Canon
Octavia undid the latch on the window and flung it open to get a bit of breeze going. Her second-story practice room got warm at any time of year, but the still mid-summer air was stifling. She’d broken a sweat already, and she hadn’t even begun playing.
From its spot in the corner, she carried her cello closer to the window, where she might catch some of the draft. It shouldn’t be a problem—the neighbor on one side always left for work at first light, and the foal on the other side didn’t take a nap until after lunch, so his mother wouldn’t mind. Maybe Octavia would even play some Horseshoepin, or “horse-shoppin’,” as the old mare from up the road pronounced it whenever she shouted up a request. She’d been doing that for how long? Since Octavia was a filly, anyway. Like any beginner, it’d been tough to let others hear all the inevitable mistakes, but now... she wouldn’t call it ego—just a quiet confidence that came with being a professional.
Octavia had to smile, but... it was the same thing yesterday, and it’d be the same thing tomorrow. She grabbed one of the stacks of sheet music off the table and set it on her stand, then put a fresh swipe of rosin on her bow. Time to warm up.
That was certainly a word she didn’t want to think about right now. Not warm. Time to... get into the flow of things.
Octavia quickly ran through all of the major and minor scales, then a few modes, even indulging in a couple of blues scales as a smile crept onto her face. She hoped her childhood teacher from a few doors down hadn’t heard that...
She craned her neck to see if old Pitch Pipe might be scowling up from the sidewalk as her hooves mechanically played through some scales by thirds—just another automated routine. Out of the corner of her eye, a bit of motion caught her attention: a gray pegasus mare had settled onto a bench across the street.
Wasn’t that one of the mailmares? She had a route to one of the smaller towns nearby, if Octavia remembered correctly. No telling where.
Anyway, she was sitting there bobbing her head like a fool. To a scale exercise.
Octavia stopped abruptly, and the mare kept patting a hoof against her knee for a few seconds before the smile faded from her face and she slumped lower in her seat. Seriously? A little giggle popped up from Octavia’s throat. How long would she wait there? Her mouth curling into a grin, Octavia watched the mare stick around for a minute, then shrug and get up from her bench.
No, don’t leave! Octavia hastily bowed a single note, and the mailmare plopped right back down and smiled. One sigh later, Octavia’s attention came back to the instrument in her hooves. Plenty of ponies would walk by and hum along or smile for a few seconds, but their business always carried them on somewhere else. Somepony... wanted to stay.
Octavia shuffled through her pile of music and found a light waltz, then flipped to the second page to get past the introduction. She played, slowly at first, but gaining a bit of tempo once the melody had repeated. A simple dance form, but popular. It shouldn’t be hard to follow. As much as she wanted to watch the mare across the road, Octavia couldn’t fight the urge to close her eyes anymore. This was one of her oldest pieces; she could play it in her sleep—and probably had. Visions of stallions in fine suits and mares in flowing dresses danced in her head, all stepping, bobbing, twirling over parquet floors beneath brassy, crystal-flecked chandeliers.
When Octavia opened her eyes again, the mailmare had her wings unfolded and was swishing them this way and that, in time with each downbeat. Twisting and swaying, wearing an immense grin, and attracting looks from more than a few bystanders. She reached her wingtips toward the sky as Octavia bowed the final note, then inclined her head toward some imaginary dance partner. What a sweet gesture! But did she even see the other ponies watching her? She must not even care.
Octavia hadn’t noticed the darkening skies. She’d picked out a fun little shepherd’s dance to play next, but a crack of thunder almost made her drop her bow. She rushed to the window to shut it just as the downpour began, and the mare outside bolted for shelter.
Shame. That had been kind of fun. An audience was an audience, after all.
With raindrops drumming on the roof, Octavia continued her practice. But every few minutes, she caught herself peeking out the window to see if a glint of sunshine had returned and if the bench was still empty. No luck.
Back to work, then.
Tossing back her last slug of coffee, Octavia opened her window again and leaned out to draw a deep breath—the air still had that musty scent to it from the overnight storm. Water continued to drip from the tiled roof, and she could hear it trickling through the downspouts. Each little breeze brought a fresh miniature shower of diamond droplets from the trees, glinting in the morning sun.
She headed back toward her music cabinet, but glanced over her shoulder at the street once more. The bench on the far sidewalk sat there, unoccupied. Maybe if she stared at it long enough... Ah, she had a job to do, even if the attention had been nice.
