Life is an Unwritten Book

Morning broke two days later with intense heat, reminding Ponyville summer was still in progress.  The streets were empty and the windows of most houses were shut and shuttered to keep the cool air from the previous night in.  Leaves on some trees were turned to brown from excessive heat and water loss.  Only a few guards remained on the streets, sweltering in heavy gear yet remaining as stoic as ever.

Written Script sat inside his writing room in the near total darkness.  A single light was on over his writing desk so that he could see and the shutters sent small strips of sunlight across the wooden desk.  The journal that Twilight had given him was opened to a blank, new, clean page.  The remnants of the entry that created Amalthea were staring at him from the left page, while the right remained blank other than the lines on the paper.

An ink pot with a quill inside was sitting nearby though Written had yet to pick it up.  There was something about what he was about to do that he thought was just wrong and he should just burn it right then and there.  And yet, there was something about this that had just a touch of risk, of thrill, of excitement.  To shape the world to his own whim and desire…

Written shook his head to clear those thoughts.  That was not the point.  A few simple things to boost himself up would be fine, and then he would place it under lock and key and potentially never look at it again.

Amalthea, who had been standing in the doorway the entire time, walked over to Written and nuzzled him.  Her voice was barely a whisper.  “Remember, we’re just doing something small.”

Written sighed but didn’t return the nuzzle.  “Is this really right?” he asked.  “I mean, shaping the world to your whim… it sounds like something from the villain of a fantasy novel.”

“There aren’t any villains here,” Amalthea said tenderly.  “There are ponies with varying levels of responsibility, and varying levels of knowledge of how to use it.”

“But what if I become one of those who begins to use it improperly?  What if… what if I get the idea to kill someone?”

“You won’t.”  Amalthea’s voice was reassuring.  “You’re already worried about it.  You wished not for a comeuppance but for a lesson in humility.  You have a moral compass, and obviously it’s working hard.”

Written nodded.

“This is just a test run,” Amalthea said.  “Just writing about me being at the bakery.  If you can get that to work, we can take it from there.”

Written nodded.  He took up the quill, dipped it a few times in the ink and hovered over the page for a minute.  When he set down the quill, his writing was shaky and uneven, even going off the line every once in a while.

Sixth month, twenty-fourth day, 1003 A.N.M.

I have been living with Amalthea for the last week, and I can say that I don’t remember a time I’ve ever felt happier.  She’s beautiful, she’s sweet, and she’s intelligent.  She is more than I could ever have wanted, and I am happy that I have her by my side, especially with all that’s gone on as of late.

Written Script pulled the quill away from the page.  He pulled it over to the ink pot and dipped it again before pulling it over to the page and setting it down again.  Written thought about what he wanted to say for a little while longer.

She is strong, too.  The night before last, she was able to intimidate Metal Quill, who has been antagonizing me constantly ever since his book became published.  I don’t think anyone was able to before, not even our publisher, Final Draft.  I’m sure that, if she wanted to do so, she could do anything she wanted to.

“I can’t help but feel how contrived this all sounds,” Written said as he went to dip the quill back in the ink.

“Contrived as it may be,” Amalthea said, “I take all of it as both a compliment and a vote of confidence.  And you’re a writer; you write stuff like this all the time, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not supposed to feel so contrived.  This is… this is like a bad deus ex machina.”

“You’re not writing a book in this thing, Written,” Amalthea chided.  “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“It does!” Written exclaimed.  “Whenever I am writing something down, it’s a thing of mine.  I have to make it perfect or it doesn't feel right.  It bugs me for days and days if I don’t.”

“That’s what editing is for.  Think of it as a first draft, just letting it spill out onto the page”

“When there’s the fact that things will be changed with a stroke of a quill to my whim, there isn’t going to be any time for ‘first drafts’.”  Even so, Written dipped the quill in the ink pot again and set it back to the page.

