Writer's Block

by cinnamonbuns

Rarity-Chapter 1

It started as it always starts, with a blank sheet of paper.

A pencil hovered above, quivering in anticipation.

Rarity frowned.

It started as it always starts, but something was wrong. Rarity stared into the paper, desperately searching for inspiration. But she saw nothing. Only white.

Rarity frowned.

Clack. The pencil was placed down onto the table.

It started as it always starts, but this time, when Rarity walked away, the paper was still blank. There were no sketches, no shapes, no frantically written ideas. No crumpled sheets of paper sat in the empty trash bin, no fabric littered the floors. Needle and thread were still cleanly put away in their drawers. Mannequins stood dull and lifeless against the walls. The inspiration room was rather sadly uninspired at the moment. It was blank. The only sign of distress was the faint wrinkle that stained the forehead of the white pony that stood in the doorway.

Rarity finally let out a sigh, ending the hypnotic silence. “Well, I’m most certainly not going to find any ideas if I just sit here feeling frustrated at myself for the rest of the afternoon.” She looked up at the clock with a grimace. “Good grief, so late already.” How long have I been working? One...two...three...four.... She snorted. Perhaps the term “working” was slightly generous. She let out another sigh. Never before had her work seemed this difficult.

Four hours ago, an eternity though it seemed, she went up into that room with confidence oozing from her pores. She was a pony on a mission. She had an entire afternoon free, and gosh darn, was she going to use it. It was time to make a dress. But she didn’t want any old dress. No, she was sick of the same-old, same-old requests she always got from her clients—ponies with less inspired tastes. She finally had a chance to unleash her full creative juices, and was she ever going to take it. She wanted something brash, bold and new. She was ready to take on any dress, any challenge, no matter how daring. She was inspired. At that time, fantastic ideas flowed through her mind like Neighagara Falls.

Now Rarity looked on this memory, and the pony there seemed like a stranger. In four hours, she had crumpled into a shell of the pony in her memory. How could she fall so far? What had happened? When she sat down and magically lifted her pencil, she tried to pick out an idea from her excited brain. Nothing came. Colors and shapes dashed frantically, creating an illusion of form, but a design was elusive. As time slowly passed, Rarity realized what was happening. She had nothing. For all her desires to create something brilliant, brilliance refused to present itself. Slowly her mind calmed, and then ideas seemed to cease entirely. She drew an endless blank, to her maddening frustration. She paced nervously for what seemed like minutes but must have truly been hours. In retrospect, maybe it was naive to expect to create something truly inspired by sheer force of will, but surely she could have made something, no? However, something never came. The hours rolled on maddeningly. The blank page mocked her. She fell into a trance....

Rarity pulled herself back to the present. “Dinner.”

Equipped with a goal, Rarity set off down the stairs. She whistled a tune to take her mind off of her troubles. “All I need is a good night’s sleep, and I’ll be fine tomorrow morning,” she reassured herself. There is such a thing, after all, as spending too much time thinking about fashion. Perish at the thought.

She opened the refrigerator. Oh, shit. I was supposed to go to the supermarket this afternoon. Ugh, if I hadn’t wasted so much time up there in that stupid room.... She snorted to herself as she perused what little food she had left to work with. Oh, well. Just a daisy sandwich tonight. Not so bad. I could go out. No, definitely not in the mood. I’d probably indulge myself too, and that’s just what I need after spending four hours sitting on my flank. She shut the refrigerator slightly harder than she’d intended to and jumped at the noise. Dear Celestia, I’m tense.

She tossed together a sandwich haphazardly and sat down at the table alone. Her thoughts drifted. I wish Sweetie Belle were here tonight. She sighed again. As much as she would never admit it to another living soul, she adored those occasional weekends Sweetie would stay at the Boutique. Sweetie always had a way of livening her up. She could use that right now. She felt positively drained. Her mind dawdled, and wandered back through her memories. She thought of times shared with her sister. She remembered the time when she finally caved and attempted to teach Sweetie Belle to cook. It took time, patience, and multiple fire extinguishers, but all Rarity could remember now was the beaming face of her sister when she finally cooked an edible batch of scrambled eggs. Rarity had never been fond of such a plain dish, but that morning was the sweetest breakfast she could ever remember eating.