Tendrils of steam were already curling up from the roadway—it’d be best if she got her practicing done before it grew too hot. Octavia took up her bow and cello and started her normal warm-up—no, preparation exercises.
As she did every day, she meandered through her major scales—all twelve of them—then the minors, a chromatic, and a whole-tone. And a few blues scales. She glanced down at the sidewalk again, but no Pitch Pipe and his “that’s not real music!” glare.
Orchestra rehearsal was that night. Octavia opened her folder from work and pulled out a couple of the more difficult pieces. She might as well take care of those first.
After a good hour, Octavia was satisfied that she was familiar enough with them, especially since the earliest performance date was still two months off.
And her eyes strayed back to that bench again. Octavia was sure she knew that mailmare from somewhere. But when was it? This year? Last? She rubbed her eyes and sighed.
Of course! The dress she’d ordered last autumn from Rarity in Something-Or-Other-Ville! That mailmare had delivered it. She remembered seeing the name when she’d signed for the package. What was her name again? D-something. Der—Derpy? Yeah, that sounded right.
Octavia shook her head and flipped through her pages until she found a spirited rigaudon that was a personal favorite. She rocked back and forth while playing, practically dancing with her instrument as a wide smile stretched across her face. When the closing note sounded, Octavia looked outside again, and her heart leapt.
Derpy was coming to a landing on the bench, with a paper bag dangling from her mouth. She settled into her seat and pulled a muffin out of the sack. Taking her first bite, she closed her eyes, slumped her shoulders, and whispered something to herself.
Bouncing on her hooves, Octavia beamed and leafed through her sheaf of papers until she found a nice sonata—something with a lovely melody, but not too complex. From the first stroke of her bow, Octavia found herself grinning just as broadly as Derpy. The mailmare chewed her muffin in tempo and tapped a hoof with the beat. It sounded a bit empty to Octavia without a piano accompaniment, but no matter—it wasn’t like Derpy would know the difference.
How long had she even been coming here? Octavia hadn’t noticed her before yesterday, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. Even with the window shut, ponies could probably hear her outside if they listened hard enough.
Octavia reached the end of her piece and watched Derpy ball up her paper bag and throw it in the trash can. Derpy took a deep breath, bowed her head down, and closed her eyes, just waiting.
Octavia rubbed her chin. What to play next? Everything so far had been pretty mainstream—nothing objectionable, but not particularly exciting, either. Something modern, maybe. Derpy might even like it.
It began with a single drawn-out note, and Derpy perked her ears to the renewed sounds of music. Soon, Octavia was bowing two strings at once, double-stopping dissonant intervals. Odd progressions in no discernable pattern, bending strings to force off-key intonations, absolutely no sense of rhythm... She glanced outside again, and Derpy was scratching her head and had one eye halfway closed. She was even wobbling around a little, like she’d lost her balance.
Yeah. It sounded kind of like a colicky muskrat to Octavia, too. Maybe traditional styles bored some ponies, but there was an elegance to them, an intrinsic beauty. In fact, the older, the better—she preferred ancient polyphonic to almost anyth—
Octavia caught herself before her mind wandered too far. She did have an audience to entertain. An old madrigal might be nice.
She’d just located her dog-eared copy when Derpy looked up at the clock tower that loomed over the neighborhood. Derpy gasped and launched skyward.
Octavia’s face fell, and her shoulders slumped. After staring at that empty bench for a few minutes, she put her bow on the table. She pursed her lips and flopped into a chair. No—her sinking feeling didn’t make any sense. But still...
She imagined Derpy’s smiling face, saw it in her thoughts. Eyes squeezed shut, ears pricked. Head bobbing along, and that goofy smile on her face. Smiling like—like a—
That was it! Like a child!
How many times had somepony approached Octavia after a performance and spouted a bunch of jargon at her as if that were the measure of enjoyment? She knew what technique she’d used. She didn’t need a random stranger telling her that yes, in fact, she’d made a valid interpretation of the piece. She didn’t need somepony praising her for what, truth be told, the composer or the conductor had done. She didn’t need somepony shaking her hoof at the post-concert reception, intending only to impress the others in line with how cultured and educated he was.
What she wanted was somepony who would simply say she liked what she heard. That Octavia had made a difference, brought a bit of pleasure into somepony’s life. In the end, wasn’t that music’s purpose? To connect with somepony, make her feel what the artist feels? Sure, appreciation in all its forms brought satisfaction, but the simplest ones were its purest, most honest expression.
