This Is an Example. There Are Many Others Like It, But This One Is Mine
This Is an Example. There Are Many Others Like It, But This One Is Mine
Okay, so, say you’ve decided to finally confess your undying love to Sunset Shimmer. Pony form, of course, because humans are gross.
You’ve gone over it in your head a million times. You ask her out, she says sure, and now suddenly you’re going to go on a date with her, oh my gosh.
Wait. You forgot to tell her it was a date. Nice going, ya goofball.
It’s okay, though. You’ll figure it out as you go, right? You always do. You keep telling yourself that as you get ready. Internal monologue is good for succinctly establishing emotions and reader mindset, and can act as transition points for actions/paragraphs so that you can get to the important stuff quickly.
So anyway, you’re sitting at a restaurant called The Confluence. Sounds fancy, right? You make sure to include that fancy name in a somewhat esoteric fashion, because it makes an immediate and impactful statement on the importance of this date with almost no narrative baggage. Were the narrative pacing to allow it, you'd include a snippet as to why it was called that, such as a location or historical event.
Anyway, you scratch at the collar of your Sunday Best to introduce a brief snapshot of yourself: a robin’s egg blue buttondown and plum paisley tie. Nopony ever said you were the best at color coordination, but nopony’s ever slapped you for it, either, so whatever.
You’re waiting for her, because you told her you’d meet her there and everything between then and now wasn’t important so you didn’t include it in the story. Maybe you’re sweating, because of how nervous you are, and body language like that is good for underlining the tone of a scene.
How about descriptions of this place? The decorations are nice, you guess. It’s pretty upscale, but you don’t really bother describing it outside of one or two big things like the crystal chandelier or the napkins folded to look like swans at every table, because it’s all just window dressing for your narrative and you don’t want to bog it down with unimportant information. The real meat of the story is Sunset Shimmer, so you gloss over most of the fluff until she arrives.
And hot damn, does she arrive.
Just look at her as she walks through the door. That dress she’s wearing is important because she’s the focal point here, and your readers need a vivid picture: a flowing scarlet dress with glittering sequins all pulled up over one shoulder.
Look at those golden bangles around her front hoof. You swear they catch the chandelier’s light just right, because callbacks to other things in your narrative can add subtle impact. She’s got her mane in a ponytail that drapes over her bare shoulder, and that little forelock over her eye acts as the cherry on top now that you’re done describing her physically.
She hasn’t noticed you yet, so now’s a good chance to point out something integral to her character that physical traits could never convey and thereby elevates her above other ponies in your eye—that little blank-but-observant expression she sometimes wears that you love so much, because you’re always curious what’s running through that beautiful mind of hers. It adds an air of mystery to her character for the reader to latch onto and wonder alongside you, because don’t forget: all this description is meant to pull your reader in and love her as if they were in your horseshoes.
She sees you at your table and smiles. It’s a smile that gets your heart racing time and again, but you describe the smile itself as nothing more than that, since you’ve tangentially described it through how it makes you feel, and everything else has already built up enough anticipation for the first dialogue drop.
“Hey,” she says. It’s a friendly “hey,” a confident “hey.” Short and to the point.
“Hey yourself,” you reply. You keep your voice calm and collected, despite how dry your mouth just went. Hopefully that bit of bravado is enough to keep things casual. Yeah, you’re definitely sweating now, because you know for a fact it’s anything but casual. Only you and the readers need to know that, though. “You look amazing.”
“I could probably say the same,” she says, taking her seat across from you.
You smirk. “Probably?”
She returns her own. “Probably.”
She says something while gesturing at the swan napkins at your table, because again, callbacks are nice details, and she’s seeing them for the first time. You might have caught what she said, but you’re not sure because you were too lost in those beautiful teal eyes of hers, no matter how corny that sounds. It’s the little things that have the biggest impact, and with her that’s no exception.
“Sorry, say that again?”
“I said I can’t believe they fold their napkins like this.” She picks up her swan in her magic and twirls it around, to add a bit of action to the scene. “It’s adorable. How do they do it?”
“Magic?” You give her your trademark grin, the one you know looks stupid but will work all the same, because she’s got that fiery personality that will bounce your sarcasm right back at you.
It works like a charm, evident in her laugh, and she smooths out the tablecloth, despite the fact it’s already smoothed out. It gives the moment a sense of balance and a chance to bridge into the next action with a thought: perhaps she’s just as nervous as you are.
