Muse

by Matthew Penn

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 2846

Inspiration can come from anywhere at anytime... you just have to find it first.

Writing stories was the only thing Pipsqueak enjoyed the most. It was odd for a colt his age, but he had a natural talent for weaving tales. He loved entertaining ponies young and old with his fantastic stories.

Now trying to pick up a pencil has turned into such a chore for him. Trying to think of ideas gave him headaches. His hoof shook and trembled when he did find the time to write words. Pipsqueak's wonderful imagination was fleeting.

All seems lost for our unfortunate writer; but sometimes, during moments of uncertainty, inspiration can come from the most unexpected of places. You just have to find it first.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-02 19:00:02 UTC

The Block

Pipsqueak held his head in his hoof, looking at the blank sheet of notebook paper that laid on his desk. He tapped his pencil on the wood of the desk with his other hoof. A few minutes ago Pipsqueak had crumbled a sheet of paper and threw it into the waste bin that was at the bottom of his desk. He did this throughout the day that the waste bin overflowed with paper, some of it causing an avalanche on the floor. As he gazed into the single sheet of college-ruled paper, it returned its own gaze at him.

He raised his arm which had the pencil, cautiously, carefully choosing his words. He stopped, only for a moment. Then he lowered his hoof and pressed the tip of the pencil on the white of the paper. Pipsqueak’s hoof shook. The silence was growing. The first word he inscribed was The. He searched his mind to chose another word. Any word would do, he thought to himself. Sadly there were no words to put on paper. Pipsqueak dropped his pencil, then let his face fall forward on his notebook.

“Pipsqueak,” a voice of a mare called to him. The door opened, and a white mare with a long mane with the same brown color as Pipsqueak’s entered and the first thing she saw her son with his head down. “Pipsqueak what’s wrong?”

“I can’t think of anything,” he said with a small voice. So this must be what the dreaded Writer’s Block felt like, he thought to himself. For the longest time he scuffed at the idea that a writer, or any artist, could be severely stuck on something he or she enjoyed doing, until now. His mother approached him from behind, so Pipsqueak raised his head from his desk. He turned to his mother with a look of a pony who lost the will to live.

“Dear, it’s nothing to be worried about,” she said, rubbing his brown mane. “I’m sure you’ll think of another story if you keep trying.”

“But I can’t think of anything. No matter how hard I try, nothing will come.” Pipsqueak grabbed his notebook, held it over his face and in front of his mother. “This is all I came up with!” he said, pointing at the word The that was written. “What’s wrong with me, mum?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Pipsqueak,” she said sweetly. “Maybe you’re just tired. It’s almost your bedtime, you know?”

Pipsqueak glanced at the clock on top of his dresser. She was right; it was a quarter past 9:30. Before he knew it he was already yawning. His mother patted him on his back, letting him know it was time for bed. Pipsqueak climbed out of his chair and under his blankets. His mother leaned to his head to plant him a speck on his cheek, then walked over his desk to gather the waste bin full of pieces of used paper. “Everything will be okay, Pipsqueak, I promise you,” she said. “Now get some sleep my little prince.”

Usually when his mother called him “her little prince” his troubles would fade away, like how the kiss of a mother would dissolve the searing pain of a scar. Pipsqueak turned to side, desperately trying to fall asleep. His ability and will to create worlds and characters to inhabit those worlds was drained was from him and he didn’t know why. The more he tried to write the more depressed he became. Pipsqueak wondered if he could even dream anymore.

****

The sun rose over the world just as quick as the stars lit the night sky. After his mother woke him Pipsqueak tried to remember the dream he had. Closing his eyes, digging deep into his brain, he saw nothing but an endless black void. Those long hours of sleep gave me that, he asked himself. He looked over to his desk to see that the note had sat there since last night. Why can’t the pencil just stand upright and create the words on its own?

Once the usually morning routine was finished Pipsqueak kissed his mother goodbye, and took the road he always took to school. There was a time when his mother walked with him to and from; from when the day began to when it ended. When he entered the fifth grade last year she trusted him well enough to walk to school on his own, after a great deal of persuasion on his part. During his walk he thought about the unfortunate block he encountered. It had been months since he wrote a story. The last story he wrote was a Nightmare Night tale for his Writer’s Workshop Club, where his stories were often published for everypony in town to read. Pipsqueak planned to write a follow-up that took place during Hearth’s Warming, but he never came around to develop it. The next story he tried to write ended up becoming an incomprehensible mess of mis-mashed ideas with a mix of poor writing. He abandoned it as quick as he began it.

He was under a creative dry spell ever since with no hope of reversing it.

The schoolhouse was in his sight, so he had to put those worries aside for the remainder of the day. The schoolyard was filled with children playing, talking, or just resting before the instructing began. Pipsqueak chose to walk through the doors of the school before the first bell rang. He would have love to play games with the others, but due to his size he was always excluded, sometimes picked last when he did join.