She eventually found herself thinking about the time they’d participated in the Sisterhooves Social. That week was rough. She shuddered as she remembered the argument they’d had. “Maybe I’ll try the rest of my life without a sister!” She could hear the words as plain as if they were just spoken and still echoing in the air. She shook her head. Surely the most foalish thing I’ve ever done. What was I thinking? What could have possessed me to say what I did? I know I can sometimes get frustrated with her, and likewise her with me. But still... She remembered the day of the race, hiding in the mud, donning Applejack’s hat, running the race blind with the goop dripping into her eyes, desperately leaping for the finish line, and coming up short. She remembered the way Sweetie Belle hugged her after the race. She remembered the way her heart swelled. She could never give that up.

Sure, those occasional weekends were often filled with unnecessary bickering, drama and—ugh—noise, but that didn’t matter. They were sisters. They loved each other’s faults as much as they loved their gifts. They shared worries, fears, and hopes. They were in it for the long haul. They were constants in an unpredictable life. They were there for each other when they each needed somepony and they felt alone. Like tonight. Every night they were together they each went to bed with a smile on their face, because each of them brought a little bit of liveliness and joy to the other’s life during those weekends. Neither one would willingly give that time up for something as silly as a little bit of peace and quiet.

As she sat there quietly eating her sandwich, Rarity wondered lazily if Sweetie Belle ever missed her too. Her gaze wandered to a window and met Luna’s moon. It really was late. How did she let the time slip away in that room? She shook her head, trying again to stop herself dwelling on it. She thought about her sister again. Perhaps right now Sweetie Belle was singing herself a lullaby. It was a nightly habit Sweetie had picked up about a year ago, and one she probably thought nopony knew about. She would stand by her window and stare out at the stars, and just let her voice go, softly for nopony but her to hear. Sometimes she sang songs she heard on the radio, or in the schoolyard. Sometimes she sang songs that she wrote herself. Sometimes she didn’t even sing words; she’d just hum a pleasant tune off the top of her head. Rarity didn’t know why she did it. Perhaps she had trouble getting to sleep; perhaps it was just a little exercise for voice practice; perhaps it gave her the same joy that listening to it gave Rarity. Rarity often liked to stand outside Sweetie’s door, on nights when she was at the Boutique, and listen to her quietly serenade herself to sleep. Rarity knew that her sister would be mortified and furious if she knew what she did, but she couldn’t help it. She’d shed a few tears standing outside that door. That foal had a gift. Nothing else in Equestria compared; nothing Rarity nor anypony else could ever create could be so beautiful. Nothing so beautiful as that voice.

Rarity exhaled gently, with a hint of pride. She finished off the last bite of her sandwich, and she felt much calmer than she had mere minutes ago. Yes, she would feel better in the morning.

She trotted calmly up the stairs, pretending to hear Sweetie’s voice wafting up gently from the end of the hallway. It calmed her, even if it wasn’t really there. She slipped quietly into bed. Evening seamlessly drifted into night, and the day ended without splendor.

* * *

Fashion wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination easy. It required intimate knowledge of technique and form, as well as a healthy dose of creativity and freedom. Rarity had spent her whole life developing this intimate knowledge, and although a lady must always be modest, she considered herself quite keen on the intimacies of her particular art. She knew how to stitch, how to sew, how to mend. She knew what colors blend well, and what designs come off too blocky or obtrusive. She had made nearly every mistake there was to make as a designer, and as such knew the intimacies of design better than most.

Yes, Rarity was confident that she knew how to make a dress. So why could she never remember it being this hard?