Derpy’s face, body, demeanor radiated undiluted joy: the smile that said she’d chosen this place over any other at the moment, the unabashed... dancing, for lack of a better word, that said she’d enjoy the music on her own terms.
Like a child.
Octavia propped her cello in the corner and sighed. She closed the window and went downstairs to get some lunch.
A good night’s sleep had made Octavia feel much better. Maybe Derpy would show up today and maybe not. But Octavia never tensed up, never felt the barrier she normally had to push through to draw that first note from her instrument. Instead, she leaned forward toward her music stand and smiled, ears twitching to catch the rich, resonant tone that would soon hang in the air. No taking it easy today. She’d play hard, and if Derpy—
She’d be here. Derpy could expect a good show today.
Octavia’s right hoof pulled her bow smoothly across the cello’s strings while the left worked a mellow vibrato from them. A nice, slow movement that invited thought and danced on the air in some sun-dappled meadow she must have seen once as a filly. The melody strolled through the grass, reached for the sky, and answered the birdcalls in the treetops, finally bending down to contemplate itself in the stream. The sustained ending note tapered perfectly into silence, but Octavia left no room for a pause after the reverie, launching immediately into the caprice. As the bow flashed back and forth ever faster, the hoof on the cello’s neck applied delicate pressure, angling perfectly so that Octavia could double stop in harmony.
Let those arrogant unicorns try that without magic.
Her piece reaching its fervent climax, she executed a broad glissando and struck the bow hard behind her instrument’s bridge, piercing the air with an impossibly high, clear tone. Taking a minute to let her panting abate, she slid her bow over a block of rosin and wiped the sweat from her brow. She’d looked over to give the D-string’s peg a slight turn when her eye caught a bit of movement. Out the open window, Derpy had settled onto her usual bench and wore her usual goofy smile. She’d shown up! Well... of course she had. But Octavia still found that goofy smile mirrored on her own face.
It must be a nice little distraction from her life. Octavia chuckled to herself. Derpy didn’t understand. And yet she got it.
Octavia picked through her stack and selected an elegy. From the first stroke, a sonorous melody of longing sorrow poured from the second-story room. Love won and lost, a brilliant life shining, dimming, gone, a proclamation to those left behind—they all sang out, borne on the faint summer wind.
This piece was by no means new to her. Octavia could play it without a second thought. She peered out the window. What would Derpy think?
Derpy closed her eyes and knit her brow, rocking with the slow tempo. A wing unfurled and drooped, then the other, and she took an unsteady breath. And when the music had ended, she sniffled and folded her wings back before the feathered tips could drag through the dust. Within moments, the ubiquitous smile had returned.
Octavia reached toward her table again, but hesitated a moment. Derpy didn’t just listen—she felt, experienced... immersed herself. Octavia couldn’t leave her sad—something to cheer her up.
Next, Octavia moved into a polka, weaving a playful tune initially, then switching to a light pizzicato, plucking her strings with the edge of a hoof. She soon found herself bouncing along with the music and sharing her audience’s infectious grin.
Derpy’s head bobbed as she stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth. Her forelock flapped a bit behind the beat and continued for a few measures after the piece had ended. Giggling, Derpy sat up straighter and let her right eye wander up toward the sky.
Sad, happy... How about intense? Derpy wouldn’t soon forget what Octavia had in store. She started into a passacaglia, a long-time favorite from one of the first concerts she’d ever attended. Derpy would get a kick out of it! Just wait!
In her hurry, Octavia almost dropped her bundle of pages, but she spread them across her music stand and let out an inadvertent laugh. Derpy’d love it!
The opening strains established a simple melody, but Octavia soon became embroiled in increasingly complex ornamentations. A rather demanding composition—she didn’t know it from memory well enough. She’d have to read the sheet music on this one. Her eyes flicked from one line to the next, then over to the other side, top to bottom, the tip of her bow whipping across to turn the page during a brief rest. No time to soak up images—this one exuded power and speed. Linger a fraction of a second on the high note, watch that key change, bow this part toward the hoofboard.
She’d played through a dozen interpretations on the theme when she chanced a look outside and saw an empty bench.
What—?
A tingle running through her chest, Octavia let her hooves drop limply to her sides in the silence. She forced a grim smile and dropped her gaze to the floor.
