You Decide to Read this Story...
Hello there.
Oh my! I pray thee calm down and settle thy heart! Nay, this is no dream, and I am no phantasm!
Ahem. You're confused. You're lain up on a couch in some salon that looks as though it's from some palace in the middle of the night. Across from you sits what can only be described as a six foot navy blue winged horse with a horn sticking out of its head, and it's telling you all of this as you continue to stare at it. You're mildly impressed by this creature's grasp of vernacular English. Thank you, Celestia has been teaching me, but I slip into old Equestrian style from time to time.
As it continues to speak your eyes travel towards its flanks.
What's that? You weren't looking at my flanks? You would be screaming in this position? Fascinating, I think we might have some ground to start off on with this little conversation.
As I said, you're confused. No no, listen to me, you're confused. You have no idea where you are, but only that the room's owner must be fabulously wealthy to afford such furniture and an alien horse to talk to.
Oh be quiet! The horse smacks you in the side of the head. You recoil and clutch what you're certain will bruise badly.
Actually, yes I did hit you quite hard. You're certain that you'll be put up in bed the next day.
You cross your arms and glare at the blue horse thing in front of you. It is then that the creature stands to her full height, wings extending and declares, "I am Princess Luna, Ruler of Equestria's Night and sister to Celestia!" She folds her wings back and nods to you. She asks you to follow her, and you oblige.
Oh stand up and play along, this will make sense shortly.
You follow me towards a bookshelf by a blazing fire. You tug at your blazer's collar as the heat gets to you. No, you're not cold, you're hot, stop disagreeing with what I tell you to feel.
I turn about and use my magic to float a book towards you. I drop it into your hands and...
Oh stop complaining about your toe! You were supposed to catch it! I know you're not used to anything athletic, but it's not like I hurled Felix Baumgartner down on you from the moon.
You once again cross your arms, and tap your foot in irritation at the pretentious horse in front of you. Absolutely positively because of irritation. No, you absolutely positively would not be tapping your foot to distract you from the ludicrous pain that is shooting up your leg. You briefly wonder if the book was made of concrete. Not marble or iron or granite, you specifically think it was made of concrete.
How do I know this about you?
I don't. Just like you didn't know this about me when you wrote that. I float up the book again and open it to the back pages. As I do so I explain to you that it is a magic book that sends information across the span of the multiverse. There are some complicated words in the explanation that you do not care to learn, so you shrug your shoulders.
Shrug them...
I don't care if you have a degree in theoretical physics, you didn't understand half of what I told you, what you do understand is what I next tell you: that this book sent me a copy of your latest creation "You Fight a Tentacle Monster and Sleep with Celestia".
Now right off the bat I thought you had some things right and just a few things rather awkwardly phrased. Now yes, I have fought tentacle monsters, but Celestia and I sleep at different times of the day.
You nod slowly as you begin to understand the situation you're in.
Don't make me grab your head and force you to nod. Fine, just say, "I understand."
"I understand," you say.
Now while that account of the tentacle monster was tantalizing and surprisingly accurate, I know very much for a fact that my sister would not call me a "sexy hunk" let alone hug me and beg for relief of any desires she might wish to see fulfilled by a stallion.
I lead you back to the couch and sit beside you, and tilt my head and smile. You scowl at me. Now you're just laughing to break the mood.
You see, when you write a story like this, you make grave assumptions of your audience, constantly asserting what they would do, feel, see, pay attention to or say. Every time you make a mistake, and trust me, judging from what I've read of this you've made a lot in both your writing and life.
I float the book before me and open it, reading a passage to you. "Celestia screams out in ecstasy as you smack her flank." Now your jaw is hanging open. Yes, you tried telling the princess of an entire nation that she would strike her sister as part of an erotic act. Yes you did, that's exactly what you did, don't deny it. You see how irritating that is? Being constantly told things about yourself that you know to be blatantly inaccurate?
Now you're claiming that it's supposed to help with immersion. I click my tongue and wrap my wing around you. My feathers are soft, and you snuggle up against me.
Ow! No! Bad Anon! Bad, you don't hit your princess! You lower your fist... Ahem, a magical glow envelops you, and then forces your fist down.
The magic clamps your mouth shut so you do not scream. Tears well in your eyes as it dawns on you exactly what you're doing, but I'm not done. I have to tell you, if you write properly, people will willingly insert themselves into your characters. No matter which character it is, if and when they are comfortable, they'll live vicariously through your writings. They'll expand their horizons, and at the end of it, they'll have grown. They'll know there is more to life than what they've seen, rather than just be ticked off that you didn't know they would want Celestia on top, or that they'd prefer to use a Browning .50 cal against a tentacle monster rather than a sword.
The magical field releases you.
And what you do after that, I cannot say.
