YOUNG MARE RISES UP THE RANKS WITH HER SECOND NOVEL; A BESTSELLER
The new novel Nuevo is flying off the shelves as eager readers flock to the bookstores in droves to raid every shelf that contains the precious story. The book in question is a tale about an old, lost alien disguised as a pony trying to find his way in a world he doesn’t understand. Critics are calling it a “story with a ton of heart and a much-needed optimism for this day and age.”
The author of Nuevo, P. D. Pie, has admitted she “just got lucky” with Nuevo and believes her previous work, Arcsign, deserves more attention. “Not that I’m complaining! I love that ponies are finding Nuevo amazing! I guess I just didn’t realize how much I was talking to the modern reader!” She says the idea for the book came from watching one of her sisters growing up. “She was always unsure of the world around her, but she was always glad to find joy wherever she could. Taught me everything I know!”
In Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, P. D. Pie is well known as a party animal, organizing as many celebrations as she could ever since she was a little filly. She has announced plans to increase the “partyosity” of these celebrations with her newfound riches.
P. D. Pie is already working on her next book and apparently is never without a writing project of some sort, “publishable or otherwise….”
~~~
“So, idea~!” Pinkie Pie trilled, leaning on the banquet table, a coy expression on her face. “What do you think would happen if we threw a bunch of random alien species onto a planet together and let civilization grow up from that? What would happen?”
The various guests at the party started talking so fast Pinkie had to work to pick out any words: “Ponykind wins!” “Ponykind isn’t an alien!” “What about those human creatures?” “Trolls!” “A parasitic race.” “Why would they even be there?”
Pinkie pointed at the pegasus stallion that had asked the question. “You. That’s a good question.” She studied him – he wasn’t one of the usual crowd; Pinkie would know since she made sure to know everypony who frequented her parties. There were five major categories: her family, her friends, her fans, the ponies who lived down the street who came for the company, and the ponies she would kick out the moment she saw them. This guy hadn’t been around long enough to register on any of those lists. “Oooh, I don’t know who you are! What’s your name?”
His sharp features focused into a smile. “Hazel Acorn.”
“Welcome to the party, Hazel!” Pinkie grinned. “Let’s get this stallion a book!”
“I already have all your books, there’s no need.”
Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Not one of mine, silly!” She trotted away from the table to one of her many bookshelves, this particular one decorated with a tie-dye coloring pattern. With a hop she grabbed a soft blue book off the shelf and handed it to Hazel. “Here you go, Three Body Problem, by Cherry Lace! Good sci-fi. A bit bleak in places for my tastes but it really gets the mind going!”
“You hand out books to every guest?” Hazel asked.
“Yu-huh!” Pinkie said with a vigorous nod. “Ponies always ask why. To that I say: BOOKS ARE FREAKIN’ AMAZING!” She let out a purposefully psychotic laugh. “For all my prose, I cannot bring myself to put my feelings into words. The sensation of worlds beyond, of ponies within the page… it is too much!” She fake swooned, leaning on her bookshelf for support.
Her long, straight mane somehow got stuck in between a couple of books. “Wha- ow. Hey!” She tore her mane out of the books and glared at them, adjusting her rectangular glasses for maximum glaring potential. “Finally shirking your obsequious nature and challenging your monarch? An apropos sentiment, but I will have the final word!” Gently, she forced the books into a strict upright position where no mane hair could get caught in them. She leaned on the bookshelf once again, putting on a stupid grin. “So, where were we?”
Hazel blinked. “…Uh…”
“You were asking about the ‘races on a planet’ idea.”
He recovered remarkably quickly, flapping his wings slightly in the process. “Yes, I was wondering: why would they be there?”
“Generally not the sort of thing you need to know this early into brainstorming,” Pinkie admitted. “Buuuut it does get the gears flowing! Who would throw a bunch of races onto a planet all at once to see what happens? It couldn’t just be natural, not all of the races would come into being at the same time. There’d have to be some gods or aliens involved.”