Unfortunately, only Actual You knows the answer to that. It’s a matter of perspective: the you sitting in the chair can only guess as to what she might be thinking right now.
Who are you kidding? She’s not nervous. Just look at her. She’s perfect.
“I mean, look at this place.” She casts her gaze at all the details—the crystal wine glasses, the oil paintings, the intricate carvings of prancing ponies along the crown moulding. All the little things you didn’t bother with before that are now suddenly relevant because she’s pointing them out, so you put words to them. “It’s beautiful.”
She looks at you, worried, which left as such is okay, because it’s a lead-in to a character-descriptive voiceline. “Isn’t this place really expensive?”
You laugh and wave away her worries. “I like to think I have enough saved up for special occasions like this.”
In the back of your mind, you know you’re lying through your teeth. But again, internal monologues summarize and keep you sympathetic by showing the lengths you’re willing to go for her. Though a pocketbook doesn’t measure far emotionally, mentioning something like the fact that you would have built this place from the ground up with your own four hooves in order to have this date certainly does.
The waiter glides up to your table. He’s dressed to the gills in a slim tuxedo and all its trappings, which are important enough to know exist but not enough to elaborate upon, and his mane is slicked back. He gives you two a smile—her first, then you—because details like that add punch to the unspoken reputation of this restaurant and himself as a character.
“How are we doing this evening?” he asks. Even his voice holds the strong baritone you’ve forever associated with butlers growing up, since that adds an extra thing about him, plus something about yourself, which ponies often forget to do. Remember, you’re just as much a part of the story as she is.
“Great!” Sunset says. Her voice is full, and a genuine smile plays at her lips.
That’s good. You’re doing okay so far. The day’s going right for the time being, you think, in order to offer others privy to your thoughts some foreshadowing.
“Same,” you say.
“That is excellent to hear,” the waiter says. “Can I start you two off with something to drink? We have an excellent selection of wines.”
Sunset looks to you briefly for an answer, because although she’s a big girl, confident, and collected, she seems to be taking cues from you. She doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries on a first date.
So maybe she does know it’s a date after all.
You don’t hesitate. Gotta keep that good impression and subtly remind us of your insecurities. “What do you have?”
And here comes a tricky part. Actual You is no wine connoisseur, and the temptation to gloss over the waiter’s affluent descriptions and listing of wines and their nuances strides up beside you like an unwanted ex-marefriend. But Actual You also knows this little detail—just the tip of the iceberg—would add a splash of color to the story, and so you made sure to familiarize yourself.
“Ah, for our reds, we have Canterlot’s favorite caberneigh sauvignon, a pinot noir grown in our own vineyards in Vanhoover, or if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, we have a zinfandel from the Princess’ own private reserve.”
“Ooh, I’ll have that,” Sunset says.
The waiter never got to the white wines, but if Sunset’s already chosen one, you figure there’s no need to hear more, which works out with that whole non-connoisseur thing. You’re not very picky, right? Well, too bad, you are now.
“I’ll have the same.”
“Glass or bottle?” the waiter asks.
“Glass, please,” you say. You’re not cheap, but you’re also not Filthy Rich. A mare like Sunset can appreciate a stallion who sets his limits. And if she can’t, then she’s not quite the perfect pony you thought she was, is she?
As you hope, she doesn’t seem to mind the limitation and graciously thanks the waiter. Her eyes flash to you, then down to her swan napkin. A smile overtakes her, because now it’s back to just the two of you, and you have a few poignant things to mention before the scene moves on.
“What?” you ask, half laughing.
“Nothing,” she says, carefree, taking care to look up and around and doing everything she can to avoid looking at you with that still-present smile. “I’ve never actually been to a restaurant like this before.”
It’s a notable thing to mention, because it opens up a possible insecurity of hers, but the you in the chair isn’t certain what it means outside of supposition.
Keep calm, keep the scene centered on her, but give it a dash of three-dimensionality, as the two of you aren’t the only things in this room. Let environmental details float in, touch her, and drift back into the background.
She slides her salad fork away from the rest of her utensils and then straightens it back out in her quest to avoid eye contact, to exemplify just that.
Likewise, you fidget with your swan, because it’s all you can do to keep your nervousness in check. “I can’t say that I have, either.”
Her eyes follow a passing waiter and his sizzling skillet of veggies. The smell of olive oil and grilled veggies kisses your nostrils, because you should never forget you have five senses to explore the world with. Again, let the background float in, touch, and recede.