For the second time the pencil fell lifelessly back to the paper without so much as a line being drawn across the paper on which it sat. A gruff Rarity exited the room, visibly frustrated at her own inhibitions.

With nowhere else to go, she stormed off to her room and sat down with a glass of tap water. Think, Rarity. How does this usually work? I’ll go off to that cursed room, and leave with something, a sketch, an idea. Anything. Where do I get it? It just comes to me. Why isn’t anything coming to me now?

She walked up to her closet, hoping to find something to spur her memory. Her eyes fell on her gala dress first. She smiled at the memory of that night. Memories of frustration of a different kind. Blueblood. At the time, she supposed, she would never have expected herself to one day look back and smile at this particular incident. She kept that dress as a reminder of her own naivety. It represented an impossible future, where she’d married the prince that existed only in her dreams. Where she designed for goddesses by day and threw garden parties by night, and every evening came home to her loving husband, who loved and cherished and protected her. Bah, she thought at the stubbornness of her old dream. The dress burned crimson, at the time meant to exude her passion to all ponies who laid eyes on it. Now the color was still fitting, but ironic: the same one that burned in her cheeks at the memory of her foalishness.

Her eyes drifted down the row. There were dresses for every event. She had dresses to wear for breakfast, lunch and dinner; dresses to wear to parties, events, and nightclubs; dresses for sport and dresses for relaxing; dresses for friends and lovers; dresses for first dates and dresses to be worn when looking for a date. She had dresses inspired by her friends, inspired by her dreams, inspired by books she’d read and songs she’d heard. Extravagant and simple, colorful and muted, frilly and plain. Surely there were beyond infinite possibilities. All she had to do was put pencil to paper, needle to thread. She closed her eyes, and she saw nothing.

What could be in a dress that hadn’t been worn before? Did the world even need more? Surely there must be something left of value in that ceaseless void of untapped possibility.

She closed the closet and took a relaxed sip of her water. Think. I could make a dress for anything; it doesn’t have to be world shattering. She looked in front of her nose. A dress inspired by a glass of water. Simple, smooth, clean, refreshing, relaxing. Dull, uninspired, boring. Ugh. This was getting worse. That was the worst idea she’d had yet. She stamped the glass back down onto the table and left her bedroom. There was no inspiration there.

* * *

Opening her refrigerator again, Rarity was reminded of her lament from the previous night. “Food,” she said to nopony in particular, “I need food.” Groaning, she raised her head to look at the clock. She wouldn’t open her shop for another hour. “Well, I suppose if nothing of value is going to be done here today, then I may as well go out to get something done, no matter how menial.” She lazily put together a shopping list and gathered some bits in her saddlebags. She took a look in the mirror. She gave a false smile at her reflection and gave her finely tuned hair a small pat to make sure it stayed in place. Reliable as always. She took a deep breath and stepped out.

She walked with purpose, as always. A lady never dawdles. She gazed up at the sky. It was quite a fine day. The fresh air filling her lungs was alone enough to lift her spirits a small amount. Yes, it felt nice to have something easy to do for just a little while. Maybe a dress about nature.

Rarity frowned in thought. Green like the Everfree. Blue like the sky. Brown as the dirt under her hooves. Thoughts scattered in and out of her mind out of control. Her frustration redoubled as she realized that her troubles persisted. She had ideas, but frustratingly couldn’t materialize them. How does one put the sky into a dress? Sure, it’s blue, but what about the feeling? Rarity realized she’d never really thought of that before. Design and emotion went hand in hand, inseparable. What was the inexplicable bond that bridged the cloth on her coat and the intangibles that it inspired? What of the sky? Sleek, airy, light. A dress slowly coalesced in her mind’s eye. But it was nothing. It might as well already be hanging in her closet back in her home. It was the same as a million other dresses made before. It lacked the emotion that she got when she looked at the sky: joy, calm, awe. How does one make that into a dress? It was then that she realized that she wouldn’t settle for just another dress. No, that’s not what this was about. She could, if she wanted to, go home and make that dress. It was fine. It would take a couple of hours, and she would begrudgingly put it on a mannequin and somepony who didn’t know what they wanted would buy it and it would be mediocre and she would live to make another dress. No, she didn’t want that. It was time to make something worth making. Oh. It. Is. O—

“Hey Rare’!”