“God aliens?”
“I like the way you think!” Pinkie chuckled. “Hope you’ll be sticking around these parties, I can tell you have the mind of a writer.” She tapped her head comically. “Now, the next step is usually to define what the ‘god aliens’ are, but I happen to have an old world building project that has an explanation for the R.O.B. phenomenon…”
“R.O.B?”
“Random Omnipotent Badword,” Pinkie said, rubbing the back of her head. “I didn’t come up with the term, it’s from an old Internet forum I used to dink around with. They didn’t want to bother explaining why any of their ‘what if’ scenarios happened, they just wanted to get to them. A bit lazy, but eh, if you’re not actually writing a story.” She stopped, looking to him for a reaction.
Hazel blinked a few times. “You certainly are a mare of words, Miss Pie.”
“You betcha!” she said, trotting over to the table again. “Words are my life! …Well, books are my life, but they contain a lot of words!” She laughed at herself even though nopony else was. She sat down in her chair and poured herself a big glass of Extra Super Fruity Punch™. “Examine this punch! It contains within it enjoyment for, oh, a few minutes if you parse it out and aren’t thinking too hard about it. But it takes up a full hoof! Meanwhile, a book... it contains so many words that you could spend hours on it with just two hooves! And you could have a glass of punch on the side!”
“Didn’t you read that 39 Clues book in under an hour?” one of her friends asked.
“I was high on caffeine and my comprehension was about zero. Plus, I thought we agreed my reading and writing speed was imponypossible?”
“Yeah, we did.”
Pinkie kicked her back legs up onto the table and leaned back into her chair. “I’m a word machine! I am the epitome of speech, the loquacious equine, the pink puff of plasma-induced party shock!”
“Plasma indu-?“
“I wonder if ionizing the air in a party could bring about solar lights…” Pinkie wondered to herself. “Eh, something to do research into later. For now, let’s stop waxing pseudo-poetic! Let’s party!” She held her glass of punch up high. “Who wants to play Werewolves!?”
And the night moved on, as it always did, to other varied enjoyments.
~~~
Pinkie woke up with a splitting headache.
I didn’t have any alcohol last night… why the headache…?
Her answer came with her awareness. When she had stumbled home in the wee hour or four AM, she had flopped onto her bed. As it happened, her head had landed square on the metal railing of the bed rather than the mattress, so she had spent the entire night pressing her face into a hard, cold, unloving rim exerting pressure on her skull and, by extension, her brain.
She let out a whimpered groan, peeling her face away from the offending metal object. She had produced enough sweat to fuse some of her coat to the bed, so the motion tore a few hairs out of her face.
“Mmf…” She muttered, rubbing her eyes with her hoof. She looked to the clock. 11:19. She was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that she was an author and, as such, didn’t have a daily routine to speak of. Just a few years ago waking up this late would have sent her into Pink Panic mode.
She trotted to the bathroom and checked her face. There was a large red mark right under her left eye, like she had been smacked with a metal bat. It sure looked painful, but at the moment it just stung a bit. Probably numb. Hopefully that wasn’t hiding at a deep, searing pain that would hit her like a train a few minutes from now.
Realizing her stomach pains were legitimate hunger rather than an upset from sleeping in the most awkward of positions, she trotted downstairs to the kitchen. Two options spread before her – she could have herself some breakfast, or lunch. Either was viable at this time of day, really. In truth, she could even have a dinner if she so felt like it…
Twitch. There it was. The twitch. Other authors called it the itch, but she called it the twitch. The need, the deep calling within her soul to get the words out of her mind and onto a page—or computer screen, as was the case with her. She didn’t want to spend any time preparing anything complicated. To be fair, she wasn’t that good of a cook anyway, so even if she did feel as though she had time it may not have been worth it.
Cereal or ramen? She closed her eyes and twirled around as fast as she could, hoping to choose randomly, but all she did was ram her head into the cupboard.
