I got up one flight of stairs, and stopped dead when I saw the ponies coming down from above. I didn’t see his face, but I saw enough of the shiny purple barding to know it was the Captain of the Guard. I ducked into the hallway, blind, saw two guards at the far end talking to each other, slipped through an open door and shut it behind me.

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Lightning Dust nudged the shopkeeper on the withers. "Pally, I'm looking for this guy called Blueblood, you seen him? Blonde, kinda wimpy, talks prissy? He looks like you asked an eight-year old to draw a hairdresser."

Blueblood caught the mother's eye. "Terribly sorry to bother you, I wondered if you'd seen a friend of mine. She's a teal pegasus by the name of Lightning Dust. Short and very angry, her face looks a little bit like a political cartoon."

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My better half, Scarlet, wrote a piece on character creation -- or more specifically, character integration, because characters don’t exist in a vacuum, and characters feel stronger when they fit correctly in their fictional world. This isn’t just a literary Chubb Illusion where a character feels more real when you see them in their

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Brasta and Praa, two friends and excellent writers, are stuck. If you're like me, and you like it when your friends have beds to sleep in, you can send them a few bucks and help them out of a sticky final notice situation.

Here's the gofundme.

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Buridan's ass is an illustration of a paradox in philosophy in the conception of free will. It refers to a hypothetical situation wherein an ass that is equally hungry and thirsty is placed precisely midway between a stack of hay and a pail of water. Since the paradox assumes the ass will always go to whichever is closer, it will die of both hunger and thirst since it cannot make any rational decision to choose one over the other.

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SO MUCH!

So, after one week of enough shifts at Good Burger to lose my bodyweight in sweat, and a second week of being destroyed by a mixture of ritalin tolerance and ritalin withdrawal, my writing speed has slowed down slightly from its recent "novella in a week" pace. It hasn't stopped though, by any means, so I'm going to tease you with skaldic poetry!

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SCARLET'S HORROR WORDS

I mentioned a few days ago that Scarlet, the lady who is the Karl Rove to my George W Bush, is doing a blog series analysing horror, horror tropes, and horror tropes within the My Little Pony fandom. Since then, she's released another two posts on the topic, both concerning fandom famous horror tales.

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Faster-Than-Light technology has stopped. Every advanced artificial intelligence has disappeared. Eight-hundred-million lives teeter on the edge, a fortnight from starvation. In the midst of it all, Detective Marion Clay is hunting for a psychic terrorist, a being so dangerous that her colleagues aren't even allowed to know they exist. She has sixty hours. No leads, no description, and no air conditioning.

At least it's not retirement.

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You like my words? This lady is the brain behind half of them. Check out part one here.

I've been a lurker, commenter, and contributor on this site for about three years now, and in between the endless crossovers, the adventures, and everything else I've found improbably connected to ponies, real horror is probably the rarest thing I've seen.

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