Daring Do on Hiatus · 4:41am Sep 24th, 2014
Ding goes the shadow beside the bed. It's a generic sort of sound—thrown together by an electrical engineer with better things to do. It's been thirty good years since 8-bit sounds and piezoelectric speakers were cutting edge, and still those sounds are the standard. Dings. Buzzes. Tones. Once they were a practical necessity, but now they're nothing more than a relic of the past. Thirty years and nobody's ever bothered to change the standard. Humans are like that. We forget why things are the way they are. We accept the status quo, and cling to it long after its lost its relevance.
Ding goes the shadow again. I can't tell what device it is from here. The sound is generic, so that means it's something I haven't changed the defaults for. I keep all my devices on a theme. The phone is Columbia, with the Songbird Call for its ringtone, and the vending machine clink for texts and alerts. The tablet is MLP, with a very sassy Twilight Sparkle as the background, and a few snippets from the music for alerts. The music is edited so it's not recognizable of course—I have a reputation to uphold. The laptop is well... off. And it doesn't ding in any case.
Ding. Just like that. Fine. So it's one of the two. Probably an app. Maybe WhatsApp or... Google Messenger? I don't know. Is the Google sound different? Maybe if I ignore it it'll go away.
Ding. Answers the universe. Marking another datapoint against my theory. Ding. Ding. Ding. Okay God, thank you. I got the point. You can shut up now.
The sounds continue as I stumble out of bed, staggering across the room for the light switch. I still haven't put away the air mattress, and it hits my foot in the darkness, flying weightlessly across the floor. I don't see it, but I can see the motion, and hear as it hits the desk. Finally, my hands find the switch, and the lights come on. I squint into the sudden glare, covering my right eye with one hand as I adjust.
Christ, this room looked better in the dark. How long has it been since I cleaned?
Another alert sound reminds me why I got up, and I make my way to the end table, pushing the air mattress aside with a foot. It's covered in crap: washclothes for my eyes, spare alarm clocks, tangled cables, loose paper, empty glasses, and no less than four water-bottles. I can't walk into a tech event without having one of those things shoved into my hands, but I don't mind so much at this point. The Google one is nice. Real brushed aluminum instead of cheap plastic.
Anyway, it's the phone. I pick it up and flip open the cover. My thumb types in the password. It's WhatsApp. Kumar, on the project team group. The message are flying fast now, but I manage to get the gist. We had a deliverable due tomorrow morning—or have a deliverable due in six hours. Of course, that arrogant little shit forget about it again. We really shouldn't have elected him group leader. But what was the alternative. Me? Hah. I'm not that much of a glutton for punishment.
Anyway, scrolling up, it doesn't look like it's so bad. Just a status report.
"Alright," I say, holding down the voice recognition button. Samsung, right? I've heard Siri is good, but, whatever. "I'll draft something up and send it around for approval." The little logo swirls for a moment, and then letters start to appear. It gets a few words wrong, "and sedentary around," but it's close enough so I send it without correcting. "ETA, 5 minutes," I add, and send again.
The laptop is on the desk, so I yank it open and hit the power button. While it boots, I step over to the window, edging behind the bed so I can reach the cord. I prefer the window open when I'm awake—the little room is too claustrophobic without it—so I give the cord a good yank.
And the lights of New York shine in.
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I'm sorry everyone, but Daring Do is on Haitus for the next few months. Business school has simply turned out to be way, way more effort than I thought. I shall resume it as soon as possible.
...I'm... huh. I have mixed feelings. On the one hoof, I am naturally sad about the hiatus. On the other, this is the coolest hiatus announcement I can remember reading. That was the idea, I assume? Anyway, good luck!
Ding goes the blog post, rocketing off at the speed of light across delicate strands of glass. The cold, iron-shod boot of reality has descended with a vengeance. There simply is not enough hours in the day for everything, and sacrifices must be made in these austere times. Hobbies usually are first up against the wall when cuts need to be made.
Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding go the notifications as fifty dozens of followers reply. They live in different countries. They have different backgrounds. Some are old enough to have already gone through similar experiences. Some are currently going through similar experiences. Others are young enough to have never experienced it. Regardless, their heart-felt replies are remarkably similar:
We understand. Take all the time you need and please do not stress yourself out. We look forward to your return after the end of the semester.
(Good luck with business school!)
Only GaPJaxie gives us a short story to announce we will see no more stories for awhile.
Good luck in school, we shall eagerly await your return.
