Reviews

Link: The End of All That Was by Maphysto.

Hi there! I’m Golden Vision, and I’ll be your reviewer this evening. Please keep all limbs or other protruding organs inside of the car at all times. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, so hold on tight!.

In the introduction, there could have been quite a bit more detail in terms of what, exactly, Twilight was reading. The hook itself was nice, but “a particularly moving passage” and “stories of ponies long dead” don’t really make for a vivid picture in the reader’s eyes.

Below, she could hear Spike softly humming

Random nitpick, but you don’t really need “softly” here. Sorry. It was bothering me.

By page two, we’ve already had the plot thrust into our faces. This is where the reader is thrown roughly aside. Most stories go one of two ways; they either gradually introduce the plot that will drive the story (as in the Harry Potter series, whose first book takes a whopping four or so chapters to even mention wizardry), or they throw it at you all at once. The latter is known as a “cold open” that starts “in medias res.”

Here, however, neither is present. Because the plot is so quickly introduced, any effect of a more gradual hook is lost. Twilight’s reading habits seem irrelevant and pointless in the context of the larger story. The reader is thrown for a loop—what should they be concerned with? Where is this story going? Furthermore, such a quick introduction of the plot makes it impossible for there to be any setup; thus, the whole piece appears rough and forced, making it difficult for a reader to become invested in the story.

As a note on the plot itself, “Twilight receives a letter from Celestia detailing a problem in the kingdom” is an overused trope. It’s so everpresent, in fact, that it was also a major plot point in the last fanfic I reviewed. We’ve seen Celestia ask Twilight to run errands for her in the past—Dragonshy being the most stand-out example—but this method can hamper the development of the plot, making it difficult, once again, for the reader to become invested in it.

This is especially evident when a plot such as this appears; namely, one that has the potential to hit so close to home. Instead of opening with a scene in which Twilight goes from reading a book to reading a letter from her mentor, why not open with a scene in which Twilight (or another pony) is with Rainbow Dash (or another local pegasus) and watches the symptoms set in?

These symptoms also seem more than a bit...underwhelming. Chronic fatigue? Sure. Chronic fatigue as a result of overexertion? Unless the point of this story is that pegasi are perpetual motion machines, then this problem feels a bit self-evident. Perhaps the pegasi are nauseous and can’t stand the changes in pressure that come from changing altitudes. Perhaps their wings have become too weak to get them off the ground. Be more creative, more inventive, and above all—this is a disease—be harsh. Be as harsh and cruel as you see fit. This is a problem that needs to be solved, and unless there is a clear sense of urgency, then the reader’s attentions will not follow with the story’s.

Twilight giggled, patting Spike’s shoulder again. “Thanks, number one assistant

Another nitpick here, but I don’t think she really needs to call him that here. Just “Spike” should be fine.

Moving on, Twilight’s reflections on Celestia’s “secrecy” feels both very forced and very Told. This is the kind of thing that should come out naturally—as an explosion of rage toward another character, or through subtle hints of body language and facial expression—rather than through narration.

More nitpicks! If you’re going to focus on Twilight’s discomfort with being a princess, then give at least some focus to her experience flying up to the cloud. “Taking to the air with practiced grace” doesn’t really cut it; we need to really see from her perspective, to be drawn into her flight and to experience it alongside her. This is big stuff—she’s been stuck on the ground for the vast majority of her life—and more importantly, this is plot-relevant stuff. After all, in a story whose premise relies on a disease affecting flying ponies, why not give the readers a taste of what “flight” really means?