Amalthea will be going to Sugarcube Corner to see about a job today.  She’s been studying up on cooking a lot recently and she feels prepared.  I only know that the tests will be having her bake various items, but I’m sure she will make it and that the Cakes are going to love her and having the extra help.  The extra income will help out the house now that two of us are living here.

“That’s it,” Written said, putting the quill back in the ink pot.  “That’s all I’m going to do.”

“Alright.  You want to come with me to see how I do?”

“Of course,” Written said nervously.  “I need to see that this thing still works like I think it does.”

Written Script closed the journal and put it away in his desk.  Amalthea took out a parasol Written had bought her from the marketplace and opened it up as they stepped into the bright sunlight.  They trotted quickly through Ponyville from Written’s home over to Sugarcube Corner, where a sign noted “Help Wanted”.  Amalthea closed her parasol and they entered inside to the sound of a small bell tinkling above the door and a blast of cold air.

It wasn’t long before a yellow Earth pony with a pointed chin came out.  “Oh, hello, Written Script!  How was your reception last night?”

“It was really good, Mr. Cake,” Written Script replied politely.  “The food was excellent and perfect size for snacking.  Final Draft was saying we might hold another event here.”

“It’s good to know we fulfilled your expectations.”  Mr. Cake turned to Amalthea.  “Hello, young lady.  I don’t think I’ve seen you around before until last night.”

Written turned to Amalthea and gestured to Mr. Cake.  “Amalthea, this here is Mr. Cake, one of the owners of Sugarcube Corner as well as Ponyville’s finest baker.”

Mr. Cake blushed.  “Well, I’m one of the finest bakers.  My wife often helps me.  So, what brings you around?”

“I was interested in getting a job here,” Amalthea said.  “I’m relatively new in town and I saw the sign.”

“Well, we always need the extra help,” Mr. Cake said happily.  “There are some days where it just feels like we sell out of everything.  We just had a whole batch of éclairs sold because they tasted good coming out of the fridge.”

“Alright.  So, what do I have to do?”

“If you want a job, we’re gonna have to put you through a little test.  I want you to bake three items for us: our two most popular items – doughnuts and éclairs – and one item of your choice.  You will be rated on time, presentation, and taste of all three.  Written, for the time being, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay out here, unless there’s something I can get you before I give Amalthea a tour of the kitchen?”

“Perhaps a cup of iced coffee and a doughnut.  Plain glazed will be fine.”

Mr. Cake nodded and pulled out a doughnut from the tray and filled a cup of iced coffee with a light chocolate flavor.  Written Script paid for the refreshments and went over and sat down at a table, pulling a newspaper from a stand near the door and settled himself in.

After about twenty minutes, Mr. Cake came out from the double doors into the kitchen without Amalthea.  “How is your coffee?”

“It’s good on hot days like these,” Written Script asked.

Mr. Cake nodded and put his hooves up on the table.  “So, how’d you meet her?”

“She was new in town and looking for a place to stay and I was looking for someone to help with payments.”

Mr. Cake nodded.  “You’ve certainly found yourself a lucky catch.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knew her way expertly around the kitchen and started up work faster than most others we’ve had come through here.”  Mr. Cake leaned in close and whispered.  “She could even tell the sweetener I used wasn’t normal sugar but a plant sweetener in a taste test.”

Written Script’s eyes widened for a moment in amusement.  “I never even knew…” he said.

“It’s a special thing,” Mr. Cake said.  “Canterlot stores like to use actual sugar because all their clients are looking for a sugar fix.  We just need a sweet treat around here, so we don’t need pure sugar.  Also takes off a few calories.”

“Very nice.  Do you put it in the coffee, too?”

“Sure do.  Anyway, I should go and check in on her.  Is there anything else you want?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine for the moment, but thank you for the coffee and doughnut.”

Mr. Cake nodded and went back into the kitchen and Written resumed sipping his coffee and reading the news.  Among the articles was a half-page segment about his signing event featuring a little snippet from a conversation with Final Draft saying how well Written worked with him.  Written smiled at the mention and the review and carefully tore it out of the paper before he continued on.

