Write What You *Feel*
A mouse cursor hovered at the top left of a blank word processing document. Its blinking existence alternated with the heartbeat of the user staring lethargically at it.
Twilight Sparkle squatted—petite and cross-legged—upon the pedestal of her office chair. Clad in starry pajamas, the young woman squinted her bleary eyes through her spectacles. Gazing, lingering, sighing... as digital page of words absolutely refused to manifest itself into creative being.
Outside her bedroom window, night glazed a black blanket over the lengths of suburban Canterlot. Crickets rang their endless chorus—drawing blood from Twilight's ears. She had considered playing streamed music at low volume, but that initial contemplation transpired fifty minutes ago and she was too lazy to back out of the word processor and boot up another app.
Fifty minutes ago...
Twilight Sparkle had been sitting at her computer for the better part of an hour. And what did she have to show for it? Her eyelids hung heavy and her joints ached from sheer atrophy, growing even rustier by the minute. Just like her mind.
Why was she so uninspired?
Another sigh.
Twilight was tired—and she loathed herself for it. She had taken a short nap that afternoon after coming home from college. After two or three taps of the “snooze” button, that initially short respite turned into a four hour slumber. Whatever energy had once brimmed through her mind had long fizzled out. And—even after so much rest—she felt completely drained. A dry, hollow, husk of a human being. Not even the hottest spark would set her insides on fire. What was the point in even trying to spread that blaze across a written page?
Slowly, she took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.
Think...
The joints in her jaw hardened. Twilight slid the glasses back on, smoothed her bangs back, and groaned breathily towards the ceiling.
Thiiiiiiiiink...
She kicked lightly at the desk and spun her feminine self around, spinning and spinning in the office chair until the confusing detritus of the world turned into a blurred streak around her.
Think think think think think!...
But—like all things—that kineticism she had so forcibly kindled died far sooner than she would hope for. Twilight's spinning motion waned, and she came to a grinding stop in the chair. Even the dizziness incurred by the motion did little to tap the parched well of her mind, and she found herself staring once again into the bright white digital wasteland of that word processor.
Insufferably...
Incurably... …
Torturously... … …
… … … blank.
Twilight sighed heavily through her nostrils. She considered playing a Youtube clip. She considered rolling back into bed. She considered jumping in front of a moving train.
When all of a sudden...
...her phone lit up with a pinging sound.
Bored eyes scraped a bored path towards the mobile device in question. Upon seeing Sunset Shimmer's image flickering across the glossy screen, Twilight lazily picked the phone up, swiped it unlocked, and glanced at her messaging app.
Her friend had texted her:
Can't sleep. What are you up to, girl?
Without breaking her abysmal stone face, Twilight Sparkle slapped her fingers across the phone. She texted back:
One would have had to have made a vertical ascent to count as being 'up' to something.
Silence. Then ellipses. Then Sunset replied:
Hoooo boy. What's wrong, Twilight?
Twilight adjusted her glasses for no one in particular. Quiet as a stone, she relented, texting back:
Nothing is wrong. I have nothing to complain about whatsoever.
Of course something's wrong, Twi. I can always tell when you're in a bad mood. You get super technical and avoid contractions—even when texting among friends.
The young bookworm bit her lip. She swiveled from side-to-side in her computer chair, shuffling with self-conscious quivers.
Another ping from Sunset:
Something keeping you from relaxing?
Twilight answered:
No.
Sunset replied:
Something keeping you from writing?
Twilight grimaced. She hugged her knees to her chest, looking even tinier in that chair as she cradled the phone in trembling hands.
Her “silence” spoke volumes. Soon Sunset was texting:
Ah. I get it. Can I call you?
Twilight's heart skipped a beat, and she hated herself for it. Closing her eyes, she sighed long and hard... ultimately slapping forth a blind reply with blurred fingers:
Sure.
Less than a minute later...
...the phone shattered the silence of the room with a Rainbooms guitar solo.
Twilight slapped her finger over a green icon and held the mobile to her head. “H-hey...”
“Hey yourself,” Sunset's lovely voice crackled over the feed. “Lemme guess. Feeling the age-old writer's cramp?”
“Mmmmmm...” Twilight drummed a set of fingers over her knee as she gazed depressingly at the computer screen lingering just past the sound of Sunset's voice. “...yeah.”
“Y'know, back in Equestria, we would call it 'writer's cripple.' Cuz having a cramp in your hoof pretty much means you're crawling across your belly with nowhere to go. Not that it mattered. Typewriters where we come from only have—like—two keys. Have you ever considered writing a short story in Equestrian binary?”