Must not have been to her taste...
Octavia propped her cello, leaned onto the windowsill, and looked both ways down the street. A few ponies scurried to wherever they needed to be that morning, but she couldn’t find Derpy among them. She wasn’t in the sky, either—just a couple of the weather service regulars. No sign of Derpy anywhere.
Why didn’t she like that? No, no, that wasn’t the point. Octavia couldn’t predict Derpy’s reaction to every piece, of course, but... to get up and leave?
Octavia heard a knock from downstairs. She trudged out to the hallway and down to the foyer. Answering the front door, she was met with Derpy’s beaming face. Octavia had time to smile halfway before—
“I hope I’m not intruding, but that was wonderful! I heard Wynton Maresalis play that last year with the Canterlot Brass Ensemble. It’s a Sam-Mule Scheidt composition, right?” Derpy gushed, running a hoof through her mane.
“Yes...” What?
“Do you mind if I come in?” Derpy asked, stepping through the doorway once Octavia had nodded. “It’s interesting hearing it transcribed for cello. The string sound just brings something different to it.”
“How... how long have you been listening?”
Derpy shrugged. “A few months, maybe.”
Months!? “I... didn’t notice you there until a couple days ago,” Octavia said. A shame, that. She’d had... fun. For the first time in a while, she’d really had fun. And it could have been going on for months.
“I can’t play anything myself—believe it or not, I’m a bit uncoordinated,” Derpy said, her left eye heading down toward the front stoop. Even one day before, Octavia might have had to stifle a giggle. But today she smiled warmly. “My name’s Derpy, by the way. I’ve always loved music, and my parents took me to concerts a lot when I was little. You really do pick up a lot by being around it all the time.”
“My name’s Octavia,” she said, extending a hoof.
“Oh, I know who you are!” Derpy exclaimed, grabbing the proffered hoof with both of her own and giving it a thorough jostle before releasing it.
Octavia looked away and rubbed one forehoof over the other. “So... what did you think?” Where was that quiet confidence now?
“I loved it!” Derpy said, nodding vigorously.
“But...?”
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Derpy answered, flicking a hoof. “No but.”
“What then?” Ponies get used to hearing things a certain way on the radio. Derpy probably just wanted it to sound more standard, without the little flourishes Octavia liked to add. She cocked her head and nodded. “You can tell me.”
“The little bits you include to personalize it”—surprise, surprise—“are great!” Octavia caught herself nodding even harder before the words registered. And then came the avalanche, Derpy rocking on her hooftips all the while. “You know the part where it modulates into a minuet? If you slow it down a bit, it’ll sound more stately. And on the opening pavane—you’re already over on the G at the beginning of each phrase. I know it’s not written that way, but if you double stop with the C-string, it’d really make that note sing! Stuff like that—you should do even more of those touches that you already use. Make the music your own, y’know? That’s why I keep coming here. I’d just listen to the radio if I wanted same old, same old.”
Like a child, huh?
Octavia stood open-mouthed for a moment before grinning and gesturing toward the couch. She couldn’t help but chuckle. An exuberance to her passion that was still... well, childlike. Octavia stopped by the kitchen to put on some tea before joining her guest in the den.
Sonatas, etudes, rhapsodies... she’d played them each for Derpy. But through it all, Octavia had really been playing a canon: a theme carried by one voice, then passed along to the next. Time for Derpy’s voice to take up the theme. Octavia sat on the couch and bowed the first few notes of her accompaniment: “Go on...”
This was going to be interesting.
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Octavia's my favorite, and I really believe you did her justice in this one. Thank you.
Not sure if I'm getting as much out of this story as its potential might have been. Some of the phrasing and construction in the earlier sections felt a bit awkward to me, and I noted some instances of what I felt were superfluous commas. I'm also not sure I agree with the narrative voice sounding like Octavia's, but that's all headcanon, so it's not really subject for debate.
That said, I think this story has a really great theme. I'm kind of in two directions about it—on one hand, when we're contemplating the extemporization of a simple occurrence or set of occurrences into a larger, more thematic meaning, I feel like minimalism is almost always better because it lets us draw out that meaning in a more natural, personal way, and there's some extra description or contemplation in areas here I could do without. On the other hand, the explication is almost all internal, which makes sense. I feel it fits better in that light, though my personal preference is towards a more poetic analysis of the material, rather than what we seem to be led to believe is Octavia's somewhat clinical observation of a wholly personal phenomena.