There seems to be a surplus of body language scattered throughout the dialogue here. It’s not a damning problem, but it’s a bit distracting all the same. For example, this:

“You really oughta fly more, Twi,” Rainbow said, leaning back into the cloud with a small puff of mist. “You’ve gotten a lot better at it, and it was fun helping you learn. Besides, there’s nothing better than feeling the wind in your mane.” She fluttered her wings, gazing at them. “I don’t know what I would do without these babies. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

would read better as:

“You really oughta fly more, Twi,” Rainbow said. “You’ve gotten a lot better at it, and it was fun helping you learn. Besides, there’s nothing better than feeling the wind in your mane.” She fluttered her wings, gazing at them. “I don’t know what I would do without these babies. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

In general, an author should only use body language in conjunction with dialogue when the insertion of said expression would enhance either the emotional state of one of the characters, the tension and/or atmosphere of the scene, or the overall plot. If something is relevant to a certain action (i.e. looking to one’s wings when referring to them, as above), then it may also be preferable to have body language in that particular section.

Moving toward pacing, the story thus far seems to lack a good flow, sacrificing immersion and scene buildup for ease of plot-building. While nowhere near egregious as some other stories, the overall effect is still one that can dissuade the reader from becoming too engaged with a scene that they may feel is little more than an excuse to move the plot along. In order to fix this, it’s advisable to expand upon more than just dialogue: internal narration or monologue, for example. This is Twilight’s PoV, after all, so give us more of an insight into her mind and perceptions (though without straying into outright “telling” of emotions and beliefs, which is an admittedly fine line to walk).

The prose should also develop its transitions further; as mentioned before, “taking to the air...and alighting...on [the] cloud” would become much more vivid and memorable of an action if the reader could experience that action in full, with both sensory detail and third-person perceptions. It doesn’t need to be too long—perhaps a paragraph or two—but if applied to other, similar actions (though certainly not every one), this change could do wonders for the pacing of each scene.

When Twilight asks Rainbow Dash about the sick pegasi, it’s a bit unclear why she wouldn’t be truthful with her. At the very least, we know that Twilight isn’t a very good liar. Let some of that concern seep through; give this segment some actual emotion in place of its casual discourse. That way, the reader feels more of an impact from the plot: the disease is no longer an abstract conception, but now a concrete idea that both affects characterization and is immediately apparent

Many of the lines in between scenes tend to straight-out “tell” things that the reader can already infer. Take the following:

Twilight glided back down to earth, suddenly feeling sure of herself once more. Perhaps Dash’s confidence had rubbed off on her. Soon she would speak with the ponies affected by this strange illness, and she had no doubt she could find a solution.

While this is certainly a reasonable shift in Twilight’s mindset, there’s no reason for it to be displayed so plainly here. I’ve been using the concept of “telling” throughout this review, so let me take a moment to explain what it is, and why it’s usually not something that you want in a story.

The basic idea is that it’s better to show a reader a picture than to tell them what it’s a picture of. Words paint pictures, after all, and it’s much nicer to see the picture than to merely get the headline. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the inverse is true as well, and an author is only cheating themselves if they choose to directly give the reader that information rather than illustrate its existence.

Thus, when an author wants to convey an idea through text—say, Twilight feeling more confident about her task—then that can be done through either “telling” or “showing.” The quote above is an example of the former: the narration directly informs the reader of her mental state, and the consequences thereof. However, let’s see what happened if instead we go about showing this information:

As Twilight descended back to the earth, she felt a strength in her wings, a sureness that hadn’t been there before. Her hooves touched the ground, and she squared her shoulders, a tight smile flickering across her face.

Next stop: Ponyville Hospital.

See the difference? This way, we get to indirectly see how Twilight is affected by her emotions. She “feels a strength in her wings”; she “squares her shoulders” to highlight her newfound confidence. The final line also conveys the idea that she’s about to confront or meet with the ponies infected by this illness while also getting across some of her inner monologue, which is a good way to shade or color the events of the story so that they can better see through the protagonist’s eyes. Altogether, showing thoughts, feelings, or decisions can contribute to a realer, more concrete, and overall more immersive reading experience.

As a quick technical note, I would advise you to use a different means of transitioning between scenes. The most common scene cut convention on FimFic is to use the {hr} BBCode tag, which provides for a simple horizontal line (plus appropriate spacing) between distinct scenes.