While her eyes are following the waiter, you notice she’s wearing an earring that matches her cutie mark, as a footnote to reestablish and complement her appearance in the reader’s mind. By Celestia, she's so unbelievably beautiful. It would make you smile like a buffoon, but there’s already been enough smiling going on throughout this scene, so instead, you feel the heat rush up to your cheeks, and despite sitting, your legs feel like noodles.
“What?” she says through a half laugh. She’s leaning forward, ears perked up, both elbows on the table and her head resting in her hooves. It’s a very forward way to show she’s interested in what you have to say. Where are your manners? Sit up straight and look her in the eye like your momma always taught you.
“Nothing,” you say. You want to tell her she’s beautiful, but now might not be the best time. When even is the best time? You really should have been up front about the whole date thing.
“Oh, so now you’re thinking about nothing, too, huh?” She laughs, and it’s all you can do to not swoon right then and there.
It might sound silly, but the point is made and it rounds out the action with an endearing thought that lets you shift to something new. You’re about to mention this new thing, when she beats you to the punch.
“I’ve been pet sitting for Celestia this last week,” she says, because you’re a good pony and you know you need to set up the ending you have planned.
Her words catch you by surprise. “Princess Celestia?”
“Yeah?” Her eyes snap to you, a sort of ‘I thought you knew this’ look on her face, which is okay to do sometimes since certain descriptions can take too many words and be unwieldy for the narrative flow. “I used to be her student, remember?”
“Well yeah, but… well, I guess that just wasn’t something I was expecting you to say.” You shrug and offer an apologetic smile, and she rolls her eyes.
“I’ve been living in the human world for a while, and I just kinda needed a break, which is why I’ve been spending the last few weeks here in Canterlot.” She punctuates her statement with a little laugh.
Oh yeah. That whole human magic mirror thing. You almost forgot about that. Good thing you didn’t, though, since you need to at least hint at your history with her and now’s as good a time as any.
Actual You needs to remember she has her own motivations and reasons for being here and a life outside of this encounter that can and will encroach on this dinner for two, though the you sitting in the chair can’t see past that smile on her face.
“Yeah,” you say. “It's great seeing you again after all these years. So what exactly are you doing over there?”
“Oh, just, you know…” She shrugs. “Hanging out with friends, finishing school, stopping wild Equestrian magic from destroying the world. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds fun,” you say as sarcastically as possible.
She quirks an eyebrow at you, then laughs and shakes her head. “It’s a lot to worry about. Twilight thought I should talk to Celestia, and she said I should look after Philomena for her for a while.”
“What kind of pet is Philomena?” This might be old information to everypony else, but it’s new to the you sitting there, so it’s cool. You lean forward, both hooves on the table, since this back-and-forth needs some body language from your side of the equation.
“She’s a phoenix. We used to be friends when I was Celestia’s student.”
“Huh.” You smile at this knowledge, as it grounds her as a relatable pony. You used to have a pet canary. You weren't the best caretaker, though, so you don't bring it up. “You two having fun, then?”
“Loads.” She snorts. “At least, when she’s not pranking me.”
“A bird pulling pranks on you? That’s something I’ve never heard of before.”
She shakes her head, eyes lost to a memory within the swan napkin, and the moment lapses into an idle curiosity of just what she might be thinking. It works as a nice breather from this bout of dialogue.
“She’s a really smart phoenix, and I guess being cooped up in a cage all day can really make you want to get out and just sort of do things, even if they're kinda mischievous.”
The waiter returns in that same, smooth, gliding manner as before. He’s holding a wine bottle stamped with a beige-and-maroon label. Out comes the cork, and he pours a generous portion for both of you—more than you know he’s supposed to. He gives you a wink to top off this bit of characterization that refocuses everything onthe scene’s main objective.
“Are the two of you ready to order?” He looks to Sunset, who rechecks her menu.
“I’ll have the parmesan-almond-crusted alfalfa, with asparagus as the side, please.”
“An excellent choice,” he says. He doesn’t bother writing it down, nor do you bother mentioning that he turns to you, because the coming dialogue makes it apparent. “And for you, sir?”
Oh, jeez. That was quick. You hadn’t expected her to already know what she wanted, since you two were so busy talking, just so we would remember that you're not Con Mane who gets all the mares or anything. You're not that suave, sadly. “I’ll take the garlic mashed sweet potatoes and honey oats. Also with asparagus.”