The jargon didn't really add much to the piece for me, aside the delightful title usage which I think is wonderful, and very fitting.
Derpy's introduction as an character rather than a narrative element also felt awkward to me, though that's possibly further headcanon intruding. Something about the pace of the dialogue just felt forced, I suppose.
Either way, a good read, though something I'd be interested in seeing a slight angling of approach towards. Looking forward to seeing it go up on the TVS.
Apologies if my unsolicited feedback is bothersome at all.
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No, it's always interesting hearing others' take on something, as even an interpretation of a character that I hadn't considered or wouldn't use myself contains some nugget of insight that will be useful in other stories. Even if you have a different vision of Octavia's voice than I do, it's another vector for character development that I could apply to her or someone else. Thank you for your thoughts.
Your comment about the description or contemplation that you'd like to see toned down is something I had to work on. There were some very blunt thoughts in there before, and Mystic immediately jumped on them as something that felt like a giant neon sign telling the reader that he was to notice this point, dammit.
And the dialogue at the end was something I struggled with. The original version was very terse and rushed, and Chris took issue with a couple of aspects of it, so I'd already reworked that part once. And sometimes it takes more than one try to get it right. Or two. Or three. I'm curious what exactly you mean by the character versus narrative, though. Is it that she worked better when she was some external thing that only the narrator had access to? In that case, would you have liked it better if their interaction were summarized by the narrator instead of presented "live"?
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Well, before Derpy was introduced and used to speak, or rather when she stopped being an element to Octavia's contemplation and was given an attempt to realize herself as an entity (I'd say 'person' but we're working with equines here), it feels like she fell flat. Specifically because her dialogue was absent of any notable personality (the Derpy in my head is 'child-like', as you've used liberally elsewhere, but not in her speech here), and fell kind of flat. It didn't do a great deal to advance the story either - her exchange with Octavia may as well have been 'and finally they spoke' - as a result, she's still a vessel for the advancement of the story's contemplation, but she doesn't feel organic.
A bit of the difference in opinion definitely comes down to style: I love short snippets of everyday life like this, but I enjoy them when they're minimalistic to the point of forcing the reader into contemplation, or when they focus on the poetics of the mundane. This is kind of in between, and I think it is something that could work well, but it needs to feel more organic than it does in parts. It was specifically bits of the information (which looked like remnants of the necessity of jargon in the original story) and the interaction at the end that faltered for me; I think the epiphany Octavia's led to is a worthwhile one, but her route to reaching it could have been gentler.
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Persons don't have to be human, though. I'm not really sure where the idea that they do came from.
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In its colloquial usage, and referenced by the show, we often use species designations for singular entities rather than one that's common among humans.
Ahh. There was me lining up to say that the jargon was making it difficult to enjoy. I know nothing about music and found myself getting pulled out of constantly because I had no idea what most of it meant (even though it didn't necessarily matter to understanding the work).
That aside, the thing that really sprang to mind was a rule (more of a guideline, really) I picked up from one of NorsePony's blog posts on writer's tips: make sure every character wants something. Some of the description for rather forced because it seemed to be covering up for a lack of underlying direction, as if my attention had to be micro-managed because there was no overall course set. With a little more empathy for Octavia's drive, much of the indirect monologue could have been skipped and the engagement raised significantly—something I could relax into. Too much effort was spent making sure that I was thinking what the author wants me to think, and it makes prose rather stiff and tiring for the reader.
In fact, I recall a lesson from a book that said to remove such things and see if the core concept actually had more power that the author thought it did. For example, the inner monologue 'No, don't leave!' felt harshly out of place. The slightest of physical cues and a resumption of play would have made the case much more powerfully, but the monologue itself comes off as having the intention driven home rather brutishly. Much of the monologue felt the same when I read it, and by the time the twist came, I just wasn't in the mood to be taken with it, yet I think in many places it the story would have worked better by simply removing them.
-Scott
Having some music experience, yet none of the detailed work. There is something unique about music's language. When you hear it, no matter the form, when you listen, you learn and love in your own tastes and views. One may know it in expertise, one may know it in love of song, yet to find that synergy, that harmony, is all together rare.
But a lovely short, it was.
I thought this was very well done.
to a more three dimensional personality and I think you did masterfully in that regard. 