She was snapped out of her whimsy abruptly by the voice of Applejack.

“Fancy seein’ you ‘ere.”

“Oh, yes!” she took a second to process what had just pulled her out of her train of thought. “Applejack, darling, it’s been too long. I daresay I haven’t seen you here out in Ponyville since our last group pet playdate in the park.”

“Ah, yeh, ya’ know how it is. Been busy at the farm, same’s always.”

“Yes, yes indeed. My, my. I need to get you out here more often. We need to catch up!”

“Yeh, ah know. It’s just almost gettin’ ‘round ta zap-apple season, and you know how crazy that all can get. Ah just came out to get a few satchels o’ flour an’ whatnot for the pies.”

“Oh, yes, I understand completely. You do what you must, Applejack, don’t let me keep you. Oh! But I just so happen to be on the way to the supermarket myself! What a fantastic coincidence. Come now, let’s walk and talk.”

Rarity donned a genuine smile as they began to trot. Her mind was already a million miles away where it had been moments earlier. A nice chat was just what she needed to get her spirits up a bit. And it really had been far too long since she’d had a good chance to chat with Applejack, just the two of them. She gathered herself, taking a nice deep breath of fresh air and putting to the back of her mind the thoughts that had been troubling her moments earlier.

“Zap-apple season already, is it? My, the time flies.”

“Ah know what ya mean. It seems jus’ yesterday I was finishin’ off the last one.”

Rarity sighed, “Doesn’t it just feel like yesterday?”

“Yeh, I guess workin’ jus’ makes the time pass quicker.”

“Yes but not only that.”

Applejack looked on quizzically, “Whaddya mean?”

“Oh, you know. Everything. Before we met. Before Twilight showed up with her awful hairdo. Before the awful Grand Galloping Gala. I can even remember opening the Carousel Boutique for the first time, just like it were yesterday.”

“Uh, yeh...ah guess so.”

“Isn’t it remarkable how quickly things can change? But then again everything somehow stays the same. For example, as far back as I remember, I’ve always made dresses, even way back when I was a filly, and I wasn’t very good at it. Isn’t it remarkable to think that there was once a time when I didn’t?”

“Mhm.”

“I can remember so many different things changing in my life, but that never has. How quickly things can change...remarkable, isn’t it?”

Applejack looked concerned. “Um, Rare’? Is everythin’ alright? Yer’ gettin’ all nostalgic on me here.”

Rarity let out another sigh. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Dandy, I assure you.”

“Ya sure?”

Rarity sighed. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. It’s just—I’ve just been having a bit of trouble lately with my own work.”

Applejack’s face hadn’t changed. “Okay,” she said slowly, “Do ya wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, Applejack, I don’t want to trouble you with my petty issues—“

“C’mon now, Rarity. Yer problems ain’t petty. B’sides, what’re friends for?”

Rarity paused her stride and looked at her hooves. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “Honestly, I just came out here to distract myself.”

“We don’ have to talk if ya don’ want to. I can talk about somethin’ else.”

“No, you are right. Perhaps it is just what I need to talk to somepony else about it. I’ve been holed up in my little shop for days now. It’s positively unhealthy.” She looked up and began walking again. She realized with a start that they were already at the supermarket. How did I miss that? I really have been lost in thought, haven’t I?