“Mmmmmm...” Twilight's lips curved ever so slightly. “That sounds awful.”
“Eh. Horses for courses. And you know the rules: only I'm allowed to say that joke.”
Twilight managed a tiny giggle.
Sunset clearly heard it. Her voice rang all the rosier through the phone as she said: “I know how much this hobby of yours means to you, Twilight. I've always said that you've got the gift of making money on the side, freelancing. Heck—you could even go mainstream with novels if you put your brilliant mind to it!”
“Meh...” Twilight sighed, looking sad and listless once again. “Some brilliant mind...”
“No ideas flowing, huh?”
“Mmm-mmm.”
“Some days it's just harder than normal. That's natural. What you gotta do is some mental irrigation to rediscover the river's flow! Have you considered walking around some bit? That tends to help the juices flow—for humans, at least.”
“I've tried pacing around the house,” Twilight droned. “And watching movies for inspiration. AND reading up bio-picks of well-established authors. Documentaries on creative people typically inspire me. But... truth is... I'm no Virginia Woolf or Zora Neale Hurtson. And—right now... I'm not even Stephanie Meyer.”
“I've said it before, Twilight. You gotta—pffft... hee hee hee...”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What's so funny?”
“Ahem. Nothing. Just had a silly thought.” Sunset could be heard clearing her throat. “As I've said before, you gotta stop comparing yourself to other writers.”
“I know.”
“Just discover your own pace. And if you can't get the words flowing—most important of all—don't kill yourself over it! Especially for hours on end!”
Twilight covered her face with her hand and sighed. “I know...”
There was an empathetic space of silence, and then Sunset's voice dripped: “Wanna bounce some ideas off of me? I'm all ears. Even if they aren't so cute and fuzzy at the moment.”
“I... wouldn't wanna do that to you,” Twilight muttered.
“Awwww. Girl, why not?”
“Even if I could explain my ideas to you somehow...” Twilight pulled her hand down and glared once more at the offensively blank computer document. “...I'm pretty sure that you wouldn't enjoy them.”
“But—the fact of the matter is—you would enjoy them, right?”
“... … ...”
“Maybe that's the crux of the issue, Twilight. It seems like you keep tackling writing as if it's some sort of chore. When—in fact—you just need to be looking into the FUN of it! Let the enthusiasm of your story ideas carry you away!”
“I don't see how it could be possibly that—”
“Look. Just—stop overthinking it! Y'know? Don't focus on any goal or metric. Just write, Twilight. Just write for the sake of writing. If the idea makes you scared, then write what scares you! If the idea makes you happy, then dive deep into shameless mirth! If the idea makes you horny, then I don't want you texting me back until you've had to change your pants! You got me?”
Twilight snorted. That snort turned into a giggle. Soon, she was red in the face.
Sunset's broad smile could be heard over the phone. “Struck a nerve there, huh?”
Twilight calmed slightly, breathing warm breaths for the first time in hours. She hugged her knees to her chest with a tender sensation for once. “You really think it's that easy...?”
“Why shouldn't it be, Twilight? I'm telling you... just write for the sake of writing... and eventually—by sheer attrition—ideas will port out of you! And if they don't, no biggie! You can try again tomorrow! Or the next day! Eventually... that levee will break, and you will have tons of awesome stuff to share with the rest of the girls. Or—y'know—just with me. I know how to keep spoilers a secret.”
“Mmmmmmm... that's sweet of you...”
“You feeling better? I can hear it in your voice.”
“Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyeah...”
“Well, I'll leave you to it. As for me—I've got some friggin' noobs to rob out of some chicken dinners. Wish me luck! I'm absolutely sure you won't be running out of it.”
“Thanks, Sunset. You're a real great friend, y'know that?”
“Yeah yeah. It's almost like it's my friggin' superpower or something. Spank ya later, girl.”
A soft and mutual click, and the phone conversation ended.
Twilight put down the phone. She took a long and deep breath... a breath that ended with a toasty smile. She cracked her neck muscles, then her knuckles, and she slid fully up to her computer.
With hands placed over the keyboard...
...Twilight Sparkle swiftly and speedily manifested a paragraph into being, grinning confidently the whole time:
It was a dark and stormy night when Shadow the Hedgehog crawled onto the changing table of the padded nursey. He smiled up at his lover, Shrek, who took the rubber hose from an enormous helium tank and fastened it inside Shadow's mouth. With a turn of the knob, a low hissing sound filled the room. Shadow's diapered belly began expanding like a soft and fuzzy hot air balloon. Bigger... and bigger... and bigger... and bigger... and...