I especially liked the fact that you subverted the expectations people had for Derpy and Octavia. Ignore any comments about characterization. The whole point of this piece is transforming Derpy from a
I can't see how the language turns people off. This is probably because I grew up in a musical family, and the terms were familiar; so I can't tell if your terminology detracts from the story or not. I personally liked it, because it added authenticity to your Octavia and made the change of her perspective of Derpy more drastic then it would have been otherwise. All in all this was a wonderful short. Have a 'stache!
One thing I found really interesting is how Octavia's thoughts about how she wants others to just say they enjoy her music, rather than ramble about jargon, is almost exactly opposite from how I and many other writers want others to comment on their stories. While "I love it!" feels good, nothing beats an intricate, detailed comment.
And then, of course, greatest of all is a positive comment full of understanding as well as suggestions for improvement... which Derpy then gives. I know nothing about music, but through the characters' emotions and actions, I was able to relate it to something I did know about. That bit of parallel commentary was delightful.
I often think of a story's like/dislike ratio as a view-weighted factor of audience-perceived quality. Thing is, it only really works when conceived as a fraction.
This story has no dislikes. I really really wanted to dislike it just so that it's like/dislike ratio would make mathematical sense.
So me pressing the like button counts for a lot more than it usually does here. Good story.
Welp. This is my new headcanon for Derpy. And possibly Octavia as well.
Well done, mate. Really well done. A delightful little read--you've worked your way into Octavia's head rather successfully. Like with Derpy's critique, I have no complaints, really. Short and sweet, bit brimming with emotion, and a good smattering of comprehensive musical knowledge that made this seem all the more "real". Kudos.
It looked into a deeper side of Octavia than many of us dare to tread, and it very much applies to all artists. The question that we all have asked ourselves at some point: Why do we create?
I can only speak for myself, but I think that whatever reasons you have hidden away are with good intent.
I enjoyed this, my friend. Cheers!
I don't think I've ever before seen those two characters interact in a fic. Awesome story you did there. I think what really made me REALLY LOVE instead of "just" REALLY ENJOY this story was Derpy's unexpected knowledge of music. It's a nice little touch that really does it for me, like Fluttershy's knowledge of sewing in-canon.
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I'm not sure what you're saying here.
This was wonderful. Speaking as someone who plays cello for a living, it is refreshing to read an Octavia (and Derpy in this case) story that really seems to understand the music, the instrument, and most importantly, why they are played the way they are! Bravo
Oh, I liked this! 'Cause I'm like Octavia, I know all the theory and stuff (Bachelor of Music Ed FTW), but that's not the point of music. Those are the tools and techniques; the point of music is to take in the beauty that has been written and make it our own, to make a kind of glorious dance between the composer and the performer. And we should, like Derpy, use knowledge to enrich our enjoyment, not weigh it down and make it stuffy.
I loved the twist of Derpy having in-depth knowledge of music and music theory. People should not be ashamed to squee over suspended chords and picardy thirds. (We did a recent piece in choir this year, "The Dark Night of the Soul" by Gjielo, and I was bouncing up and down, going, "Oh my goodness, it ends with a plagal cadence, that's so perfect!" and maybe one person understood my fangirling. It was sad.)
Also, I like this line: "An audience was an audience after all." It's true! I've done a few concerts where there were more of us in the choir than in the audience, and you know? It doesn't matter. An audience is an audience. If we make one person's day, that's worth it.
Anyway, thank you, I loved it.
Knighty needs to add a "friendshipping" tag.
I appreciate all the comments and votes!
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This was somewhat of an indulgence for me, which will likely limit its audience, but I did want to capture that feeling of making music. I used to compete in performance and composition in high school, and while I chose another route as a profession, music is still a cherished hobby. While I rarely play anymore, I still have fun writing music, though mostly for choir these days.
This one's for the music lovers.
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Yes, detailed feedback is more useful than a simple "I liked it." But Octavia's in a position that she knows she's good, and is happier when she's managed to make that emotional connection with her audience. It's a fine point, and there are certainly more objective ways to declare a musician good than a writer. In the end, of course, writers and musicians alike would certainly prefer having it both ways: being told their work was appreciated, and getting a detailed explanation of why.
That was just awesome and adorable! I loved how Octavia wants to please Derpy a little more each time then Derpy confronts her with so much wonderment and attention to detail and musical knowledge!