Probably shouldn’t do that until I get more familiar with the house… Pinkie rubbed her head. She noticed she was looking in the general direction of a spicy ramen noodle package. The random glancing of her eyes was a good enough decision maker for her.
After cooking it up and experiencing the mild agony of trying to eat something spicy quickly, she trotted up to her office with a huge smile on her face.
There it was. Her desk. An absolute mess of books, post it notes, cables, rainbow pens, and two monitors sitting above her hoof-niche keyboard. For a moment, the books beckoned to her. Singing of worlds beyond that she hadn’t even thought of yet. She swore some of their pages flipped in the wind…
Though that could have just been her opening the door.
She shook her head – no! The books contained many worlds, but if she opened one this early in her day, she would be lost, taken down to a hole of fantastical realms she would not rise from until it was tomorrow. The twitch needed her attention.
With a jump she landed in her chair and laid her front hooves into the dual impressions on the hoof-niche keyboard. It was a design infinitely superior to the ‘key for every letter’ keyboards that only pegasi and unicorns could use properly. Every letter was set to a combination of hoof motions. For most earth ponies, typing on such a keyboard was a slow process.
For Pinkie, countless hours upon hours of practice had given her an immense speed. She could produce so many words even unicorns on ‘standard’ keyboards were shocked. It helped that she was able to hyperfocus and had a decently advanced autocorrect on hoof.
With a grin, she used a special circle motion to open her word processing program.
There it was. The blank page. A white rectangle dominating her left monitor. She could feel the anticipation building. Sure, there were other stories she could be working on… but today, today she was going to write something new. There was a city of mysterious supernatural darkness that needed to get onto the page, and making it wait wasn’t going to do her other writing any favors.
As her tunes finally loaded and kicked in, filling the room with adventuring music, her hooves sped up like a powerful engine. She moved her hooves rapidly, keying in the letter combinations with amazing speed and grace. Sure, she made some mistakes, but she kept moving.
Had somepony glanced at her without paying much attention, they may have thought she was a disc jockey.
~~~
Being a bestseller wasn’t a problem for Pinkie. She liked the attention, the occasional interview, and the respect she was given despite her eccentricities.
Being a local legend was a problem. She’d go out just to get the groceries and she’d get ponies pointing at her, whispering, and often walking right up to her and engaging her in conversation. During groceries, this wasn’t too much of a problem; it wasn’t like she usually had anywhere to be.
However, it was distracting, and she had never been very good at fixating on things when there were ponies talking to her. It switched her into ‘talk talk talk!’ mode.
This was a particular problem at church. The goal was simple: go, listen to the message, gain some understanding on life, and leave. Except for the last few weeks it had been go, try to listen to the message but really be overly aware of every set of eyeballs that were staring at her, fail to gain an understanding of life, give out a few autographs, leave.
To put it mildly, it wasn’t good for her, and a few times she had actually caused a disruption by walking a tad late.
Luckily, she had a solution. A pair of sunglasses, a hat, and a heavy coat made a disguise. Naturally, everypony at her church would easily recognize her. So… just go somewhere else! Couldn’t be that hard, right? Just walk in without making a scene, sit down, listen, leave.
I have got to stop turning everything into a list of actions.
She trotted in the doors, careful to keep her signature smile under control. I am level. I am emotionless. I am a leaf on the wind…
At least the stained glass windows here were nice. Lots of crosses, books, chalices… Oooh, I could put a chalice in my new book! She quickly shook her head. Pinkie, stop it! File that idea away for later.
Naturally her mind didn’t really file it away for later and decided to flesh it out anyway, without her permission, but that was regulated to her background mental faculties.
She entered the main sanctuary, looking around for an empty seat far from other ponies. Shouldn’t be too hard, this was a large sanctuary and she had come for the early service...
And then somepony recognized her. A certain brown pegasus with a curious expression. They locked eyes.