New York's a funny sort of place. I mean, when you actually get a chance to stop and look at it. Normally, you're cramming yourself into tight subway cars, awkwardly avoiding eye contact, the air so thick with the heat and stench of other humans that you can't even expand your chest, let alone breath. But a night like this one... well. I don't have much of a view from this window, and I still haven't quite gotten used to the lack of stars at night, but, night's when you can really appreciate the bizarre, unsettling beauty of the city. It's alive, pulsing with energy, even at this hour. As if it were laying in bed, resting but wide away, wiggling its toes as each thought races through its brain at a mile a minute.
I guess I have Kumar to thank for this, being awake to enjoy the night. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to piss in his coffee tomorrow, but, small wonders and all. Nights in New York are nice. There's so many lights, and right now I'm really wishing the window had a better view. Oh well.
Of course, it'd be so easy to just blame the city for all this. The city's this evil, soulless monstrosity that sucks the life out of its denizens, rah rah, we should tear it down and start again. But that's just a convenient excuse. The people could leave. Go back to the country. Live sane lives where you work forty hours and raise your two-point-five kids. But nobody does that. Maybe they're masochists. Or worse, Stockholm victims. Maybe they have no options left, stuck here as the city sucks and sucks until nothing remains but a dried husk. I don't know what they're thinking. I'm not them.
It's not why I'm here—that's the important point. I came here with a goal, a mission, and you can bet your ass I'm going to see it though. Not just to finish this project or this degree. I'm thinking about the long game. This is a stepping stone to something greater, something that can really ignite my passion. Go ahead, world. Throw as many Kumars at me as you want to; I'll drink plenty of water.
But I'm not alone, though. As romantic as the notion is, of a lone rebel squaring off against the world—and let's face it, I love me some grandiose dramatic overtones—it just isn't true. It's such a weird thought, to be "alone" amidst a city of millions, but a million is just a statistic, right? No... my friends have been behind me, every step of the way, and each of them cares individually more than this entire town. It's almost infuriating, how I get that big stupid grin on my face and feel all self-conscious when they ramble on and on about how important I am to them. Infuriating and awesome. And infuriating. But I'm glad. Success is just a fleeting sort of joy, but friendship... Friendship is built to last.
New York's a funny sort of place. The city is asleep, and it's wake. I'm surrounded by millions of meaningless entities, and by a handful of people who mean all the world to me, and me to them. This project is nowhere near ready, but...
I put on my wrist brace and pour a fresh cup of Mountain Dew. Right. I am ready.
Whoot business ponies! I just finished my bachelors and am considering an MBA. How is New York? Philadelphia was too much for me but Denver and Seattle are both fantastic. Shame about DD although schools important and yada yada yada. I still have to finish what you have so far but I'm a fan so I'm excited. Just glad you're still in the game!
The drink pops on the way down, and I feel awake once more. I walk over to my laptop, which is still not beeping for some reason (Why isn't it beeping?) and tap the power button. As I await my desktop screen, I open YouTube on my phone. Twilight Time, my favorite one-parter. My thoughts are not being manipulated.
Ding. A brief message scrolls down from the top. "I'm sending over what I have," it says. Kumar says. I wait. "Ah ah ah ahhhh," the phone says. I sing along, but otherwise ignore it.
My laptop greets me with a flurry of pink, and for a moment I can only admire the scene. Pinkie Pie squinting her eyes, her entire being focused and ready to do whatever it is that she does. Write a report, I guess. For a moment, there is no Pinkie and there is no me, and in a flash I realize just why it is that Pinkie Pie is squinting.
An epiphany. Understanding in its truest of forms courses from spine to body, body to mind like an electric chill, thunderous euphoria in its most naked form: I should not have had Mountain Dew on an empty stomach. I should remember that for the rest of my life so I don't make the same mistake again. I grab the nearest of the water bottles and drink. Except all of the bottles are empty. Damnit.
I redirect my attention to my laptop once more and open Google Docs, the only sane way for college students to write a collaborative report. I begin typing out the title and immediately notice something off.
Why the hell did I put on my wrist brace?
I motion to take it off so I can type properly when I hear the devil's ring once more.
Ring-a-ding. A Kumarian message, this time in PDF format. I tap the notification.
Fuck you, Kumar.
No ooooooooooooo
But seriously, I've left incomplete stories untouched for months at a time, always ducking my head or looking away when people message me to continue them, so I can hardly fault others for doing the same.
So, take your time with business school. I just finished my masters degree not so long ago, so I know how stressful that can be. Let me know if you need any victims for a case study or some such.
Noooooooooooooooooooooooo, cursed unfinished stories!!!!
Well, good luck with school, which is also getting in the way of my secret agent Rarity story that I haven't uploaded yet.
2479024
So cool I might have to go on haitus again, just by popular demand!
2479059
Hee. Thanks.
I feel bad about the delay, but don't worry, the story isn't going anywhere. I still love it and have every mind to finish it as soon as I have a few free hours a week.