“I’ll put those in for you. If you need anything else, please let me know.” He bows to each of you and heads off to another couple seated two tables over, to fill the environment with more atmosphere.
Speaking of atmosphere, the two of you elect to sit in silence for a moment and let the quiet din of the restaurant fill in the gaps. The gentle tinkling of glass and silverware acts as staccato to the murmurs of other conversations.
Sunset brings the focus back to herself with a giggle. She’s already sampled her glass of wine, and it seems she’s taken to it with another shameless gulp.
You laugh, and she almost spits out what’s in her mouth.
She unfolds her swan napkin and puts it to her mouth, still laughing as she wipes away the wine that dribbled down her chin. She looks down at the napkin in what passes as stoic acceptance.
“I deserved that,” she says.
“Yeah, you kinda did.” You give her that trademark grin of yours to punctuate the smartass comment.
She flashes you a faux-offended frown. It’s not worth describing in detail since the banter is more important. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“I know, but I did.” You shrug away her flak and glance off to the side, as an opportunity to reflect on something that lends itself to the emotion of the scene.
There’s another couple across the way having just as much fun as the two of you. They look like they’re celebrating an anniversary.
A small part of you hopes that’s the two of you someday. Oh, who are you kidding? A big part of you hopes that.
The banter goes on while you wait for your food, and you gloss over those uncounted but wonderful minutes at your discretion, since there isn’t anything dire to add.
The food arrives quickly enough, and you can’t help but notice how her eyes light up as the waiter sets her plate down, because it’s an excellent segue into the next bit.
Her parmesan-almond-crusted alfalfa looks good enough to die for, and a healthy steam wafts from her asparagus. Likewise, the waiter sets your tray before you. You can smell the garlic and butter in your mashed sweet potatoes, and your mouth is already a waterfall waiting to happen, because hyperboles have their place in narrative, too.
Sunset giggles to bring your attention back to the important thing in the room: her. She's got her napkin balled up on the table beside her spoon, and… also putting one on her lap? Oh, she stole a swan from the table beside yours. Float in, touch her, back out.
You smirk. She’s such a rebel. It's one of the many reasons why you like her. Those mentions go best sprinkled throughout the story like the salt on your grilled asparagus.
“Looks good, doesn't it?” She twirls her fork just above her plate. She's waiting on you, bud.
“I'll say.” You pick up your fork and go to town. The moment that first bite touches your tongue, you're in heaven, and your eyes flutter shut on their own.
It's a hot second before you realize your face is stuffed like a chipmunk’s, and you look up at that slowly growing smile of hers that she tries futilely to hide behind a hoof.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. It's a saying you've taken to that she brought back from the human world. You continue chewing, but give her that grin of yours through it all, like you meant to do that.
She knows you're full of crap, given her laugh, but your bravado works and she shakes her head. To your amusement, she digs right in, just as unmannered as you.
You laugh, she laughs, the scene moves on.
The two of you finish your meals, and you set your fork down on your empty plate, heaving a deep sigh. Wow. You've never eaten anything quite as tasty as that.
Sunset seems to think the same, the way she's idly wiping up her leftover sauce with a piece of garlic bread she ordered midway through the meal. She finishes the bread in one bite and wipes her mouth with her napkin.
“That was amazing,” you say. Stating the obvious isn't always the best course of action, but here you are with little else to say, because wow, that meal.
“I know, right?” A giddy smile overtakes her, and she tries folding the napkin back into its swan shape. The result is… laughable. The good kind of laughable, though. The kind where she throws you a glance and laughs herself.
“Shut up,” she says, tossing the not-swan onto her plate, because cute plays on words like that can carry a sentence.
You shake your head innocently. “I didn't say anything.”
“You were totally thinking it.”
“Lies and slander.” You play-stomp your hoof on the table. It attracts the brief attention of the couple two tables over—because callbacks—but they don't matter much, so that's all you bother mentioning.
She laughs again, and you join in. The wine is definitely going to your heads, which is a good lead-in for refocusing on the scene’s objective.
“But really, what are you thinking about?” She’s looking directly at you now with those entrancing eyes of hers. No environment, no distractions.
Something witty should go here, but you’re not quick enough on the draw this time. Gotta keep yourself grounded in your weaknesses for the reader’s sake. Luckily for you, you have to do the same with your strengths.
Which, if you know anything about yourself, is honesty. Right? Shut up, it’s honesty.
