Based in a world where fanfiction is a corporation many writers have tried and failed to bring their ideas to light.
In a world where fanfiction is a corporation, many earnest writers have tried and failed to bring their ideas to light. Vanilla Decaf, a publisher at FrandfictionCo., is one of these writers. But when she gets promoted to CEO, her whole perspective changes and she knows the path she has to take.
This is her fanfic.
Co-written by Vanilla Decaf. She was the one who came up with this idea. Edited by Firesight
The walls were gray, the cubicles were gray, the air was gray, the coffee was gray with taste, the janitors were gray with age, the employees were gray with remorse for working in a gray office, and even the water was gray with hydration. The depression was gray.
Vanilla Decaf, no matter how morally gray everything seemed, is a very hard worker. Every day she arrives to work at FrandfictionCo., one of the biggest fanfiction publishing companies in Equestria, and reads manuscripts for twelve hours; but in secret, she likes to write her own fanfiction. Vanilla loved the concept of fanfiction: the ability to take someone else's creativity and turn it into her own was enough for her to give it a shot. When she wrote her first story she was amazed by the response it got. Fat Ponies Do Remarkable Things five hundred copies with the exceptional one hundred likes to five dislikes ratio on M.A.G.E.net.
After that day, she worked harder than ever before to hopefully one day be on top. She wrote and she wrote, but every time she had a good idea, she had another idea on top of that. Soon there was a gray bin of abstract ideas in the corner of her cubicle. When no one was looking, she would write fanfiction. If she didn't like what she wrote, she would crumble up the paper into a ball and throw it into the bin.
Finally, she decided to take the time to get serious. Magic Trix's was met with a dull response, numbers rounding to a five like to zero dislike ratio with only forty-two copies sold. She was glad nobody disliked her story, but she was upset that it hardly sold any copies.
Since then, Vanilla worked harder than ever before – sort of. Every time she wrote something down, she found herself getting frustrated, and proceeding to erase everything she had written. Any other writer would have told her it was good and give her advice on how to improve it, but Vanilla wasn't any other writer. She was the perfect wannabe.
It must have been six months until she actually wrote something with redeemable quality. But, to her demise, the story was met with three likes and six dislikes. This bothered her. There's no reason to be ashamed of six dislikes, but to her, it was how the numbers outweighed each other.
Vanilla lost all motivation. That is until she was reading a manuscript about an alicorn OC and came to a sudden realization: she didn't have to be original about the way she wrote. She could write a clopfic because everyone will love it, or a meta story, because it makes fun of the things ponies don't like. She got her pencil and began writing. As soon as she was finished, she looked it over, scanning the words over and over again.
It was probably the best thing she had ever written. She didn't care who liked it, she cared who loved it. That's what mattered. The critics wouldn't like it, but the audience, however, would LOVE it. She knew they would.
Adding a few minor adjustments, Vanilla opened the top drawer of her desk and threw Fanfiction.yes in with Fat Ponies Do Remarkable things.
Six in the morning, alarm goes off, fan on high, nothing but darkness, no coffee. Get up, hit snooze, turn off fan, turn on lights, brew some coffee. All out of coffee, walk to the convenience store across the street groggily at six in the morning. Walk back home, brew some coffee, take a moment to smell the fresh aroma. Take a shower, out of towels, wait in bathroom until dry, she reminds herself that she lives home alone so she chooses to walk out the house wet and butt-naked. She forgets that she's a pony and that nudity is casual attire.
Pour some coffee, drink some coffee, pour some more coffee, drink some more coffee, pour some more coffee, the pot is empty, drink some coffee and eat breakfast. Toast with Sweet Apple Acres’ jelly, yum! Brush teeth, brush mane, put it in a little ponytail, put the tail in a little ponytail. Walk out of door, leave home, walk four blocks. Arrive at work, walk in via revolving doors.
Greet the desk clerk, walk into elevator, greet the operator, go to ninth floor, walk out of elevator, say thank you to operator, find office, she reminds herself that it's not an office but a large cube with a small opening. Walk through small opening into cubicle, look at desk: tray full of scrap paper on the left, large stack of manuscripts on the right, 3-inch #2 pencil with rubbed-out eraser sitting next to the manuscripts on its lonesome. Sit down, look down at desk, look at 3-inch #2 pencil with rubbed-out eraser, take a blank piece of paper from tray, take up pencil, write something down...
The
Good start. Write something else down.
The off
The off-what? Offer? Official? Offal? What is an Offal? This story is offal! – wait! Isn't that a type of meat? This story is a type of meat! But it's not meaty enough. She would rather beat this meat! Does that sound right?
Roll paper into ball, throw it at trashcan, trashcan is full to represent the number of abstract ideas she has, ball lands on floor instead. Can't think, need more coffee. Too much caffeine already, get decaf. Call the intern over. Admire his muscles and reflect on his premature handle-bar mustache. It’s not that sexy. Send him to Starducks to retrieve a vanilla decaf frappuccino. Read fanfiction, that might help the thought process.
Reads fanfiction, slowly goes through humongous stack of paper. Long, boring, tiresome, yawn, stretch for a bit, stretch again, try zumba to spike energy, go through the remaining seventy-five percent of the stack, demolish the Leaning Tower of Pizazz. Not good, not good, good storyline and characters but very grammatically incorrect. Large stack of rejected manuscripts has been formed by the use-to-be-large stack of manuscripts.
More reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, más lectura, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading, more reading – stop!
Something so fruity it's juicy. Well-written, great dialogue, perfect tone, characters seem to be alive and well-rounded. Oh shit – it’s a clopfic. Save for tonight.
Throw manuscript in saddlebag, look at the time, it’s seven-thirty. Intern is back, gives her the vanilla decaf frappuccino. Sip. Not bad, but she would taste better. She should know, a few certain stallions have told her so.
Sit up, lick whip cream off lips, continue going through stack, twenty-five percent left to go. She can make it! Reading… reading… reading… reading… reading… reading… reading... breathing… reading and breathing… reading and breathing and drinking...
“Vanilla.”
Sit up, turn around, see manager, serious look on his face. Can’t be good.
“Come with me into my office.”
Walks away, a sign that she should get up and follow after. Gets up and follows. Walks down the row of cubicles, perspiration perspiring, co-workers peering outside of their “offices” to see what will become of poor her, arrive at office. Walk in. Manager sits behind desk in center of room.
“Have a seat.”
Haves a seat. Worries. Sweat sweating little beads of sweat inside of sweat. What will become of poor her?
“You are clearly a hard worker Vanilla, more hardworking than any other publisher in your department. I’m sorry it has come to this, but it seems you’re no longer needed on the ninth floor of FrandfictionCo. anymore. I want you to pack your things and move out...”
She knew this would happen eventually. Quick! Say something to even out the awkward silence!
“Kay.”
He smirks. It’s not a snobbish smirk, it’s not an obnoxious smirk, it’s not an evil or snarly or snobbishly obnoxiously evil snarly smirk – it’s a playful smirk.
“And move your things to your new office upstairs. Congratulations Vanilla Decaf, new CEO of FrandfictionCo.”
Accept promotion with earnest glee.
“Kay.”
A microscopic cloud has formed above FrandfictionCo. HQ.