Scene 1

[ hr ]

Scene 2

Removing the spaces between the brackets and the words, this becomes:

Scene 1

---

Scene 2

Keep that in mind. It’s a much cleaner way of doing things.

I do like the way you’ve written Twilight’s list; it’s a clean piece of technical writing that gets the gist of the problem (along with her perspective toward it) rather well. To skip back in time for a bit, I also liked her conversation with Blossomforth; though I feel as though the pacing could have been improved, it was a concise piece of exposition that didn’t come across as unwieldy or overly-clunky.

Something that I like about this scene is the way you’ve conveyed Twilight’s inner monologue: her thoughts, as presented to the reader through narrative text. This does a very good job of both setting the scene and further establishing her character. As I mentioned earlier, however, I would recommend extending this technique to other parts of the chapter in order to avoid what can be called “the camera effect” (i.e. showing only external stimuli—dialogue, action, and scenery—and no internal reflection or deliberation).

Finally, back to the plot of the disease, I like the idea of pegasus magic being the main target. I honestly didn’t see that coming. However, I would have liked more foreshadowing—perhaps (as I mentioned before), the pegasi feel sick, or nauseous. Perhaps they can’t quite handle weather as well as usual, or their hooves slip right through cloud cover that they’re trying to put together. Perhaps stomping on a cloud for rain only brings lightning, and with no moisture to boot. Be creative! What different factors might pegasus magic have on its carriers, and what might its loss or weakening do to them outside of simple fatigue and/or stress?

Along with the need for more foreshadowing, I’d like to see more buildup of the disease. It feels as though Twilight is getting everything too easily: the letter, the interviews, the research, and now the discovery. Put some stumbling blocks in her path; keep her confused, keep her guessing. Readers don’t pick up a book to see how everything goes right for a protagonist—we’d don’t read to see a straight line. We want zig-zags, we want curves and swerves and ninety-degree turns. Confuse us a bit; lead us in circles. Don’t keep things quite so straightforward.

Nitpick time!

Rainbow nodded, folding her arms.

Horses don’t have arms. They have forelegs.

In the next scene, Rainbow Dash seems a bit...unconcerned about the situation; if anything, she seems more carefree than usual, teasing Twilight about her position and pushing aside a potential issue in favor of offering practice for “sweet tricks.” By all accounts (i.e. Hurricane Fluttershy), Dash is a caring leader who really does want the best for her team—she’s very loyal, as her Element would suggest (one of the most powerful interpretations of the idea of “loyalty to one’s subordinates” comes through in CyborgSamurai’s fic The Powers of Harmony—go read it if you haven’t had the chance.). Therefore, it’s hard to believe that she would just brush this problem off rather than do all in her power to take care of things. At the very least, we know that Rainbow is a workaholic; if things aren’t running at top efficiency, then she’s going to make sure that they get back up to speed in ten seconds flat.

As the chapter progresses, some of the more abridged scenes actually do quite well. The reader isn’t interested in seeing the full exchange with the doctors in Ponyville General Hospital, but it’s important to know the results nevertheless. Thus, good call on “telling” that scene rather than “showing” it to us in full; sometimes, time skips or pieces of narrative exposition can be useful. It’s all a matter of knowing when to use them.

Meanwhile, however, it’s important to keep in mind that every scene needs to have a purpose: a goal that it needs to accomplish. The next scene, in Carousel Boutique, feels out of place. It seems irrelevant, really, which can weaken the overall progression of the chapter. It’s filler—an aside—that doesn’t really have anything to do with the problem at hand. It may be a necessary stop, but it needs something to really make it pop in the reader’s mind, rather than a section that appears easy enough to skim over without really losing any comprehension.

