Pony magic works in funny ways. Unicorns all have magic they can control. Earth ponies and pegasi have innate magic that connects them to the earth and the sky. And then there are more unusual cases. Pinkie Pie's supernatural senses, for example. And then there's Braeburn, who seems to have a rather unusual effect on other stallions...
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5w, 3dOh hey0 comments · 32 views
I finished a draft of a chapter for a thing.
Guess setting a timer for twenty-five minutes and just writing through it really works. I did it yesterday, and I did it today.
5w, 5dWell, that feels bad9 comments · 53 views
It's been nearly half a year since I updated The Book of Friendship.
Something is wrong with my writing work ethic.
12w, 4hChapter Draft Completed0 comments · 50 views
So, after a year, I finally finished a draft of a chapter in a story. Here's a little preview.
“So,” asked Boss. “We have a deal?”
Patch turned around and leaned back. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?” she asked, her eye narrowing.
Boss balked. “Excuse me?” she asked.
“Well, are you?” asked Patch.
“Uh…” Boss said. “No…”
“Hmm...” said Patch, taking another drink.
Boss opened her mouth to say something when another voice piped up next to them.
“Did I hear something about not being lesbians?”
Boss recognized the voice… but from where? She looked next to her and saw a short earth pony in a white bowler hat. Boss realized at a glance that he wasn’t just really short; he was a colt.
“Well?” he asked again.
“Hey, fuck off,” said Patch. The pistol by her floated just an inch off of the counter.
“Hey, hey…” said the colt, backing up a little. “I was just asking the young mare here,” he said, gesturing to Boss and smiling genially.
“Uhh…” Boss looked at both of them. “Did I miss something?”
Hope that's promising. It'll just be needing the usual proofreads.
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20w, 1dWhat I Wrote Today4 comments · 72 views
“Oh, dear,” said Frederic. “It’s worse than I thought. I guess it’s time for me to get out The Egg Timer again.”
“The what?” asked Octavia.
“It’s a little piano exercise I’ve devised,” said Frederic. “I set an egg in a pot of water on the stove, and I play the piece. It’s an extremely complicated and difficult one, or so I’m told by a fellow pianist. After I’m done with the piece, I see how the egg is. If it’s soft-boiled, then I can be confident that I performing acceptably. If it’s medium-boiled, then I understand I have to add another hour or two to my practice routine.”
“And then what happens if the egg is hard-boiled?”
Frederic’s face turned to the gravest expression of shock. “Well, then,” said he, “should it come to that, I must lock the doors and close the windows, and confine myself to a full, solid day of strenuous piano exercise.”