Woah! It’s the end of January? Already?
I hope all those new year lists you wrote (resolutions or bucket lists or to do lists) are looking good and you’re ready for February. And what better way to kick it off than with a creative writing challenge?
The Australian Writers’ Centre will be running their monthly Furious Fiction this weekend – log in at 5pm tomorrow for the prompts and you’ll have 55 hours to write and polish 500 words to be in the running for $500. You can check out the January winner and shortlisted entries to get an idea of what they’re looking for.
Last month’s requirements were:
- the first word had to be ‘new’
- it had to include the words ‘desert’, ‘nineteen’ and ‘present’
- it had to include some kind of list.
Here’s my 500 words worth…
THE LIST
“New shoes and new stockings. New unmentionables.” Princess Araminta’s lady-in-waiting smothered a giggle before continuing her list. “New petticoats for Your Highness, and a new gown, new cape and new crown. Everything you need.”
“To be a freshly-minted Minty? Wonderful.” The princess gestured to keep her attendants at bay. “Wait here for me.”
Skirts hoisted, she took the tower steps two at a time. List upon list for her Forecasting Day but not the one which mattered most. She was supposed to leave that one to politics and her father’s discretion and trust that time would sweeten their choice.
Well, there was no time like the present.
She bolted the heavy door and all but fell against the wall, palms pressed to the stone on either side of a large, gilt-framed mirror.
“Morgan,” she panted, “have you the list?”
Her reflection swirled like dirty water down a drain. A clouded face looked out, as if someone peered through a window coated with soap.
“Of course I have it, darling,” the mirror said. “Nineteen unmarried princes.”
Minty clasped her hands together, grabbing onto hope. “I only need one.”
“Yes.” Somehow the mirror drew the word out until it sounded more like ‘but’.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded.
“Four of them are old enough to be your grandfather and seven more have children.”
She bit her lip. “That’s not–”
Morgan cut her off. “Three of those are drunkards, two are diseased and one is an inveterate gambler.”
“And the seventh?”
“Prince Lothier has eight sons under the age of ten.” Morgan chuckled. “He’s had twenty-seven nannies in the last year and hopes a wife will prove a more permanent minder.”
Minty shuddered. “Eight then.”
“Two are from Upper and Lower Aureas.”
“Oh dear.”
“If I have it right, darling, Prince Zender is Prince Olver’s first and second cousin and his uncle. They both have the Mictivberg chin, I’m afraid.”
Another shudder shook the princess. “Six?”
“Prince Nimon is very keen on macramé, Prince Blaubard’s five previous wives all inexplicably disappeared, Prince Tirth–”
She raised her hand. “I’ve met Tirth. He talked about the average rainfall in the different regions of Verum. Prince Hal?”
“You know he’s nicknamed for his bad breath? No? Good Prince Vox is a paragon of virtue and a moral–”
Minty’s laughter drowned out Morgan’s words. “No and no,” she gasped.
“Prince Herac of the Panjan Desert is attractive, with a good sense of humour–”
“Perfect!”
“And four years old.”
“Morgan!” She frowned. “That’s all?”
“I suppose there’s also Clauv. He’s technically a prince, since his father is the Pirate King of the Patchwork Islands.”
“A pirate?”
“Young, handsome, fond of dogs, witty and well-read… It’s a shame you can’t swim.”
“I can learn.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Action and adventure! He’s exactly what I want!”
“He’ll need to attend your Forecasting Day. Make an offer…”
“Oh, that’ll be easy.” Minty grabbed her summoning bowl.
Morgan raised one shadowy brow. “That’s what they all say, darling.”