What If...

by TheMajorTechie

Story pitch: Manufacture

Author's Note:

This story... hoo boy, things are probably gonna get meta. I've talked about this before if I remember correctly. Basically, the story would serve as an allegory to how I sometimes feel about writing stories: Sometimes, it doesn't feel like I'm writing for the sake of writing anymore. Instead, it feels more like I'm manufacturing a story, for the sole purpose of satisfying readers.

Throughout the story pitch, certain things-- the repeated use of "generic", the puzzle Twilight works on, and so on, define what often annoyed me when it came to forcing myself to write more when I didn't want to. The generic-ness represents the feeling of repetition, the loss of uniqueness of certain objects, settings, or even themes in a story as I continue to use them past what I originally planned for. The puzzle, in turn, represents the modularity of the resulting story, mass-produced words that fit together... like a puzzle.

This chapter is written to essentially be able to be read in nearly any order and still make just about the same amount of sense. Nothing makes sense simply due to how surreal things seem to be simply out of being too ordinary. The plot simply follows Twilight as she finishes a puzzle, vacuums the floor, watches TV, and heads outside, only to return indoors shortly after.

In short, this story is about how when I feel forced to write a story, things begin to be faked. Things become nothing more than pieces of a puzzle, manufactured story, emotion, lies, that are written out and fed to the reader who wishes to see continual new content, or even simply to sate an author's own inner drive to write, long after they've reached their personal limits.

But don't worry, that's not the case right now.

Also, I think I write too much Twilight Sparkle. Then again, personality-wise, I'm most similar to her, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Click.

Another piece snapped in place.

Click.

Twilight Sparkle leaned back, admiring her completed puzzlework: A tall, unassuming, and rather generic image of a coral reef.

She took a sip of her tea-flavored tea. Original tea flavored, of course.

She turned on her television, staring blankly as a generic cartoon about ponies began to play. It was her favorite show, and the only show that ever aired. The show was the weather, it was the news, it was the entertainment, it was the sport. This show that the mare loved oh so much was by far the most generic show to ever air on TV.

The mare pushed her couch to the side, paying mind to fit it snugly against the matching curve of her table. She wiped a speck of grey lint off the blazing white color of the couch, frowning as the lint then landed on the colorless carpet. She cantered away, returning minutes later with a rather nondescript vacuum, plugging it into a nearby outlet and turning it on. A high-pitched whine pierced the air for all but a few seconds as she vacuumed up the speck, before carting the vacuum back into her closet.

She returned to the room as the TV show turned its focus to the weather. A pony that looked like any other pony spoke in a toneless, emotionless voice, pointing at the usual forecast that had been broadcasted for longer than Twilight could remember: partial clouds, with a chance of either rain or sun later in the day.

The forecast ended abruptly, to no surprise. There was nothing else to speak of on the weather, after all, when any day was the same as the next.

A string of advertisements ran next, all advertising the same old stories written by a nameless, obscure author. How many stories had they written? Nopony knows.

The ads soon enough completed their usual cycle, returning the airwaves to the typical programming. This, of course, was Twilight's favorite part of the show.

"Welcome to today's random history facts." the announcer drawled on, slowly lifting a hoof to gesture at a sign.

Twilight squinted, focusing on the sign for a moment. It was mostly blank-- not much more than generic canvas, with some off-brand marker being used to write "History facts" across in a nondescript fashion.

"Today's history fact," the announcer continued, his image cutting to a stock photo of Canterlot, "on this day today, as with any other day in known history, Celestia raises the sun."

Twilight stared in awe at the dramatized reenactment of this morning's sunrise.

"Thank you for watching today's random history fact. We will now turn to our entertainment programming once again."

The cartoon about ponies returned to the screen. The blue pony was currently chasing the orange pony. Twilight didn't know their names; nobody knew their names. They were just known by their color.

The scene cut to a purple pony watching TV. Nothing happened for some amount of time.

Twilight turned off the TV and stood up. She stared for a little bit at the portrait of a pony. She didn't know that pony.

She walked outside and saw the solid green rolling hills of the town. The mailmare walked past and gave her an unlabeled letter. She already knew its contents, but opened it anyway.

"Thank you for your subscription to subscription mail services," the letter read, "You are our most valued customer, because all our customers are of great value to us."

She closed the envelope and gave it to the next mailpony that passed.

She wasn't entirely sure if the pony was actually a mailpony, however, because all the ponies that weren't in the TV show looked the same.

Twilight stared down the perfect line of pristine houses, all alike in build and color. An older stallion mowed his lawn to once more be the same height as his neighbors.

Twilight turned around and re-entered her house, pushing aside blank, generic drapes as she entered.

Comments

[AvidSeason]

You know.....besides the allegory, this could make for a good kind of Starlight Glimmer-type apocalypse.

[Jubilee Bloom]

Woah... this is cool.

Also:

She wiped a speck of grey lint off the blazing white color of the cough, frowning as the lint then landed on the colorless carpet.

I think you meant "couch" there. Unless she's got some really weird illness.

[TheMajorTechie]

9573787
Couch. Yeah.

[Zapper Frost]

What is with you and making depressing chapters lately?
Also, If i caused you to feel the way you described in the author's note in any way, I am sorry

[TheMajorTechie]

9574130
No, it's not you. It's just a sort of cycle that comes and goes every so often. It usually tends to hit more on my longer, serious/planned stories such as Pony-Me, mostly due to the frustration of not being able to make the story work out the way I imagine it to work.

Either way, tonight's and tomorrow's chapters will return to our usual comedy.

[Zapper Frost]

9574886
Ok, still sorry you have to go through with that though, although I suppose that's part of being an author
Also, YAY, HAPPY THINGS!

[TheMajorTechie]

9574937
Tomorrow night I'm gonna post a bot-written chapter.

[Dashie04]

I don’t know why, but this story reminds me of ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ by The Beatles. It’s about George Harrison doing the same old things every single day (“I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping”, and “I look at the world and see that it’s turning”). Even though this story doesn’t fit ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ narrative, it still reminds me of that somber tone over the same old same old.

During the entirety of ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’, after almost every line, George punctuates the line with,”While my guitar gently weeps”. It’s a great way of putting that as he goes the same old stuff, his passion is waiting, but he can’t always work on his passion. Thus, the guitar is ‘gently weeping’.

Although, I kind of overanalyze music, but this story still reminds me of that song.

[Nopro120]

This... is heavy

[TheMajorTechie]

11000594
:)