Lovely, charming, sweet fic that had me smiling. I've had a rough few weeks, so this was a treat to read, and I needed something like this. So thank you. <3
As I was reading it, I was listening to some of my favorite string music. This, in particular:
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ASNMQwcbax8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
I think it was rather fitting background music for this story. ^^
Moderately short, but it still carries the feeling and impact of a fic thrice it's length. My interest in Octavia notwithstanding, this is probably one of the best fics I've read in a while. Definitely a favourite. Thank you for creating this marvelous story!
This is well written and deeply written.
OBJECTION
A madrigal is a vocal piece.
On-topic: awesome story, love reading stuff about Octavia, especially when the writer actually uses proper musical terminology
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A madrigal can be transcribed for any instrument. When a violin plays Rachmaninov's Vocalise, is it not still a Vocalise? Maybe not in presentation, but the transcriber wouldn't take it upon himself to change the title to suit.
I think it is very telling that Octavia would mistake Derpy's earnestness for some kind of child-like judgment-less enjoyment.
Gratifyingly good job with the jargon, old bean. :3
Ironic that this story, expressing a longing for simple appreciation rather than technical criticism, has pages of technical critique in the comments, but seems to be the only story on fimfiction without a LOL or a MOAR.
Still. Where do you get those wonderful commentators?
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Oh, I've seen you around Chris's blog. You know these folks well. A veritable rogues' gallery.
This was a beautiful little story.
I like your writing style. Simple start, a bit more info in the middle, a twist towards the end, and an ending that makes you think about it.
Gosh, the only complaint I have is that you called it a cello instead of a bass, but honestly, even the creators of the show think it's a cello, so who am I to judge?
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Really, I can't tell whether it's supposed to be a cello or a bass. Things become oddly proportioned when transferred to quadrupeds, so unless the writers care to name which it is, I'm not sure we can know.
Heh.
Pascoite's Canon.
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One of the writers called it a cello, but they clearly couldn't tell the difference between a cello and a bass. (They said it had to be a cello because of characteristics that both instruments share.)
I think it's a bass because you sit to play the cello but stand to play the bass, and Octavia is standing, and also because the slope of the upper C-bout and the direction of the tuning pegs suggest a throwback to the classic double bass violone. However, I had a whole argument with another instrumentalist who was firmly in the cello camp, and our conversation was inconclusive.
In the end, I prefer it to be called a bass, because I play the bass and am somewhat sick of people calling my instrument a cello. I can only assume Octavia is just as frustrated as I am by the discrepancy, whatever the actual identity of her instrument.
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I've certainly done that before... zeroed in on a technical detail and drawn a conclusion from it that the writers probably never intended or would even have the knowledge to include. I agree that the instrument's proportions are closer to a bass, but I'm not sure playing it standing is conclusive, since equine posture may well make playing many instruments seated problematic. In my mind, she can play all the strings anyway
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I just wish I could figure out how she does it! I have enough issues using fingers, but all she has is a hoof!
Easily one of the best slice-of-life one shots i've ever read.
In a word, genius.
I'm not familiar with most of the musical terminology in use here, but it was effective none the less. I was pleasantly surprised to see Octavia humbled by the end of it too.
For some reason this put me in mind of Rear Window, which is odd, because it's not a hitchcockian murder-mystery or even closely related to it.
But there's a scene, or two scenes, where a pianist plays and a woman listens to him playing, and it's the one thing that reminds her life is worth living. Just a scene that plays out in the background. Only this isn't quite like that either...
I felt it though. It was lovely.
This was good. You're pretty fluent in music talk
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I find that most people will develop at least one hobby to the point they achieve considerable expertise in it. Classical music is my thing.
This story started out as an experiment to see if I could make this much jargon work in favor of the story, in reaction to a piece someone I knew was writing where the jargon served no purpose but to let the author toot his own horn, as it were. There's a fine line between making jargon engaging and just coming across as showing off. People seem to enjoy it, so I guess I hit pretty close to what I was hoping to do. Thanks for reading!
And I thought your short version was fun. This was even more so.
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I've had fun expanding a lot of those minis into short stories, but I've had to pick which ones. Some just couldn't be expanded much without inserting useless padding, because the short version already says everything that needs to be said, but the ones I think can benefit from some additional space make for interesting explorations of what more there is to the story.
Link to the original? Would love to read it before this story.
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It's one of the chapters in my short story collection "Tales of Interest!"
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Thanks, will give it a read later.