Pinkie frowned. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
Carefully, she moved toward him and planted her rump in the seat next to his. “Hazel, right?”
“…Yes…”
“If you mention to anypony here who I am… I…” she frowned. “Well I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Given your connections you could probably make my life a living nightmare somewhat easily.”
Pinkie gasped. “Why would I do that? That’s horrible!”
“…Ponies will recognize your voice if you talk that loudly all the time. You’ve been on the news a lot recently and your tone is very distinctive.”
“Oooh, right,” Pinkie whispered. “How’s this?”
“Well now you just sound creepy but at least you won’t be recognized. Probably.”
“You see me as the lost soul of an ancient matriarch bent on world domination – but really I’m just a sad lonely woman who misses her family.”
“How much time do you spend in that head of yours?”
Pinkie giggled. “Almost all of it.”
“Even at the parties?”
“The parties are extensions of my mind, if you think about it.” Pinkie said. She held out her hooves as if illustrating a point, though really all she was doing was making a pointless circle. “I prepare them with the ideas in my head. The parties are just another way of bringing what lies hidden in the folds of my cranial muscle to life.”
“Don’t you ever think of things that are already real?”
Pinkie thought about this for a moment. “The ponies I know, and how they’re feeling. That’s important. Well, and this,” she said, gesturing at the entire church. “But you know, that goes without saying since we’re both sitting here.”
Hazel nodded slowly. “I spend most of my time on thinking about the world and everything that’s wrong in it.”
“That sounds like a depressing way to live.”
“It gets to me, sometimes. It’s one of the reasons I read your books.”
Pinkie opened her mouth to ask a question, but the pastor came out at that moment and started the service. The two of them fell quiet and focused on the message.
~~~
Pinkie and Hazel walked out of the church, frowns on their face.
“…She was angry,” Pinkie observed. “Angry at… everything.”
“I can’t help but feel she has a right to be angry,” Hazel countered. “But… she didn’t have to be so hateful. Aren’t we supposed to love our enemies?”
“I don’t even like the idea of having enemies,” Pinkie muttered, kicking a stone across the sidewalk. She looked up, watching the cars zip by. “I write them all the time… but in real life, we’re supposed to love, tolerate, and care for everyone. Right?”
Hazel nodded, but he made no response.
Pinkie looked into the distance, past the buildings, past the power cables, and on to the trees. Coeur d’Alene was a city built into the northern forests of America, bordered on one side by endless evergreen trees, and on the other by an immense lake. Much of the city itself had ancient trees growing alongside roads and houses. It was a place built into nature, rather than in spite of nature.
And yet, despite all this beauty all around them, even ponies here were angry. Ponies always seemed to be angry, these days.
“I’m trying to change it,” Hazel said.
“Hmm?” Pinkie said, confused.
“All this hate, the lies, the… the everything.” He ruffled his wings, looking for the words. “I… I work in the mayor’s office. I’m trying my hardest to work my way up the ladder. To give the ponies a voice that isn’t perpetuating their order.”
“That’s a tall order,” Pinkie observed.
“I can’t just stand by and let horrible things happen. So many ponies I know have been shafted by poorly thought out laws, regulations made by greedy ponies, and the… the fear of the unknown.”
Pinkie looked to him with her signature beaming smile. “Hazel Acorn, don’t give up. Don’t ever give up. Even if it looks bleak, even if it seems like the system is going to grind you into the ground – you’re going to get back up, you hear me? You’re going to tear the… the gunk from this world and use it to make ponies smile!”
“Like you?”
“Psh, me?” Pinkie waved a hoof. “I just write books.”
“Books with ‘much-needed optimism for this day and age’.”
Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “Quoting my own review at me?”
“I’m allowed to do that. It’s a thing ponies are allowed to do. Perfectly reasonable.”
“When talking about me, not at me.”
“Well excuse me if I’m in uncharted waters here. What exactly is the etiquette for talking to an author?”
“I have no idea! But you can ask around at my parties. Which you will be at. And you will tell me how things are going with your life mission, by the way.”
