Chapter 1: The Smuttening
Hii, it’s me, Night Owl.
I wanted to lead this blog with telling a bit about myself!
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I stared at the luminous glow of my monitor. Where do I even begin? What is there to tell about me?
I decided there was nothing I could do wrong by keeping it simple. Leaning forward, I resumed punching the keys.
I’m a bat pony mare in my mid twenties. Purple mane and eyes, little fangs and leathery wings… the usual. Whenever I’m not writing, I work in the palace, as a junior cook in the central kitchen. Night shift staff, of course.
The cursor remained at the end of the sentence. I pondered over those lines for a moment. Perhaps there was something to do wrong by keeping it simple. I slowly pressed the delete button.
How do I tell something about myself without… telling them about me?
I’ve never been a fan of being too open on the internet. I had a profile in that one particular forum, yes, but it wasn’t connected to any of my writing. I had submitted all my previous works anonymously, a feature the website luckily offered (and was well-known for, in fact).
By doing so, much of my work had gone by without being noticed by a larger crowd, since the system had stashed it in some random folders their algorithms had deemed fitting. But I also hadn’t been noticed by a larger crowd, which was all I asked for.
Now that was about to change, and all because my featherbrain of a best friend thought I had potential. Whatever she was referring to. I still doubt slapping my nickname onto the publications would change a damn thing. Just a lot of headaches for no gain.
Usually I didn’t mind publishing anonymously. No profit, no glamour, but also no extra efforts. My old method didn’t eat up an entire evening and morning just to create the framework. I usually wrote in the time between my shift and sunrise—aka, in the ‘evening’ of a nocturnal mare’s course of the day, and found it as relaxing as any hobby could be.
Now I had to construct a whole profile from head to horseshoes before publishing my newest work, and as of now it promised to be tougher than it had sounded at first. Well, I thought, I promised her to give it a shot, so there’s no backing down now.
Another pause greeted me when I tried to resume typing. Was there even anything about me aside from those things, though? I guess, but I’m usually careful with those details. Not because they’re very precarious, but because they were a tiny bit… sorta… extremely intimate.
Yet there seemed to be no way around writing at least something about myself, given it was my profile’s bio we were talking about.
I’ve been writing for about six years. Or was it eight? Who keeps track of those things, right?
This is actually my first time making public submissions to this site, though I’ve been around for a while now...
A growl escaped me. This was worse than being too intimate.
This was plain boring. Redundant. The résumé equivalent of a McGuffin; I was saying nothing that couldn’t be replaced by any other random statement or element of my authorial past.
It’s useless, I decided, while hammering down on the delete-key. I got up from the desk, planning to head for the kitchen. Only when I stretched and about all my joints cracked I noticed how long I had been sitting here.
Staring at the monitor for hours, producing no more than two lines that were worthy of being kept around. Great!
Looking at the thin but bright line of sunlight on the carpet, the one that shone through the annoying little gap between my curtains, I noticed it was way past dawn. I should probably head to bed now, but I knew if I stopped now this problem would be around all week.
I needed to nail this today.
Actually, no. Having well over a thousand pages of writing experience under my belt, I demanded of myself to solve this today. No more excuses.
I headed to the kitchen and grabbed a leftover sandwich. My hoof was on its way to my stash of energy cans when I paused. I threw a look at the small bottle of apple brandy I had gotten for my birthday.
Taking a deep breath, I took it instead of the energy drink. Today required special problem-solving tools.
I returned to my desk, already halfway through my sandwich. I didn’t bother with a glass, instead taking a sip right from the bottle to wash the dry bread down.
I shuddered when the spirit surged through my throat like fire. This stuff was way beyond hard cider. Double distilled, twelve years old, this was a liquid weapon against bad days more than anything else.
Not saying I was a regular drinker. But once in a while I could see the benefits of erasing certain days from my hard drive.
Or in this case, seeing where my brain would go after a few sips. Perhaps I’d end up exploring a path I otherwise wouldn’t have thought of. The moment before getting truly drunk tended to be filled with the wildest ideas, after all.
Turning my attention back on the monitor, I noticed a blinking green icon at the top right corner. Someone had just messaged me. I clicked the icon and waited for the chat window to open.
[User: Early Bird]
[Status: Online]
[Unread messages: 2]
Heyy, what’s up!
Any success with your profile yet?
Of course it was her. Who else would text me at this late hour, knowing I’d still be online?
Before I could even muster a response, three jumping dots appeared in the chat window.
I knooow you’re still up! C’mon, I’m about to head to work, and I’m starved for an update!
I sighed and reached for the keyboard. Nothing so far, but I’m on it. Afraid you’ll have to wait ‘til after your shift, sry.
