• Member Since 19th Feb, 2012
  • offline last seen Dec 14th, 2020

Brony_Fife


A simple writer with complicated taste.

More Blog Posts220

  • 195 weeks
    in need of an editor

    Making a new story, set in the Equestria Girls universe. But I need some extra eyes and opinions.

    -Must be open to frequent pestering by me (ngl, I'm probably gonna be talking to you once a day)
    -Must be able to do a thorough check of little things like spelling errors and such
    -Must be brave enough to challenge the stories in general, ie, questioning my decisions for the story

    Read More

    0 comments · 225 views
  • 195 weeks
    anybody still alive here?

    honest question, because i missed you all

    17 comments · 330 views
  • 196 weeks
    HOHSHEET

    SOME ONE EES BAAACK

    HOHLEESHEET

    But yeah, I'm poking my head around here again. How has it been? I know some of my friends here have moved on from ponies, and with MLP moving in new directions I can't help but wonder where this website will go in the future. I'm already planning something new to write, so I hope it'll at least get some eyes on it.

    Happy seeing you guys again!

    6 comments · 271 views
  • 358 weeks
    Words Are My Enemy

    Ever since the hurricane, I've had trouble getting back into my groove. Just when I think I've got a good one going on, I lose it and have to work a day or so to get just my motivation back. My concentration broken, my spirit shuddering, I get back in this cold and threadbare chair of mine, forcing my fingers to dance on a keyboard that's losing letters, losing words. The rhythm my fingers dance

    Read More

    0 comments · 614 views
Sep
9th
2017

Words Are My Enemy · 8:41pm Sep 9th, 2017

Ever since the hurricane, I've had trouble getting back into my groove. Just when I think I've got a good one going on, I lose it and have to work a day or so to get just my motivation back. My concentration broken, my spirit shuddering, I get back in this cold and threadbare chair of mine, forcing my fingers to dance on a keyboard that's losing letters, losing words. The rhythm my fingers dance to is listless, graceless, losing contests of speed and precision.

I can close my eyes, crush them hard enough that wailing firetrucks spasm just behind my eyelids, squashing the images I'd had back into my mind's theater. Rushing the actors back to their places on stage. feeding them lines I'd forgotten. Giving them actions that no longer make sense. It's a shoddy production. I'm embarrassed by what I see, and my face flushes as I realize this is what I've created.

My fingers stop, suddenly. I open my eyes, the stage fading away, the actors and scenery fleeing, the firetrucks driving away. My lungs grab for any air they can get. I haven't breathed for what feels like several minutes. That's fine; I don't think I've lived for several years.

Then I look at one sentence, only one out of the pages I'd written, and laugh at its audacity. Everything else I'd written today? I wipe it all out. But I keep that one sentence.

Then I write a story about it.

The game begins again.

The Stardusters are coming.

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