“It’s… rarely pleasant.”
“Hazel, I have three brothers and four sisters, and our entire family was homeless during my teenage years. Just because I’m happy all the time doesn’t mean I don’t know what hardship is.”
Hazel looked at her in surprise. “I… I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t. I mean, who talks about their disgusting past like that?” She chuckled to herself. “We’re all fine now. My oldest sister owns a legal firm and I’ve got a really good book, we’re all cared for one way or another. It’s a miracle we all survived, though. …Really is.”
Hazel frowned. “…Don’t just dismiss it like that. It was still hard.”
Pinkie let out a ‘pfft’ noise. “I’ll see you at the next party. Be there.”
“Like I needed incentive to go.”
“A girl can never be too sure!” Pinkie called as she ran off – not looking at where she was going. She ran right into the side of a mare riding a horse. “Ow…”
The mare looked down at her. “You just about scared John senseless!” She patted her horse on the side of the head. “There there, it was just a ditzy mare, nothing to worry about big guy.”
John whinnied.
“Sorry!” Pinkie said, blushing. “Enjoy your ride!”
“We always do.”
~~~
Weeks passed, as they always do. Writing sessions came and went, parties were thrown, and Pinkie woke up on the floor a few times. Granted, none of those were from hangovers, but it probably helped that she simply detested the taste of most alcohol. Were she not blessed with that she knew she would probably be hammered more often than not.
As it was, waking up with her face on the heating grate was about as about as bad as it got. Sure, her face looked like it had been hit by a grill for the first few hours of her day, but nopony was around to see it.
For once, she wasn’t writing, reading a book, or calling up her friends – she was watching TV. She just felt like sitting on the couch for the day. Freedom is nice.
She turned the TV on, hitting a news station.
“The Presidential Race is heating up as both candidates throw insults at each other in the debate. Proponents of both parties are arguing that the other is engaging in unacceptable, rude behavior not fitting of the President, and polls are showing public opinion of both dropping to record breaking lows…”
Pinkie changed the channel.
“…Riots have broken out on the Mexican border over the latest in a string of incidents relating to the cartels…”
Pinkie twitched. This better not be one of those days…
She ended up on a commercial this time.
“If you or anypony you know ordered asthma medication from these sellers, you may be entitled to compensation for damages or death.”
Click.
“Now I’m not saying there’s a conspiracy to overthrow the American government from within, but have you seen what they’re doing over there with all those regulations? Why are we letting this happen!? If the system is just going to tie us up in these little knots, why are we bothering with the system?”
Click.
“War broke out on the border three years ago. It is still ongoing today.”
Click.
“Now listen to me, brothers and sisters! God’s word tells us to fear magic, and to cast it out from our midst! But we are told by society that unicorn telekinesis isn’t magic! This simply is not true – in the times of our ancestors we did not permit unicorns to utilize their devil-given abili-“
“AUGH!” Pinkie shouted. “Just… JUST STOP!”
The TV did not stop. It did not have control over the world. Nopony did.
Pinkie forced herself not to cry. She held up the remote to the TV and switched it to Netflix. At least she’d have control over what she watched now.
…Not that that was necessarily good. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that was part of a bigger problem…
~~~
Pinkie wasn’t feeling the party tonight. She’d organized it, set up all the decorations, even made a book fort. The book fort was really nice. She just couldn’t get into it. Her mouth wasn’t running a million miles an hour. She managed to keep smiling – she almost always did – but today everything was just… in a funk. Being in a funk sucked.
With a sigh, she excused herself from the table and walked out to the balcony. Her funk did not stop her from taking a fried chicken leg with her and munching in it as she entered a sort of moody meditation.
The sky is beautiful, she thought, looking out at the full moon and twinkling stars. This universe is so amazing. It’s… it’s a gift to us. Why do we have to ruin it?
She noticed Hazel was on the balcony as well. Had he been here before she came out? She wasn’t sure.