You can delete it, of course. But why not expand it? Perhaps the Crusaders are there, and Rarity has her hooves full dealing with them—all except Scootaloo, of course. She’s at home, sick, and isn’t able to play with her friends; Sweetie or Applebloom provide details of her symptoms that enhance Twilight’s understanding of the disease, or else deepen the plot’s complexity. Or maybe Scootaloo is unaffected. Maybe there’s something different about her (as with Rainbow Dash) that Twilight can use to combat the disease. There are quite a few possibilities here, and it’d be a shame to see them go to waste.

Something that I’m noticing here is that you seem to lack transitions between some of your scenes, i.e. the ending of one scene fails to set up the following one. Take the ending of the Spike scene:

Twilight giggled once more. “Go enjoy your treat, Spike. I can take care of things for the rest of the night!”

This has very little to do with the beginning of the next scene, which starts thusly:

Rainbow Dash came through once again.

The reader needs a connection—a logical bridge—between these two pieces, especially given that the second scene begins with a phrase that would appear to refer to something set up earlier in the piece. In this case, readers need a clear road map—complete with signs—to lead them from scene to scene. The story can’t just airlift them across [ hr ] tags; there must be something to relate the two scenes before and after the transition. Something like this:

Twilight giggled once more. “Go enjoy your treat, Spike. I can take care of things for the rest of the night!”

As he retreated up the stairs, Spike paused midway, one stubby claw on his chin. “And what about tomorrow?” he asked.

“I guess we’ll see,” Twilight said.

(Emphasis mine. Added text has been bolded.)

This is a simplistic correction, and clearly far from the best that you could do with actual time and effort (both of which I currently lack). However, it should be evident how “tomorrow” and “I guess we’ll see” lead directly into the next scene. The reader now has a bridge, and so the flow of the story becomes much easier to follow.

In the next scene, I liked Fluttershy’s introduction to the story. However, I feel as though I wanted it to be in a different, better-established setting (perhaps she pulls Twilight aside through some bushes and into a clearing to do it in private. Perhaps she does it out there in the field, and by the end of it, everypony else is staring at her in obvious horror). Her breakdown was well done, but I found myself wanting more tension; more of a breakdown for the reader as a result of this. What is the impact of this event? What ramifications might it have? You don’t need to give us straight answers, but there needs to be more done toward the end of the scene to enhance this atmosphere of grief, horror, and foreboding.

Going onto Twilight’s next letter, I can’t quite believe that she would give up that easily. If anything, she would throw herself further into her work, foregoing sleep, food, and any creature comforts in order to find a properly magical solution to the problem. It feels out of character (OOC) for her to give up, just like that.

The reason behind this illness, Twilight, is that magic in Equestria is dying.

...And there we have it. The big conflict; the giant whammy. The huge twist that’s going to make everyone fall out of their seats as their jaws drop in amazement and confusion.

Yet again, though, Celestia’s status as a purveyor of exposition weakens the power of this revelation. Were it Twilight’s discovery, it would have much more weight, and could properly resound in the reader’s mind. As it is, Celestia feels like an encyclopedia, only popping up when more information is required. It cheapens the overall effect, and makes Twilight feel more like an accessory than an actual character.

Now, while the twist might appear to be a powerful one, there are also some problems with it. Let’s go through them, one by one.

1.) Why only the pegasi?

This should be self-evident. Note that the letter didn’t say “pegasus magic;” rather, it said all magic is dying. If that’s the case, then why are the pegasi the first to fall? Why not the unicorns, who clearly rely on arcane powers to an exponentially higher degree than the other two races? Why not the earth ponies, whose lost connection to nature magic would weaken their crop and corrupt their fields? Why not, even, creatures outside of Ponydom: Timberwolves, falling to pieces for want of an energy field to hold their bones together; dragons, finding that their fires are weakening, their wings tiring on long flights. This is huge. This is like waking up one morning and finding that gravity no longer exists. There’s got to be a larger impact than this, and using only the pegasi as a sample underplays the entire conflict.

2.) Why is magic dying?