Just as Pipsqueak took his seat in the classroom the bell rang. The children, and at last their teacher Miss Cheerilee, filled their seats as well, with Cheerilee taking the desk at the front of the room near the blackboard.

“Good morning class,” she said.

“Good morning Miss Cheerilee,” the class said back.

Miss Cheerilee continued her lesson from where she left the day before. Pipsqueak tried to listen as much as he could, but his mind drifted off to other things. As Cheerilee lectured to the class he created doodles on his sheet of paper. As if the thought had not occurred to him, Pipsqueak realized today was Wednesday, which meant his Writer’s Workshop Club was meeting today after school. He found himself contemplating whether to attend or not. When he became a member for the first time since he attended Ponyville Elementary he hardly missed a meeting. Whenever the workshop assigned all the members a writing prompt to work on, Pipsqueak would always deliver on time. He sighed quietly to himself, letting his hoof guide the pencil aimlessly drawing doodles.

Cheerilee lectured, the students listened and worked, and morning turned into noon. When the bell rang Miss Cheerilee released her class for lunch and recess. While the children played and ate their meals Pipsqueak decided to spend time under a tree with his nose in a book. It was a Daring Do novel he checked out from the library a week ago. Everything around him; the ponies, the buildings, the streets, even the sky, disappeared when he immersed himself into a book he enjoyed. In fact he couldn’t hear somepony calling his name several times until he looked up.

“Um… hi,” the filly said. She had a short yellow mane and pale violet coat. The filly held a red ball under her arms.

“Oh. Um, hello,” Pipsqueak said back.

He watch the young filly scratched her head, tapping her front hoof on the ground. Then, “I saw you sitting under the tree by yourself, so I was wondering… did you want to play ball with us?” She pointed to a group of three fillies - a pegasus, a unicorn, and an earth pony. Those three Pipsqueak knew all too well, but not well enough.

“... Um, no thanks,” he said. “I’m not very good. I don’t want to ruin the game for you.”

“Are you sure? We’re just playing catch. I’m not very good either, but it’s fun.”

“That’s okay.”

The filly shrugged her shoulders and continued her game with her friends. He returned to reading his Daring Do book; once again everything around him vanished. His mind projected every action the words on the page described to him like a movie. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed when the bell rang. Luckily he had already finished the current chapter before class started again.

Miss Cheerilee lectured more about the importance of mathematics in society. Pipsqueak, including some of the other children, tried their best not to fall asleep. For the moment it seem to have worked; Pipsqueak had forgotten about the Writer’s Workshop Club, and his sudden writer’s block, if he hadn’t already.

As with all things, the bell had to ring eventually; and, as always, he was the last pony to leave the class. Even though he didn’t want to, Pipsqueak forced himself to attend the Writer’s Workshop meeting. He had a perfect attendance record, so what was the point of ruining it?

Every Wednesday members of the Writer’s Workshop met for an hour and thirty minutes at the Golden Oaks Library. Twilight Sparkle was the club’s founder, in addition to president. Pipsqueak; and strangely enough, Rainbow Dash, were the club’s first members. Pipsqueak suggested Rainbow join the workshop after realizing how much she enjoyed writing Daring Do fan fiction, most of it he had read (in addition to proofreading and editing).

“Pipsqueak, I’m glad you can make it,” Twilight said after Pipsqueak knocked on the door. “Come on in, you’re just in time for our meeting.”

Indeed he was. The library was already filled with other members of the Writer’s Workshop by the time Pipsqueak arrived. A majority of the members were around his age, if not a few years older. A few others were either teenagers and young adults. Pipsqueak usually saw Spike helping Twilight with the club activities. There were chairs scattered around the library for the members to sit, and Pipsqueak took the seat nearest to the front.

“Now we just have to wait for one more pony to arrive,” said Twilight.

Pipsqueak knew exactly who she was referring to. Rainbow Dash, who was otherwise a dedicated member of the Writer’s Workshop, was always fashionably late. On many occasions she’d arrive right in the middle of Twilight’s lecture about writing and literature. Pipsqueak did a double take at the front door.

“It’s no use trying to wait for her, Pipsqueak,” Twilight said. “We’ll be here all day.”

Pipsqueak heard a faint boom from outside. Then the sound became that of a rocket hurtling toward the ground. To his, and Twilight’s surprise, Rainbow came in for a landing at the front of the library.

“Okay, I’m here!” she said. “What I miss? Anything important?”

“Uh… no. You actually came just in time,” Twilight said.

“Sweet! Is there any food? I’m starving!”

“You may have to wait until after the meeting.”