“…You need to fix this,” she said.
“Huh?” He looked up, not having fully heard her.
“Fix this. This… mess. What we’re doing to this world. To each other. Get up there, march right up to those suits in D.C. and tell them what they’re doing wrong. Maybe make them sit at a dinner together and be friendly.”
Hazel looked at her with pained eyes.
“Hazel…?”
“I… Pinkie…” He ground his teeth, slamming a hoof down on the railing. “I had to lie to keep my job today.”
Pinkie gasped.
“I was told, quite frankly, that if I told anyone about the funding ‘fudging’ I’d be out of a job, and that I wouldn’t be able to prove anything nefarious regardless.” It was clear that he was trying not to cry. “How… how can we change anything if we have to become monsters to get to where we can change anything?”
“I don’t know,” Pinkie admitted.
Hazel banged his head on the railing, whimpering as he did so.
“But I do know something.”
“What?”
“That you’re going to keep trying.” Pinkie put a hoof on his shoulder, fixing him with a sad smile. “The world is going to beat you up and toss you around like an old muppet, but you’re going to stand back up! The drive within your heart to change the world for the better is too great!”
“But what if I don’t amount to anything?”
“Who cares!?” Pinkie shouted, grinning like a madmare now. “You’ll have tried! And by trying, you will have made the lives of some ponies better! You might even save their lives! For every joyful word I write, there might just be a pony out there who holds onto life just one more day! For every little thing you change, every policy you twist… even if you never leave this city, somepony’s life is better because of you. Because you wanted to help them.” She grabbed his face. “Look at me. The world sucks. Ponies are horrible. Anger is everywhere. But we’re going to keep smiling anyway, and that’ll inspire. Are you with me!?”
Hazel let out a soft chuckle. “I… Sure, Pinkie. I’m with you.”
“Great!”
And in that moment, their eyes locked. A deep ochre orange fixed on her innocent sky blue. Pinkie felt the twitch.
He leaned in…
And she dropped him.
“OW!”
“Woah there, lover boy! You brought this on yourself!”
Hazel was blushing furiously, scrambling to find the words. “I… S-sorry, I wasn’t-“
“I mean at least ask me out first, come on.”
He looked up at her in shock.
“Heh. I think I like you when you’re flustered.” Pinkie giggled, offering him a hoof. He took it, smiling nervously. “Well…?”
“Huh?”
“Ask me out, moron.”
Hazel shook his head. “Sure. Would you-“
“Yes I would absolutely love to. Tomorrow, though. It’s already 2 AM here. …Actually, I guess technically that would be tonight huh?”
“The day is defined by when you lay your head.”
Pinkie smirked. “This just might work…”
“Really?”
“I mean… We don’t want to rush into anything, but think about it. I’m the artist, you’re mister practical. We could be quite the team in the world, if we’re lucky.”
“And if we amount to nothing?”
“Then who the heck cares?” Pinkie laughed. “We didn’t stop trying!”
Hazel nodded. “…We have to promise ourselves to keep trying. Even… even if this doesn’t work out.”
“Well, I promise.”
“Do you pinky promise?”
Pinkie glared at him. “Using jokes that bring back terrible childhood memories on the first day?”
“I thought we agreed it doesn’t start until tomorrow, and that it’s not tomorrow yet?”
Pinkie, for once in her life, had no response. The fact that she had no response made her laugh. “You got something, Hazel, I’ll give you that.” She pulled him into a hug. “And we are going to keep smiling no matter how bad it gets.”
“You should write a book about that.”
Pinkie looked up at the sky, her imagination drawing lines and pictures between the sparkling stars. Her grin widened.
“Hazel Acorn, all of my books are about that.”
Author's Note
This is not the end. There are more questions to answer.
Who is Applejack?
Who is Pinkie Pie?
Who is Fluttershy?
Who is Twilight Sparkle?
Who is [ERROR]?
Who is Rarity?
