Writing is Magic

  It was early in the morning a few days after my welcome party, and I was pacing, just pacing back and forth across the main room of the boutique. I hadn't gotten much sleep that night, and now that I was fully awake, there was no point in trying to fall back asleep.

          “Art, is that you pacing,” Rarity called, coming down the stairs into the room.

          “Sorry if I woke you. I’m just trying to think, and I do that much better moving about.”

          “Whatever are you thinking about at this hour?”

          “That’s the thing,” I sighed, “I can’t really think of anything. Usually my head is swimming with one idea or other, whether it’s an idea for a book, or perhaps just something I’ve seen that I want to hold onto for later. But right now, my mind is completely blank, and I can’t figure out why.”

          “You've been through a stressful time,” Rarity reassured, “I would think it’s only natural that since your routine and everyday life has been altered so drastically, that it could very well change your thinking process.”

          “You might be right. I just hope I can get through it and get back to writing.”

          “I’ve been wondering about something. Obviously you’ve written many different books on many different subjects. But the astounding thing to me is not so much the scope of knowledge as the speed at which you churn out new material. Is there some secret to it?”

          “Well it’s not so much a secret, so much as it’s the only talent I really have. Here, I’ll show you.”

          I trotted over to her work bench, picking up five quills and an equal amount of parchment. I suspended them in the air and faced them toward Rarity. Then I closed my eyes, my horn glowing a dull black, and began to write, using all five quills at the same time.

          You see, Miss Rarity

          I can not only write with multiple quills at once

          But I can write out multiple trains of thought

          At the exact same time

          Pretty handy, don’t you think?

          Rarity went slack-jawed for a moment, but then composed herself.

          “That’s one of the simplest, yet most complex things I’ve ever seen,” she admired, “So you can theoretically work on five different chapters at the same time?”

          “Precisely. Somehow, my mind is able to control each quill individually, allowing me to work many times faster than any other writer is capable of. But it can’t do me any good if I can’t think of anything to write about.”

          “Well believe me; interesting things are always happening in town. If you just walk around for a bit, I’m sure you’ll hit on something.”

          …

          “Let’s see,” I thought to myself as I began walking around Ponyville after breakfast, “Everypony says Twilight’s the smartest pony around, not to mention that she lives in a library, she’ll probably be able to help me.”

          It wasn’t long before I made it to the Ponyville Library, which was situated in a very large tree. When I knocked on the door, Twilight answered.

          “Oh, good morning Art,” she smiled, “What are you doing here so early?”

          “I hope you don’t mind princess, but I’m struggling with a bit of writer’s block, and Rarity suggested that I come over here to see your books. Maybe I’ll think of something to write about.”

          “Well that’s certainly not a bad idea. After all, being a good writer starts with being well-read. Feel free to take down any book you like. And you don’t need to address me as ‘Princess’.”

          I began to look over the many shelves of the library, trying to find a good starting point. Soon, I felt something on my hindquarters. I swiveled my head around to find an owl sitting there.

          “Who, who.”

          “Who am I? I’m Art,” I answered, “hello to you to.”

          “That’s Owlowiscious,” Twilight introduced, “He’s kind of my night assistant. He can help you reach a book, if you need.”

          Owlowiscious lighted off of me and flew up to the top shelf, pulling off a book and placing it on a reading pedestal. When I went over to look, I realized it was another one of mine, “The Legends of Equestria, A-Z”.

          “Owlowiscious, you’re a genius,” I exclaimed, “by reading some of my own publications, I’ll rediscover my thought process.”

          And so I began re-reading the book. Of course, being the author I already knew everything in the book, but it was nice to just read something for a change without thinking about what the next part of the book would be. I had just finished the Canterlot entry when I heard someone burst into the room. It was everypony’s favorite Pegasus, Rainbow Dash.

          “Finish the book,” Twilight asked her.

          “Five seconds ago,” Rainbow answered, “Got over here as fast as I could.”

          “Well there’s only one title left in the series.”

          “I know. What am I going to read after this?”

          Rainbow glided to one of the shelves, replacing the book she was carrying with the adjacent one on the shelf. She was picking up the last book of the Daring Do series.

          “So, a Daring Do fan,” I asked her.

          “You bet. She is so awesome. I’m just sad that this is the last book. I’m going to have to find another series to read. Hey, you’re a famous writer; do you know the pony who wrote Daring Do?”

          “No, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting them.”

          “Aw man, I was hoping you could get an autograph for me.”

          “Well I can’t do that, but I will tell you something I probably shouldn’t. Before I left Fillydelphia, my publisher told me that there is another Daring Do book coming out.”

          Rainbow flew right into my face.

          “What? Really? When?”

          “In a few months. And no, I don’t know anything beyond that.”

          “Woohoo, this is awesome,” Rainbow cried, doing flying back-flips across the room, “Then I better get started on this one, so I can start getting excited about the next one. Gotta dash!”

          And dash she did.

          A few hours later, but what felt like only moments, I finished the chapter on Nightmare Moon, all the while thinking ‘Old mare’s tail my right hoof.’ When I again heard someone enter the library. This time, it was Fluttershy.

          “Good afternoon, Twilight,” she said in her trademark gentle tone.

          “Oh, hi Fluttershy,” Twilight responded, “What brings you here?”

          “Oh, well, Angel was being a grump this morning. It took me a long time to get him to even eat. I just need something relaxing.”

          “No problem. Maybe you can find a good book; everypony seems to be on a reading binge today.”

          It wasn’t until Fluttershy began scanning the bookshelves that she noticed that I was there.

          “Oh, I’m sorry Art,” she apologized, “I didn’t see you before.”

          “It’s fine; I kind of have my muzzle deep into this book anyway. And Twilight’s right, she, Rainbow, and I are all reading something or other today.”

          “That sounds nice and all, but I think I just need to relax.”

          A light bulb went off in my head.

          “That’s it,” I exclaimed, taking Fluttershy by the front hoofs, “the answer to my writer’s block. I’ve been going about it all wrong.”

          “What was wrong,” Twilight asked, hearing the commotion.

          “All this time, I’ve been trying to think about how I write, how my thoughts get conveyed onto the page in just the way I want them to. But that’s not how I should be thinking anymore. It’s not about the writer, it’s about the reader.”

          “What do you mean?”

          “Everypony reads for a different reason. Twilight, you read to gain knowledge, Rainbow Dash reads to be a part of fantastic adventures, and Fluttershy reads to relax. I’ve been worried all this time about rediscovering how I used to write, when the truth is I should be discovering how others read. This could be the cornerstone of my new books, including what will be my magnum opus.”

          “And what will the book be called,” Fluttershy asked, suddenly excited.

          “It will be called ‘The Art of Writing’.”