She turned back to Applejack, “I just have been struggling creatively lately. I have no commissions from anypony at the moment, so I thought the other day that I may indulge myself. I wanted to make a dress just for me. Just to—say—explore a little bit with my creativity. And...I can’t explain it. I sat down yesterday and I was quite simply at a complete and utter loss. I couldn’t find it within me to create a new dress. I know it sounds—well, for lack of a better word, stupid. But I’ve never had this particular problem before. It’s not like I ran into an obstacle I’m having difficulty with, like a complex design, or an order for a rare gem; it’s rather as if I simply don’t have anything to make at all. Like I don’t have anything left to contribute to the world. It’s silly—”

“It ain’t stupid Rarity,” Applejack cut her off. “And of course ya have stuff to contribute to the world. Don’t be hooin’ off baloney like that. Now, ah ain’t no dress-makin’ pony-person, so ah can’t help ya there, but ah can understand how ya can jus’ be a bit off yer game. It happens to everypony. Heck, ah’ve had days when it takes me five whole bucks to get all the apples out of a tree. Some days ah’ve wondered to mahself if I done simply wasn’t meant to be an apple farmer. Ah’m still ‘ere, Rare’. There ain’t nothing wrong with havin’ a bit o’ trouble. It’ll come, Rarity. Don’ worry yer pretty lil face off ‘bout it.”

Rarity looked down. “You’re right. I’m overreacting.”

Applejack gave her a smile. “See? You’ll be back to yerself in no time flat. Don’t worry ‘bout it all.”

“Thank you. It—it means a lot.” She gave a genuine smile. It did mean a lot. It was nice to be around her friend. She’d spent too much time over the past couple of days wallowing in her own frustrations. Applejack’s positive attitude was starting to cheer her up. They walked around for a few moments silently, gathering what items they needed.

Applejack broke the silence. “Here, Ah have an idea. Why don’t ya jus’ start off simple, nothin’ too big’n fancy. Somethin’ like ah’d wear.”

Rarity grimaced at the thought. She paused, though, giving the idea some thought. “See, that’s just it though. I don’t want to make ‘just another dress.’ I want to make something worth making. Something new. Something bold. Art, Applejack, not simply another Friday afternoon dress.”

Applejack sighed, “Listen, sugarcube, ah know, but maybe ya jus’ can’t force that kind of thing.”

“Then what’s the point of even making another dress?” Applejack had no answer. “I know my dresses are nice. I know ponies like them. But I want to create something that really means something.”

“Yer dresses do mean somethin’ to us, Rarity. Me and all our friends.”

“Maybe,” was all she could reply.

Applejack grimaced and looked away. “Listen. Ah really wish I could stay an’ help ya, ah really, truly do, honest. But...y’know. Zap-apples.”

Rarity noticed suddenly that Applejack had the flour she’d come for. “My, time flies.” She mused, mostly to herself.

“If yer still havin’ trouble, remember that ya can come over to Sweet Apple Acres anytime. Ya can even help with the pies an’ such. Ah know yer a might good cook.”

“Thank you. I may just take you up on that.”

“Feel free. ‘Twas nice seein’ ya, sugarcube. Really.” Applejack started to head out with an apologetic smile on her face.

“Likewise, surely, darling.”

Applejack was gone, to more important things. Rarity was alone again. She sighed.

* * *

Clack. The pencil was placed down onto the table.

Rarity stared at what she’d drawn. It was the dress she’d thought of earlier that day, inspired by the colors of the sky. She furled her brow in thought. It was simple and elegant. One piece, a solid sky blue, it stretched thinly and delicately from neck to hoof, modestly draping the wearer’s form, with delicate white highlighting the neckline, waistline, and hemline. She stared at it.

It was crap. The paper ended up lonely in the trash bin. If it had ears, the last sounds of its life would have been alabaster hooves noisily shuffling across the floor, punctuated by the firm closing of the door behind them.

Comments

[Regidar]

cdn.memegenerator.net/instances/400x/27492074.jpg

[MrBrawler18]

A fic about creation block? intresting.
I like it so far, but maybe tone down on the swearing? that is if you don't mind
Other than that i'm faving this.

[The Tyrannical]

Behold, a fic that everyone who has ever written ANYTHING can relate to.