Better late than never...

I was visiting the blog Girls with Pens,
where they were discussing a new type of challenge for writer's.

Usually I participate in Nanowrimo,
an event that takes place during November in which you have to write 50,000 words.
For a wife and mother to four children, November has to be one of the busiest months,
and often the daily requirement of 1667 is not reached,
(although, I managed to win twice in the five years I participated).
This year, as I planned to work on finishing and publishing my current YA novel,
I realized that I had outgrown Nano.
So when I received information about the ROW80 challenge,
I started jumping up and down squealing in excitement,
(I did...my husband looked at me strangely...lol).

A Round of Words in 80 days helps writers to set realistic goals.
It also helps writers to make their writing practice part of their daily routine.
Round 3 started at the beginning of July,
and goes until September 22nd
Round 4 starts on October 3.

My goal is to edit five chapters a week,
a rather ambitious goal but I think I can do it.

If you want to join up check out Kait Nolan's post explaining it at
A Round of Words in 80 Days: The Writing Challenge that Knows You Have a Life.
Get your writing back on track--join ROW80!

Writing prompt #7 : So it has come to this.

I didn't get a chance to post something last week,
but I am here for Writing Prompt Wednesday. :D
A rather provocative phrase:
"So it has come to this."
Intriguing and titillating all at once. ;)
Same rules apply:
ten minutes,
free writing,
and no eidting editing. :)

********************************************

He was a man of honour.
She, a gem.
Often, at these social functions, she would pass by him in the narrow hallways.  Her perfume would intoxicate him.  He would try his hardest not to look at the curve of her neck or the way she balanced the strap of her purse on her tiny wrist.  He wondered what it would feel like to have her eyes on him--wondered if he would melt like Icarus' wings from her gaze.  Yet, it was not meant to be. 
She was above.
He was below.
The men of high society buzzed about her like bees.  This one offering her another drink.  That one laughing too loudly at her joke.  He tried hard not to watch--not to care.  But he did.  He imagined hovering around her eating the tinkling of her laughter as if it was ambrosia.  But his feet wouldn't take him to her.  His thick hands clasped the glass too tightly.  He watched the seconds pass on the grandfather clock.  Soon, it would be time to go home.
But first the dancing.
He held up the wall as he watched her.  Now, her cheeks were flushed pink as she glided across the room.  Her lips parted slightly with excitement.  He wondered what her ebony hair would smell like.  Would she trip over his large feet as they waltzed?
Then it happened.
The dance ended and everyone clapped politely for the small quartet.  The woman stood back from her partner, scanning the room.  He tried not to react when her eyes lighted on him.  Her lavender ball gown swished quietly as she strode over to him--so bold.  She grabbed his hand and he dropped his drink.
On the floor he tried hard to remember the steps.
"So?" Her voice was as smooth as chocolate.
He nearly tripped over his feet. "So..."
"So it has come to this." This she whispered so he had to lean closer.

Her hair smelled like joy...