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Stand back, I'm about to be awesome!
2479178
I hate you so much. My post made my life sound all noir and cool. Then you told people I wear wrist braces and have, like, friends and stuff.
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Honestly? I don't know. All I've seen of New York since arriving is my apartment, the subway, and school. It's very dirty and crowded, I can say that much, but it is nice to have access to so many companies in short order. There's a number of times I've tried to set up a call with a firm and been told "We're just up the street. Walk over," and gone, "Oh... right."
2479268
Okay, now I hate you and Pav both.
Seriously, that's hilarious. Also totally the sort of thing "Kumar" (I changed his name) would do. That guy is so lazy sometimes it boggles the mind.
Well, at least now you know why I've been so bad about answering your emails. >_>
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Hey, thanks man. I was actually really worried about disappointing you when I did this. I really love your feedback, and the desire not to leave you (and the other regular readers) hanging made me put this decision off long past when I knew I really needed the break.
I'll bring it back as soon as I can.
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Curses, real life! Why do you hate ponies?
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Slightly, slightly disappointed. It would've been amusing for Kumar to google himself, and to come across a website of miniature equine enthusiasts, all of them wholeheartedly embracing the mantras of love, tolerance, friendship, magic, and FUCK YOU KUMAR!
"Haitus"? Again?
Way back when you also put I Forgot I Was There on "haitus", a week or so after I had found it. I think I commented on it back then, too. But I think I'm making progress, I only crushed one cup in my clenched fist this time.
2479779
Hey, I did finish IFIWT!
No, wait, don't use that comparison. Daring Do's ending will be good!
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Psst, sweetie, you misspelled hiatus.
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Oh, um, no need to go that far! :D
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This whole string is flat out awesome. You all are very good writers, even when tag-teaming, and this is one of the most entertaining blog post/comment threads I have ever read.
I'm not nearly as good a writer, but, at the risk of earning GapJaxie's ire...
***
I facepalm. Kumar, of all the times to slack off.... I rub my forehead, trying to ignore the vague headache I have developed from the lack of sleep, the bright lights, the Mountain Dew, and Kumar's last-minute antics. My mind wanders to the story of the purple unicorn of my imagining, lost in a life that seems to fall apart around her, struggling to maintain friendship in a world so fallen. I wish I could continue to write her story, instead of this lousy report. I sigh. I wonder about my readers. Will they be upset? Will they remain faithful, and come back to read when I return? Or will they have moved on to other things in life, forgetting all about Siren Song? Even so, I need the time. Of the two, school takes priority right now, whether I want it to or not.
With resignation, I log onto fimfiction.net, changing Daring Do from "Incomplete" to "On Hiatus." I sit there for a moment to think, and suddenly have an inspiration. I start a new blog post, to tell my readers about the update, and while I'm at it, I weave together one more story for the readers and followers; detailing a morning in New York, when I was so rudely awakened by an ordinary ding and an unfinished report.
Comments come back from many readers, some within minutes or hours, and some later on. But they share a common theme: support.
I can face this new challenge. Even though I may feel overwhelmed or frustrated at times, I have the support of my family, my friends, and, as a bonus, my fans. I will succeed.
2479572
Friends are strange things. One minute they're there, and the next they're therer.
2479577
I think you've got the wrong guy. You've always been quick to reply
Hopefully you can get one more fast reply in. I have absolutely no ulterior motives behind this one whatsoever. Nope.
Edit: This seems relevant.
i.imgur.com/iJ7hL0o.png
2481833
You know, somebody should collate all these posts, tidy them up, and turn it into a short little SOL one-shot staring Zipporwhill (or Rumble) as they write home to old friends still in Ponyville while pursuing higher education in Manehattan...
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Oh yes I will succeed.
I fought long and hard to get here. I fought to maintain my grades in order to get accepted in this most prestigious of schools. I fought hard to win the coveted few scholarships the Business Program offered. I fought through the selection process to win this downtown studio loft.
Constantly tested, constantly challenged, constantly fighting. And I won. I succeeded and came out on top. I met all of the challenges and adroitly defeated them. My old judo sensei would be proud.
I will face new challenges as the semester begins. This school is well known for its length, and breadth, and difficulty of its curriculum. A boot-camp crash course into the inner workings of the cogs of corporate America as it were. The dizzying heights of Matrix Management and the trackless swamps of Amortization by Defenestrated Capital Calculations loom large in my mind.
Yet for all its prestige and academic rigour, there is one thing the school does not teach. Cannot teach. No fresh-faced student here has ever had to deal with "real world" office politics and fighting.
