Plug Time - Tantabus, Do Your Worst - If You Give a Little Love - Drifting Down The Lazy River Sneak Peek · 2:59am Jun 1st, 2016
First and foremost, I would like to thank ABagOVicodin for recording a reading of Tantabus, Do Your Worst. For those of you would would like to get a reading of your own fic or just contribute to help send him to Bronycon, please visit his page and give generously. Since I can’t go this year, I’m more than happy to help somebody else.
While plugging, I’d like to thank Quillamore, who put together a writer’s workshop for Midwest Brony Fest this last weekend. I would never have the courage to get up on stage in front of a group, even though I write for a lot more people (Hey, you guys don’t look back). During the presentation, I promised I’d plug If You Give a Little Love, a sweet Babs Seed/Coco Pommel adoption story. Well worth checking out, particularly if you like the little Apple.
If you are interested, below the fold I’ve included a brief snippet out of the sequel to The One Who Got Away. It is just barely started, so don’t get your hopes up for a few more weeks/months at least. Still, my writing is fueled by the angst and agony of my readers, so here you go.
Drifting Down the Lazy River
Marooned by Fate
"We catched fish and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed — only a little kind of a low chuckle. We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all — that night, nor the next, nor the next."
— The Adventures of Buck Fin
It was one thing to consider running away from the orphanage when reading a book and marveling at how good a life the young pony in it had. As the shadows began to gather and the night birds emerged, it was a far different thing to consider while belly-deep in wet sand, trying to push a loosely-gathered collection of logs off a sandbar and back into the river. For the first few days, his trip had been a grand adventure. It had been fun hiding under the collection of loose brush and branches in the middle of the raft whenever a pegasus flew by, then prodding for the riverbed below with a pole at random times afterwards, pretending that he had some sort of influence over the course of his gallant ship. Well, raft.
There were at least a dozen logs making up the raft with four or five ropes weaving them together. They were not as big as most of the logs which occasionally slipped away from the lumber mill upstream of Tidewater, and which the local farmers tied up against the riverbank whenever they could be easily caught. These were long and straight, well worth the five bits a log he could have gotten when the chuffing steam tug would come every week or two to gather up the lost wooden sheep and tow them back upriver to the mill.
At the time, he thought this was a far better use for his carefully crafted raft. After all, boards and timbers held no interest for Turpentine, much like his hometown considered the value of the small earth pony colt who had no interest in growing turnips or beans. He was a painter, but not the way his home village preferred Painting was something they did with a broad brush dunked in thick white paint, using long straight strokes to give as perfect a surface to the house or barn as possible. Of course, not everypony in the village preferred a plain white house. Some of them were adventurous excitement-seeking rebels, who actually painted the trim… red.
Right now, Turpentine would have given good bits he did not have for a few of those lumbering art-impaired ponies to be pushing on his stuck raft instead of himself. He had his earth pony strength, but there was nothing to push against but wet sand. Without a shovel or a winch, he had heaved and dug as much as possible, leaving a muddy mess at the front end of his raft where it had plowed into the sandbar at the pokey top speed the river had permitted. What was worse, Turpentine had seen the collision coming, and had tried with every bit of his strength to pole the raft to one side or the other of the sandbar, which was large enough to have trees of its own.
Well, now it had a dozen more, only horizontal and naked instead of vertical and covered in leaves. He was well and truly stuck, and since the sandbar/island was in the middle of the river, it would take a strong swimmer to make it to either bank. He really did not think he was that strong of a swimmer, particularly since he had never swam anywhere he could not reach down with a hoof and touch bottom.
“Buck!” he declared in somewhat less than his full volume, despite the complete lack of anypony within hearing distance to criticize him on his language. It was probably not as bad as Waterhorse Crusoe being abandoned on some Ponyneighsian island far away from civilization, as if he squinted, he could see a tugboat pushing a barge upriver a good distance away. There was enough driftwood scattered around to make a fire, some thin sandgrass that should not be too bitter to eat, and the bushes on the island certainly should have some berries or tender leaves. It could be an adventure, even though he was rapidly losing interest in the appeal of adventure and really starting to long for his plain and simple bed in the orphanage.
About the time his fifth damp match spluttered to death in the pile of damp driftwood, that keening sense of regret for his previous life was getting difficult to ignore.
Night on the river was dark, with the long moonlit shadows of the sandbar’s trees reaching out across the glittering sand like long tentacles, making his muddy and sand-packed hide tremble despite the relative warmth of the fall air. “Buck” he muttered again before setting the remainder of his matches back into his somewhat damp collection of gear. Obviously, the mud and sand packed into his hide was causing the problem with getting a fire lit.
He had never liked taking a bath at the orphanage, but the claw-footed tub and the stringent brushing of Mother Windrow would have been welcome compared to the trouble he had wading into the river and squatting down to rinse out the worst of the sand. A brush would have been nice, and he even would not have turned down a bar of lilac soap if it had miraculously appeared next to him, but at least he could get out the worst of the embedded grime before wading back onto the sandy beach of the sandbar and promptly picking up even more sand on his hooves.
The lukewarm water of his river bath only sucked the warmth out of his skin, making Turpentine shiver as he emerged from the water. After a brisk shake to dry himself as much as possible, he picked his way gingerly over to the camp and the small crackling fire which was beginning to eat its way up through the driftwood he had optimistically piled up for the night. He had gotten nearly all of the water toweled out of his mane before a disquieting realization swept over him, and he stared at the crackling fire.
Maybe one of the matches was not as extinguished as I thought. Or not.
Turpentine took a long look around his campsite, seeing nothing in the darkness except the scrubby trees waving in the night breeze, the ripples across the river surrounding him, and the unspeaking stars looking down.
“Hello?” he called out, trying to look in all directions at once. “Is anypony out there?”
There was no response.
Ooo, the sequel looks interesting. Do let us know if you're looking for editors for that fic at some point.
What do you mean you can't make BC? I wanted hugs!
You just had to bring that to my attention while I actually have some spare change, didn't you?
Now to choose which story…
Wwweeee
One of my very very favorite stories is getting what looks like a great sequel.
Oh my. This is a wonderfully evil teaser. Consider the hype acquired on my end.
Thank you so much for your help, Georg.
3988367 Hey, think of it as I'm sending a sub.
I'm taking it in small steps. Maybe Everfree Northwest next year.
3990266 You're welcome. By the way, give Ferret a hug for me there
3988303 I'll add you to the list. I don't write very fast, but I do plod along, so it will happen eventually.
3988777 Thanks, I learned Evil at the hoof of the master.
3988513 The hard part is going to be writing *better* than the prequel. Gotta get on the tips of my toes.
oooooooooh hell yes, sequel <3 I'm gonna just squee like a mad thing over here~
Hurrah! a sequel to one of my favorite stories.
I look forward to reading this, I enjoyed reading of gabby's growth as a pony.