Rainbow took a seat that was near the front next to Pipsqueak. He always found himself sitting next to Rainbow during the meetings, which isn’t too surprising since the two became acquainted with each other since joining the workshop.

“Since everypony is here we can begin the session,” Twilight said. “Let’s start out with a few minutes of freewriting.”

A stack of loose-leaf paper was held by a swirling, purple glow of magic, then each sheet was passed out to each member. Everypony in attendance began to write immediately, except for Pipsqueak. He found himself in the same position as he was last night, gazing at the blank sheet of paper while tapping his pencil on the desk. Pipsqueak felt the cold taunts coming from the paper. He brought his pencil holding hoof down on the paper, then backed away. A million words bounced from one side of his mind to another like a mental pinball machine. He looked over to his side and saw Rainbow Dash writing at an incredible speed. How is it that Rainbow can just dive right in and I can’t, he thought.

Pipsqueak’s arm refused to budge when he tried to pick up his pencil. A struggle later he finally managed to place to maneuver the pencil so he can make words. Slowly he inscribed something, guiding his hoof as he wrote.

The.

Just like last night.

“Okay, that’s enough freewriting for today,” Twilight said. Pipsqueak placed his pencil down, staring at the only word produced through his stifled creativity. “Would anypony like to read they wrote?”

Rainbow excitedly flew out of her chair and stood front and center in the eyes of her audience. Apparently she wrote about what she did today - flying, sleeping, more flying, sleeping again, then spent three hours writing a script for her Daring Do movie she wanted to make. A couple of others also read their freewriting prompts.

“Pipsqueak, would you like to read your’s?” Twilight asked.

He looked down at his paper at the crudely written The, then back at Twilight. “Uh… no. No thanks.” She looked at him weirdly but paid her no mind.

“... Okay,” Twilight said. “Anyway, I thought we could begin by having a discussion about about ideas and where they come from.”

Twilight spent a good half of the meeting talking about where authors get their ideas. She explained how a simple thing such as daydreaming can light a spark that can ignite the entire mind. Pipsqueak wished he had that moment of inspiration like the other authors. There was one thing he liked about Twilight that made her different from Miss Cheerilee. Twilight’s lectures (at least to him) were more engaging than Cheerilee’s. They are also both passionate about reading and writing. If his class was in need of a substitute teacher, Twilight Sparkle was the first name on the list. Nonetheless, no matter how good her lectures are, Pipsqueak had yet to find that spark.

The lecture continued, followed by more demonstrations from Twilight and activities for the workshop, and each activity left Pipsqueak more depressed than ever. One writing assignment called for a one-sentence adventure story, then expand upon it using the three-act structure. The best he could do was two words. It still bewildered him that Rainbow was gaining more from this than he was.

The meeting came to an end an hour later. Before Rainbow left she mentioned to Pipsqueak that she was going to continue her Daring Do screenplay, and he wished her good luck. Just as in the classroom Pipsqueak was the last to leave, however he was stopped by Twilight.

“Pipsqueak, I know you have to go home, but do you mind if I speak with you for a moment?”

“Uh… sure. Okay,” he said, not looking at her in the eyes.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you were a tad bit… distant, than you usually are. Also, you used to write and publish stories a lot since you joined the workshop, and they’re really quite good. Is everything alright?”

“... I’ve been distracted lately. You know, with stuff.”

Twilight looked at him weirdly again. Pipsqueak couldn’t tell if it was bad or not, but he did knew she might have been questioning him. He sighed later. There was no use hiding anything from Twilight Sparkle. “The truth is… after that Nightmare Night story, I couldn’t write a thing anymore. That’s why I hadn’t put anything out in months. Because of… “ he paused, gulped, “... the writer’s block.”

“Oh my.” Neither of them said anything. Then, “Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed about, Pipsqueak. Writer’s block is something all writers come across, even great ones like A. K. Yearling.”

“I never had it. I used to think of fantastic ideas for stories. Now I have an empty brain.”

“It happens to the best of us, Pipsqueak. You shouldn’t let anything ruin your passion for writing. Don’t you remember what I talked about? Inspiration can come from anywhere at anytime. The only thing you have to do is never give up. You are a very talented writer, Pipsqueak. It amazes me when such prose comes naturally to somepony your age. I’m sure you can beat this writer’s block.”

“I used to enjoying writing more than anything. It was the only thing I loved to do. Now it’s just a chore to even pick up a pencil.”

“I know it can be hard, but I promise you will pull through. Trust me.”

Twilight gave him a reassuring smile, then released him so he can go home. They were pretty words, and Pipsqueak appreciated that she wanted to make him feel better, but it was no use. The writer’s block had gotten worse since Nightmare Night and it might be here to stay. He would be lucky enough if inspiration fell from the sky and landed in front of him, or a strike of lightning somehow ignited that creativity spark in his brain.

A colt can dream, can’t he?