer lack of anything else to do.

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“Are you sure you can sit in that – dress?” Prince Naev asked, pulling a large wooden chair away from the table, and indicating this was where Gwen should sit.

Gwen shot a sideways glance at Arin. “Of course,” she stuttered. “There’s nothing wrong with our dresses . . . really.”

Arin pulled out the chair to Gwen’s left and looked at her sourly.“You may as well know that she has nicknamed most of our formal gowns ‘contraptions,’” he said glancing to each side to make sure no other nobles were in earshot. “But fragile as they look, she’s managed not to undress herself in public yet, so I don’t see that she has any grounds to complain.”

The Prince was suddenly taken with a coughing fit, and Gwen turned a color of crimson that nicely complemented her dress.

“And I happen to think her dislike of her wardrobe is the only good sense Genevive has ever shown.” The voice was soft, but it fell on Gwen’s ears with the force of a hammer, as Treven Lefyre finished assisting Cassia, and pulled his own chair out from beneath the table.

“Good evening,” he said politely. “I hope you will not take it amiss if I ignore you for the rest of the night.”

“If only all our problems could be solved with such honest diplomacy,” said Father Sideo, taking his seat across from Trev. The priest moved carefully, with a slowness that told Gwen that his joints pained him. “But I am afraid that there are few who can keep their emotions out of their negotiations.”

“And thank the gods for that,” said Master Kasire taking his seat to the right of the Sun Priest. “Or the world would be a lot more boring place."