The three dots appeared again. I took another sip, noticing how it burned way less than the first time.
A shame… In that case I believe the update on the cover image can wait as well? :P
I inhaled sharply. Oh c’mon! That’s so unfair!
She knew that image had been in my head for weeks now, ever since I started working on that new story. And she knew I had more purposes for that image in mind than just as a cover for the publication…
Not like I’d ever tell her something that specific, but she and I were of the same batch, so I was pretty sure she knew. Our hobbies catered to such… demands, after all.
I leaned forward. You’re a most villainous bird.
The reply came a mere second later. Love you too :*
A moment later, another one followed. Gotta head out! L8rs!
[Early Bird disconnected.]
I cried out in frustration. By the time she got off her shift mine was almost about to begin… Especially since my flat in lower Canterlot was half an hour away from my workplace. There were only a few windows of opportunity each day where we were online simultaneously, and obviously I had missed this one.
I took an extended sip of brandy. I would not miss the next one. By the time she got off work I would have results. And then I would…
Banishing the thought from my mind before I could finish it, I quickly shook my head and resumed typing. Let’s focus. Work now, fun later.
I started writing some years ago, starting off with comedy and adventure, the latter mostly being Daring Doo fanfics. I eventually…..
………..
I caught myself, realizing I was running in circles. I slammed down on the DEL-key. This approach was too similar to the last, and the one before that. Unnecessary bullshit nopony cared about. I needed to tackle this from an entirely new angle.
But how would such an angle look like?
I got up from the desk, not because I wanted to go anywhere, but because I knew my thoughts could get locked in their tracks if my only input was the flimmering of the tube. I let my eyes wander across the walls of my one-room apartment.
The plain white-and-grey wallpapers didn’t hold any answers I realized. I headed over to the window. Hesitating only for a second, I yanked the curtains wide open. My previously relaxed—and thus wide open— pupils contracted in a flash. They were still too slow to avoid being completely blinded by the outside sun. Even through my slit pupils and closed eyelids the sun was blazingly bright.
Stupid last year’s me for picking a south-sided apartment. But I wasn’t yet done with the shock therapy. Blinking against the blinding light I reached out for the window and opened it as well.
Fresh air rushed into the room, and with it, the smell of the streets and of freshly baked goods. My stomach rumbled. Living right above a bakery had its downsides, too. My first instinct was to ignore my landlady’s “no flying in front of the shop” rule and get myself the equivalent of a midnight snack, but my discipline dominated. That, and probably my laziness as well.
I closed both window and curtains again and headed back to the computer, invigorated by the taste of fresh oxygen. I reached out for the nearly empty brandy bottle and downed the remainder in a series of huge sips.
It was go time.
And to Tartarus with the rules of decency. I had my answer now.
Hey there!
Following the advice of a friend, I wanted to lead this blog with telling a bit about myself. Mostly so you have a mental image to go with that story you just read, but also to give you an impression of what’s about to come ;)
I started writing some years ago, starting off with comedy and adventure. Stuff I’m sure you’ve seen at least a dozen times. It was nice, but as you can easily guess, didn’t remain my focus genre for long.
Switching to romance had been the long-awaited breakthrough. It not only proved to be my forte, but also the first step in a direction I pursued until today. See, I went along with it for a while, but eventually I noticed the sweet potential that was hidden deep inside any well-written romance story.
Just like a casual date leading to a hot one-night stand, it turns out my passion was the hot stuff. The juicy bits which, let’s be honest here, everyone wants to get to in the story.
It’s the sex. The porn. The fucking. Call it as you like, I don’t judge. But every good romance story is essentially nothing more than the build-up to a single scene of heavily censored intimacy.
Yet, why waste precious time with a hundred-page build-up, I ask you? There is so much to explore, so many facets to the emotional and physical intimacy of two (or more ;) ) creatures, I see little use in putting the focus on anything but that.
This isn’t my first time making a public submission, but the first time I’ll publish stuff on my profile. From now on you can find all my works on this page, including the occasional blog post where I’ll try to keep you updated on my progress.
I’m Night Owl, and I hope you’ll enjoy my work. Bonus if I get you to jerk off :P
So long!
Pink stained my cheeks as I gazed in awe at my own work. Did I seriously write that last part? Oh well. Somepony out there will find it entertaining, I hoped.
Giving the bio a once-over and a quick spell check, a thrill went through me like lightning. It was unprofessional. Silly. Naughty. But who cared? This was the idea of the internet, after all: you could be anycreature you want to be.
Perhaps this would be a chance to be myself for once.
With a breathy shudder that for some reason fogged up my glasses, I hit submit. There was no going back.
Let’s. Fucking. Go.