Kumar may be smart, brilliant even, but he is a green academic through and through. He has never had to deal with the Byzantine intrigues and (character) assassinations so rife in interdepartmental fiefdoms in the "real world". I have and I got the scars to prove it. You learn all sorts of "combat skills" after spending the better part of a decade working in a large multinational before going back to school.
I am a grizzled, battle hardened veteran in a meadow of lambs.
Tappity. Tappity. Tappity. Tappity. Tappity. Tappity goes my keyboard as I begin to compose my reply to Kumar (BCC'd to the proctor and fellow team mates natch)
He wants to be a lazy bum and palm off all the work on me does he? Take all the credit with none of the effort? I see your game Kumar, and I know just how to deal with it.
I will give him exactly what he wants. Feed him enough rope to hang himself, let him paint himself into a corner and then BLAMMO! the house of cards collapses and thanks to meticulous CYA the blame starts and ends with Dear Leader Kumar. I have seen it done dozens of times before.
Child's play really.
Careful what you wish Kumar, you may regret it. Careful what you wish you just might get it!
I put the finishing touches on my email, check the spelling and grammar until all the red squiggles disappear, and adjust the tone of my message. I just want to take Kumar down a peg or three, not assassinate him.
Not yet.
I sit back and stare at the screen, musing over my life, the events that brought me here, poni, and that god-awful Mountain Dew aftertaste!
Ding. The phone's notification snaps me out of my reverie. Kumar again. He has sent an apology for the truncated PDF from earlier. Apparently his "internet crashed" and he lost all his work. This does not take me (or anyone else on the team for that matter) by surprise. These things happen on such a regular basis our whole team simply accepts it and plans around them. Kumar Katastrophies we call them.
The worst of it is I know Kumar is not simply a lazy tosser making lame excuses. The man has a lethal combination of earnest, well-intentioned enthusiasm and total ineptitude with all things computing; a real living example of Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord's Stupid/Diligent officer. I still shudder at the time I witnessed Kumar close our team collaboration software by yanking the computer power cable bodily out of the wall socket.
Fortunately, as team leader, Kumar was not in charge of anything critical. Once again the Dilbert Principle is proven true.
I cannot believe there was a time when I scoffed at the very notion...
I groan, pinch the bridge of my nose, and walk over to the window. I need to get my mind off Dear Leader before I say something rash and regrettable.
The view out the window still is magical even after all these months. The golden yellow of sodium vapour, the sharp blue-white of mercury, and the rainbow swirls of neon all glow back at me. It is easy to romanize the city as some sort of Disney ideal of crystal and light with a view like this, but that denies the gritty truth.
Like many developed cities in the first world, New York is a "5 metre" city. Everything looks perfect, pristine, and pretty when viewed from further than 5 metres. Up close is when you can see the dirt, the grime, the cracks, the trash, and the broken bits falling off the façade. Up here you see lights and glittering glass. You do not see (or smell) the piles of garbage awaiting collection. You do not have to hear the blaring vehicle horns or smell the exhaust fumes.
Yet for all its flaws and dirt and grime, New York in undeniably alive. Maybe some messiness is part and parcel of living? A religious man once told me "where there are no oxen, the manger is clean". He had a point. Want perfect order and cleanliness? Go visit a graveyard.
Ding. The phone again. My thoughts turn back to Kumar and my unsent email.
I am going to take you down Kumar. One piece at a time. You may be the leader, but I have the power. I am the éminence grise.
I turn the email over in my mind, checking for flaws and weaknesses. It is the first step to my plan, my coup de grâce. I take a calming breath and savour the thought like a fine wine.
This time however, the satisfaction is hollow, petty even. Is this really what I want to be? A conniving schemer?
I think back to my co-workers I left behind when I left for school. They had been playing politics and intrigues and look where it got them; bitter, cynical, angry, and perpetually frowning. Did I really want to end up like them?
I think back again to that religious man and something else he told me: "Love your enemies".
Seriously?
That is the kind of petty pablum pretty pastel ponies pontificate: fairy tales for little kids to get them to behave.
And yet...
And yet in a world so awash with fear and anger and strife and darkness a little kindness could certainly go a long way. Maybe it is not so petty after all.
I sigh and sit back down before my computer and recompose my message. No more character assassinations. No more evidence hoarding for a witch-hunt.
Ding goes the notification as I click "Send". Trillions of gates of refined sand bend to my will as billions of pulses of electricity course through them in a co-ordinated dance of staggering beauty and complexity.
I am a god and you are extensions of my will. Godspeed my digital Hermes...
2486994
That would be pretty sweet. We could even use section breaks to split segments written by different authors if we wanted to, telling the readers who wrote what.
2479178 Hey Pav, your turn!