Though we may find this out later, it’d be nice to have at least some foreshadowing. Thus far, we’ve only seen symptoms of this “disease.” We’ve avoided any other deviations from the plot, keeping instead to a direct, straight-line path to this conclusion that avoids giving the reader an opportunity to deepen their understanding of the situation at hand. The story reads from Point A to Point B—that is, Twilight’s research to Celestia’s inevitable proclamation—but it fails to leave any dangling plot threads that might lead to further revelations later on.

3.) There’s very little to set it up.

This may appear at first to be very similar to Number 1, but it goes beyond that. The story does a relatively good job of establishing the idea that the pegasi are losing their ability to fly—with Fluttershy’s segment as both a poignant and distressing example of a possible conclusion—but it never really brings up the specifics of pegasi magic, or how it may relate to the world at large. As I mentioned earlier, it would help quite a bit to broaden the symptoms in order to hint more strongly at this conclusion. Flight is hardly the only thing that a pegasus’ magic allows them to do: they can also shape weather or cloudwalk. For the other races, perhaps unicorns are complaining of headaches, or an inability to pick up heavier or more numerous objects with their telekinesis. Again, be creative—I can’t stress this enough.

Enter Celestia and Luna. This is a short scene that I suppose helps set up the overarching plot and confirms what we already know, but neither character really feels like they have much depth here. Additionally, this section contains the first earthquake of what I assume to be many more. This is a major milestone—expand upon it! Make us feel the earth shake through the text. Don’t just gloss over it; use clear, vivid details to paint a horrifying picture of the destruction and chaos to come.

So that was Chapter One of The End of All That Was. What did I think of it?

It was nice. It wasn’t the most well-written thing, but I feel as though you have a good grasp of the English language, as well as an appreciation for good storytelling. The hard part, of course, comes into play when you realize that you need to expand this chapter, rather than cut some of it out (which is traditionally much easier). If you need ideas, then brainstorm with a friend—bounce ideas off of one another—until you feel that you have enough content to broaden this story to a more reasonable and immersive point.

Onto Chapter Two

I’m not going to be quite as expansive here as I was with Chapter One, because I feel as though I’ve already pointed out quite a few of the more systemic issues that I’ve noticed in this story. Instead, I’ll mainly try to point out new issues as they come up, or try to associate new events with previous issues and/or errors. With that said, let’s get started, shall we?

The introduction of the Equerries made me do a double-take. At first glance, they don’t appear even slightly relevant to the story at hand, and in fact serve only to confuse the reader as to their actual purpose. While I realize that you may be attempting to set them up as a plot device to be used later on in the story and/or chapter, you would be better served to merely detail some of their more notable characteristics, have Twilight wonder briefly on their meaning, and then move on. That way, this section serves as foreshadowing instead of a mere exposition dump. Should they become relevant later, that would be the time to go into proper depth on who they are and why they’re here.

A murmur rippled across the group. “Equestria’s magic fading... How could such a thing be... Is this related to the rumors of pegasi losing their flight... An unprecedented tragedy...”

Let’s get something straight. This is not how to write “a crowd of murmurs.” Line breaks are required:

A murmur rippled across the group.

“Equestria’s magic fading?

“How could such a thing be…?

“Is this related to the rumors of pegasi losing their flight?”

“...an unprecedented tragedy...”

There we go.

Twilight feels quite out of character in this scene. Her whole world is coming crashing down around her, yet she manages to blush, smile, and nod for the Princess. You’d think she’d be sitting there in some kind of stupefied horror, or else with a firm, no-nonsense form of determination.

This just occured to me, but it feels quite odd that Celestia keeps mentioning a need to “avoid panicking and riots,” yet the loss of magic, among pegasi, at least, must be so widespread by this point so as to be clearly noticeable. It feels like keeping a lid on the problem would be the wrong thing to do here, and out of character for Celestia—a skilled and wise manipulator of public opinion—who would be more likely to make a public announcement formally portraying the loss of flight as a disease, and one being actively fought against. Otherwise, public tensions and worry will boil over, with or without the reveal of Twilight’s own revelation.

