"Sundance, it's time for bed." 

"Do I hafta?" 

"Yes, you do." 

"But I wanted to say goodnight to my mom." 

"She's working a double-shift." 

"Aw po—" 

"Don't you say it, you little goof. Get in the bed." 

"Will you tell me a story?" 

"Have I ever told you about the first pegasus?" 

"No." 

The bedsprings creaked. 

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Much to Sundance's surprise, Carnation Nosegay and Paradox trotted up together to replace the departing trio. Rivals, by any and all eyewitness accounts, and yet they seemed to be pretty friendly at the moment, laughing and giggling as they were. Carnation hesitated for a second, inhaled, and then committed herself to becoming muddy. On the other hoof, Paradox didn't hesitate at all, and this made Sundance rather thoughtful. His cousin was a clean sort, fastidious, but living here in

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I don't share these often, but when I do, they're usually awful. No, I don't need helpful criticism such as, "Hey, those look a little unfinished." Or, "Maybe you should make a few more passes before you post that." Oh, oh, OH! The ever-so-helpful, "That looks like all telling and no showing." People are so helpful. But, every so often, I feel brave (or hopped up on the Devil's Jitter Beans) the migraines of the past don't feel quite so threatening.

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Let me tell you a story.

Wait, I'm already doing that, and it's become a problem.

Let me explain what's going on.

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Sundance was lost to aghast silence as he gazed upon the terrible beauty of Princess Cornlestia. An alicorn, with an emphasis upon the corn part. Her beautiful wings and feathers? Corn husks and corn silk. But it was her smile that captivated him most of all. Corn of all colours, from blue to white, formed her teeth. Try as he might, Sundance could not look away from this corny blaspheme. It would haunt him for the rest of his days, this shellacked monstrosity made of corn-leavings. Her

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Here's a fun little thing I researched while doing city design for many of my settings. In Beantown in particular, it's problems might actually be caused by the spooky, creepy asylum that sits within the heart of the city. And that's an apt metaphor, because the canals are very much arteries.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Broken_windows_theory

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From deep within Sundance's nose, there came a ticking. It was one of life's great mysteries, the ticking that could sometimes be heard within one's own nostrils. Sometimes, it drove him to distraction, because it happened at the worst possible moments, such as when he took a test. Currently, it was a minor annoyance that kept him from breakfast. Tick. Tick. Pop. Tick. When the pop happened, the slight variation of the sound, his right ear jerked. It was almost as if he happened

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From deep within Sundance's nose, there came a ticking. It was one of life's great mysteries, the ticking that could sometimes be heard within one's own nostrils. Sometimes, it drove him to distraction, because it happened at the worst possible moments, such as when he took a test. Currently, it was a minor annoyance that kept him from breakfast. Tick. Tick. Pop. Tick. When the pop happened, the slight variation of the sound, his right ear jerked. It was almost as if he happened

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It was right about now when the trouble started, by Flax of all creatures, who turned to Hollyhock, looked up at her, and said, "I gotta go potty." 

Not yet realising the trouble about to happen, Hollyhock replied, "Baby, do you need to go potty?" Which was the standard shock response made when a foal had just asked to go potty. Why this happened to be remained a mystery, one studied and contemplated by scholars, sages, and occasionally, when he was bored, Discord. 

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Litany

Class: Bard (scholar subset)

Tribe: Unicorn / donkey

Str: 8
Dex: 7
Con: 9
Int: 15
Wis: 15
Chr: 16

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Willpower: 8 

Magical fortitude: 6
Magical aptitude: 3
Magical output: 2

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But my editor seems to be MIA. My apologies.

Nothing too terrible, but the current chapter(s) are giving me fits. Okay, the rundown. There is an extended scene involving flight. Which means Sundance is up in the front. His eyes are forwards, as it should be. Yesterday, I deleted several thousand words because they were awful. Everything felt very telly and not enough showy, because I fell back on just telling the reader what was going on outside of Sundance's field of awareness. I don't need to tell you why this is a problem. So I

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“We are good to go,” Paradox said to Sundance as he performed his own pre-flight check on his harness. “I cast a spell on our hooves so we don’t fall out. Hennessy has his scary mask and I packed a picnic basket full of snacks and high energy foods. We’re ready to begin our bombing run.” 

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“Well”—Pinkie stretched out this word until it was as long as a sentence—“you still gotta say that you’re sorry. That’s just how it is. Even if it doesn’t fix things. It’s how you start, see? Sometimes, sometimes we don’t say we’re sorry… for whatever reason. Sometimes we just expect that we’ll be forgiven. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a Pie Sister, it’s that we can’t take other ponies for granite. Saying that you’re sorry helps to smooth over hurt feelings.”

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“Processing?” asked Sundance as he was led into what appeared to be a mad scientist’s lair. There were machines here, odd contraptions that he couldn’t recognise, and the walls were covered in curious crystalline growths that pulsed with unnatural light that made his eyes ache. “Processed into what?” 

“Twilight’s safety must be ensured,” was Moondancer’s clinical response. 

“I assure you, I’m harmless. Well, except for maybe how I smell.” 

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I write something and then I go back and read it, and then I worry about the fact that I wrote it. It just sort of flows out of me while I am channeling, and I don't think about it much. But then I read it, and uh... sometimes I scratch my head over what falls out of my brain.

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Though somewhat bitter and medicinal, the tea was still eminently drinkable. Sundance found it soothing, and halfway through his first cup, the jittery sensation subsided a bit. The fog that dulled his senses parted and the blessed sunshine warmed his body—metaphorically speaking, of course. He sat in a worn wooden chair, his eyes closed, with his steaming cuppa held with both wings to keep it steady. 

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