You shrug. “Nothing really. I'm still kind of floored by the food.”
She looks down at her plate in agreement. She pauses a moment before adding a simple “yeah.” Maybe a little too simple, since Actual You knows what's going to happen later.
The bill arrives, and you wither at the digits stamped across the bottom, because everyone can use a bit of commiseration. You throw on a smile before she notices, though. Can’t have her feeling bad about it. Besides, it was totally worth it, right? Just seeing her in that dress.
The bill paid and the wine finished, the two of you make your way out—short and simple for the unimportant details.
It's chilly, the sun having set sometime during dinner. Sunset's looking up at the stars that are already peeking out, to give you a valid reason to mention them.
“It's a beautiful night out,” she says. She's flattened back her ears, and her eyes drift to the full moon, bright and bold in the cloudless sky.
It's a good place to let the momentum of the scene slow and the insecurities lax, so you look too. You have no idea where the two of you are headed, but it doesn't matter. You could accidentally walk your way to Tartarus for all you care. It'd just be a funny story to tell later.
“Yeah,” you say. Out the corner if your eye, you see her look at you.
Her lips are slightly parted. Her teeth are clenched in that sort of wistful way meant to clue in the reader that something is wrong, but the you walking beside her hasn’t quite put that together yet. She looks ahead, and that smile returns.
The walk takes you to a park. The leaves have been changing the last few weeks, and even in the darkness, their reds and golds stand boastful on every branch, colors meant to be symbolic of the moment.
To double down on that, a couple passes by the other way, all smiles. They're sharing a scarf, and the stallion is floating two cups of hot chocolate beside them. No other details are necessary, as the emotional parallel is all you need.
Sunset leans against you after they pass, the way that mare leaned against her stallion.
That gets your attention. Even you aren't that much of a brick. You perk up your ears, and you swear it got at least ten degrees warmer out here, because again, hyperboles are efficient with the right placement.
Does she really know it's a date? You really should have made that clear from the get-go. Should you tell her now?
No, if she wasn't aware and you suddenly thrust that on her, that could ruin the whole night. You don't want to ruin what you've got going.
She keeps looking up at you with that rosy-cheeked smile. She giggles again and flattens back her ears.
The ears. Always with the ears. You couldn't imagine trying to describe another pony without them.
As the walk wears on, though, her smile fades. Her head she held high slinks lower, and hear ears fall to the wayside.
Something's definitely wrong. Even the you walking beside her can tell now, thanks to all that body language.
“What's wrong?” you ask. Which is the worst thing you could ask, by the way.
She takes a step away from you. She’s angry, but you can’t say just that.
There's a fire in her eyes, one that’s ready to lash out at a moment's notice, and her ears don't seem to know if they want to stand up or fall flat, since personification can add variety to your descriptions when you need it.
“What's wrong?” She squares up with you. Confrontational, without the narrative baggage. “You… just—” she sighs “—nevermind…”
She turns away and hangs her head.
Was that… defeat in her voice? Hurt, loss, one of the two. Maybe both. Suppositions go a long way in limited perspectives.
Did you do something wrong? Did you not do something you should have?
Oh, great. Now she's crying. Look what you've done. You're literally the worst. Well, don’t just stand there, do something!
She’s going to blow up on you, you're pretty sure, because that’s what girl ponies do when they’re mad. But you know you need to stallion up if you’re going to get to that happy ending you have planned. You have to earn it.
“Sunset,” you say. “You have to tell me what's going on if I'm going to fix it.”
She sniffles, to pair an action with her emotions and give her dialogue an explicit modifier. “I was just really looking forward to seeing you. The dinner, the moonlit stroll through the park…”
“Maybe it's the wine going to my head, or maybe it's just me wanting a break from the stress of keeping Equestrian magic from rampaging through the human world.” She shakes her head and swallows, to give you an excuse to break up this big monologue. “Or maybe actually liking a sweet, amazing, cute, funny guy like you is something I want in my life right now. But if you can't even find the balls to kiss me when I'm giving you all the hints in the world then I don't even know.”
Wow. So there's that fiery personality for you, also the callback to her life and motivations for being here. Still, her words cut deep, and it doesn't take a mind reader to know she already regrets saying them.