I do like the Applejack scene...though I can’t help but feel as though it should come much earlier in the fic. It might also make more sense to have a progression of the “disease” in the order that each species relies on magic, i.e. unicorn to pegasus to earth pony. As most of the last race likely don’t think that they really need magic, it would come as an unpleasant surprise to both Applejack and the reader.

Ah, there we go. Loyal, leader Rainbow Dash. A pity she didn’t show up earlier, but it’s nice to see her tensions escalating here in Sugarcube corner.

Unfortunately, that scene seems quite similar to the earlier Rarity scene in terms of irrelevancy. I’m not going to state what I did before, but I will ask that you consider what, exactly, this scene needs to accomplish outside of merely setting things up to move the plot along at a later point. Its conjunction between two congruent Applejack scenes also increase the sense that it’s more frivolous than not. The evident timeskip that’s taken place between Twilight’s meeting and this scene also seems to come out of nowhere, and unless properly addressed, will leave the reader disoriented and confused as to the proper chronology of the chapter.

Ever since Twilight had left for Canterlot, a strange tension had been growing between her friends. Rainbow Dash had become moody and irritable, lashing out at others with little or no provocation, while Fluttershy seemed to be withdrawing deeper and deeper into her shell.

Oh, and this whole bit is a combination of Telling and exposition of things you’ve already shown us. As I said re: Chapter One, it’s an easy enough fix, now that you know what to look for.

Going back to the timeskip, I’m divided on whether I like it or not. It seems to do a good job of skipping over dull and/or unnecessary areas that would bog the plot down in irrelevant detail. At the same time, though, it feels as though too much is happening in too short a time (from the reader’s point of view, at least). One way to fix this might be to provide more of an introduction on Twilight’s side before the skip; this will make the reader feel more comfortable with the setting in Canterlot, as well as with the general problem(s) she will have to deal with. Provided that that’s done (or something along those lines), I believe I’ll come down hesitantly in favor of this timeskip.

This just in: Sergeant Enarme still feels kind of pointless. My intrigue has faded to more of a dull apathy by this point.

Twilight’s decision to step up to the plate and to seize her responsibility as a leader comes as a welcome shift in tone. The only two problems are that it took her so long (it should have stalled her for no more than a week at most—a month is long enough for the problem to appear nearly irreversible, and a hard time limit is better to increase tension in a story, anyway), and that we don’t actually get to see her leadership abilities. The latter is the most distressing problem: if the reader is told of Twilight’s triumph over the feuding, petty scholars, than they may feel cheated, or worse, apathetic toward her accomplishment.

Something that I’ve noticed, too, is that this chapter seems to lack a narrative arc (i.e. conflict, climax, and resolution). The closest thing to resolution is the final scene with Luna, and there’s some sort of conflict/climax present in Twilight’s discourse with the scholars, but it really doesn’t feel fleshed out. A lot of the chapter comes off feeling as filler in retrospect, which is a problem. Try going back over an outline of this chapter and restructuring it in order to get a better feel of how the events progress. By comparing this against a chapter of another book, you should be able to find a better way to structure this chapter (as well as, possibly, the preceding one). When it comes to storytelling, flow and structure can be two of the most important things to pay attention to.

And that’s Chapter Two. I had much the same opinion of that chapter of the previous one, so there’s not much more to be said here.

Final thoughts? This story might have potential (it’s still too early in the plot for me to tell), but your biggest issue is easily the flow and overall structure of your chapters. They feel very bareboned at the moment, which can be a major problem for readers searching for a cohesive sense of immersion. Fix that, though, and you could have the beginnings of a worthwhile epic.

Score: 5/10 Pinkies

Cheers,

Golden Vision

WRITE’s Pocket Spycrab