Close by, an article showed up on Metal Quill and the publication of his novel.  The article almost covered a whole page and went over his life though with two minor details: Metal Quill said he took Written Script to see A.K. Yearling, and that Written was being mocking of him when he tried to attend his own signing.  The article infuriated Written Script with the blatant slander, but he didn’t throw it away; he tore out the article before taking the rest of the magazine and balled it up and threw it across the room to a trash can.

For some reason, it irritated him more when it didn’t make it in.  Written Script got up and trudged to the piece of paper on the floor and set it down in the trash can, throwing his empty paper coffee cup and napkins over it just so he wouldn’t have to see it again.

A thought came to Written Script.  If Metal Quill was going to continue putting him down like this, perhaps putting a thing or two in the journal wasn’t such a bad idea.  It could just be small things.  One good review for Written Script.  One bad review for Metal Quill.  A simple event or sellout for Written.  A small burst of anger from Metal Quill.  For now, the writing wasn’t the problem that Written had with Metal Quill, but his personality.

A short while later, Written couldn’t be angry any more.  Amalthea was coming out with a tray with a lightly glazed round donut, a carefully frosted and cream-filled éclair, and three plates with thin slices of chocolate and peanut butter pie with whipped cream.  Mr. Cake was carrying with him three forks and three glasses of water.

“Well, it’s time for the taste test,” Mr. Cake said, brimming with anticipation.  “Written, you’ve been coming here for years, so you can join in.”

Written politely took a fork, along with Amalthea, and Mr. Cake brought out a knife.  He carefully cut the doughnut into three pieces and picked up one himself.  Written Script picked it up and eagerly took a bite; it was light and fluffy and not too sweet.  He told this to Mr. Cake.

“I completely agree.  That’s one of the three passed.  Onto the éclair.”

The éclair didn’t have too thick a chocolate glaze on top, the pastry was light and fluffy but thicker than the donut, and the cream filling was neither overpowering nor lost in the mixture.  The chocolate and peanut butter pie had a wonderful graham cracker crust, a nice layer of peanut butter mousse, and a layer of rich chocolate, all refrigerated just enough so that it was cool and chewy and creamy but not enough to freeze it.

Once all three items had been sampled, Mr. Cake gave out a contented sigh.  “I must say it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone who could bake like that.  I’d say that’s all three tests passed and I’d be happy to give you the position.  I think the rest of the day is covered, but do you think you could start tomorrow?”

“I would be happy to,” Amalthea said happily.  She giggled.  “Thank you so much, Mr. Cake.”

The two discussed time and pay – Amalthea gave a low sum that caused Mr. Cake to actually add pay on the request – and soon the two were let out with a few doughnuts to go.  Amalthea quickly reopened her parasol and they trotted back to Written Script’s home and the safety of the shade.

Once they were inside, Amalthea jumped up and hugged Written.  “Thank you so much!” she said.  “Oh my Celestia, it worked!  The journal worked!”

“Yeah,” Written Script said.  “And now I have a reason to use it.”

Amalthea pushed off Written Script.  “What do you mean?”

Written Script gave her the article.  He watched as her eyes slowly read through the article and begin to widen more and more and more.  Eventually, her eyebrows furrowed and eventually turned inward in an angry glare, and she threw the article down so forcefully she nearly tore it apart.

“But… but that is all lies!” Amalthea exclaimed.  “I mean, he was the one who came over, insulted me, your editor, and yourself and you were the one trying to accommodate him.  How could he even think about that!?”

“I don’t know,” Written Script said, “but to me this is evidence enough.  Obviously Final Draft’s warnings are not enough to keep him under control.”

“So you’re going to use the journal?”

“Of course!” Written exclaimed.  “I will not sit idly by.  I didn’t want him to be a villain, but Metal Quill has made himself one.”