She takes a step back and visibly wilts, to follow up on that last sentence. Tears form in her eyes. “I… I'm sorry. I-I don't…”
You raise a hoof for stepping. “Sunset…”
She matches that hoof, raises it up to her chest as she leans away. ‘Push-pull’ is a great emotionally symbolic element for situations like this. “I'm just… oh, I really screwed this up.”
“Sunset, you didn't screw anything up. If anything, I did.” You take that step forward that you should have two paragraphs ago, because it bolsters your confession.
She looks away, ears still downcast. Never forget the ears. “You're just saying that.”
“Well… maybe I am. But it doesn't make it any less true.”
That felt like the right thing to say, because it came from the heart. But sometimes even when you play all the right cards (or at least when you think you do, Mr not-Con Mane), you can still lose.
Sunset takes another step back, her forehoof crooked in front of her chest. Her eyes dance between your eyes and anything but them. “I'm sorry, I-I just can't do this.”
Before you can object, she teleports away.
You stand alone in the cold moonlight, staring at the ghost of that mare as a poignant reminder of what you lost and as a transition to a mental recap before the scene progresses.
So yeah, it seems like she did know this was a ‘date’ date. That’s pretty obvious in hindsight, huh? She’s not a stupid pony, and this is what you get for not respecting her social intelligence.
That persistent giggle, the leaning into your shoulder when the two of you were all alone in the park. Those were some pretty obvious cues that she wanted to get smoochy with you. Way to go, champ. You goofed that one up good.
But you tried. Nopony can fault you for that. You know in your heart that honest efforts are duly rewarded, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it right now. You slink on home, and you gloss over the doldrums of readying for bed, because the tone is already set and the feels are in place.
It takes you a while to fall asleep, but once you do, you don’t dream, because this isn’t the sort of story that needs it. It would only end in melodrama—or worse, angst—and so you instead wake up rather grudgingly to the sound of something tapping on the window.
You introduce it slowly so as to pique interest and because you’re still half asleep. You roll over and try to find that cool spot on your pillow. Yeah, that’s the spot. The tapping gets more insistent.
You grumble and roll out of bed. It’s still sort of dark in your room, the sun not quite risen yet. Who in their right mind would be bothering you at this ungodly hour of the morning?
It’s a… a bird, perched outside your window. A phoenix. Philomena? She has a note tied to its leg. That's all that needs saying.
You race to throw open the window, and in flutters this stately bird.
She ruffles its wings, puffs out her chest, and cocks her head in what you consider to be a bird’s equivalent of a smile. Never underestimate the versatility of personification. Philomena chirrups and raises her leg for you to take the note.
You don't hesitate. Your heart’s pounding in your chest as you untie the note, and tight, intricate cursive meets your eyes as you unroll it.
You were right. I shouldn't have said those things. I guess I was just being a little too traditional. I'm sorry for blowing up there. Can we try again? Confluence? 8am? We'll go Dutch.
Again, sorry,
Sunset Shimmer
It almost feels too surreal. You don't know what “Dutch” means, but a second date is a second date.
Was she pretty harsh there at the end? Yeah, but she had every right to be, for how dimwitted you acted. Ponies make mistakes, and you know you're one to learn from them. You give Philomena a smile and a gentle pat on the head.
She twitters happily and is already out the window. You take the opportunity to watch her shrink into the distant blue sky, as a means of buffering the transition between the good news and your reaction.
You smile. It’s the same giddy smile you wore the first time she said yes, because that’s all the emotional callback you need.
You throw on that same ghastly outfit you described last night, head out early to beat her there, and you’ve already got something witty lodged in the forefront of your mind, because you’re pretty sure she’d get a laugh out of your antics if you play the whole “redo” thing straight enough. If nothing else, it’ll be adorable in her eyes, and that counts for something.
You decide to not mention any more than that. Because sometimes the hope of a happy ending is a higher note to end on than the happy ending itself. The scene, while not set physically, is set emotionally, and there’s nothing more to add that can’t be implied. All’s left that needs saying is,
Good luck, bud.
Author's Note
So this was... weird, in its conception. It began as an answer to an interview question that somehow morphed into an integrated example and then just didn't stop happening.
The story itself is rather contrived and insipid, yeah, but that ended up being more a symptom of the attempt to include as many little situations as possible (for maximum explanations) in this little, um... let's call it an experiment. Despite that, this was a heck of a lot of fun putting together. I hope this gave you guys some insight into how I include details in my stories and what I look for when building descriptions and formulating narrative objectives.
Please don't kill me.
P.S. Send pics of Sunnybuns!
