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Moon Bright
The chickens were nervous. Pistachio understood. The moon was too bright.
That was all it was. The moon was too bright.
He stared up at its blank white face, squinting a bit. Despite its ominously smooth look, any minute now it would yield to the sun. Of course it would. It already had, once.
There was no reason for it to be late, not with Celestia back in charge. She had raised the moon and its dark prisoner—former dark prisoner—for countless generations before him. And according to the royal proclamation that a Wonderbolt had posted in the town square after the long night ended, everything was back to normal. That was all there was to it. He trusted Celestia like he trusted the sun to ri…
No, bad analogy.
Pistachio thought for a moment. Like he trusted the seasons to turn.
Pistachio stepped back from the edge of the porch, glancing through the farmhouse window at the grandfather clock in the living room. Five fifty-seven a.m. Real soon now. Three more minutes.
Some hens trilled. A rooster clucked. Pistachio stared at the clock face as the languid sway of the pendulum propelled the second hand upward, then across. Two minutes.
Pistachio turned at the clip-clop of hooves on packed earth—his son plodding back from the orchard. Pecan's head was turned, staring back over his shoulder at the too-bright moon suspended over the horizon.
"Chickens are nervous," Pecan said, slowing as he neared the porch.
Pistachio took a long and silent breath, and tried to ignore their spreading trilling. "Two minutes now."
Pecan glanced at his sire and languidly walked up onto the porch next to him. "I was just gonna say the moon's too bright."
" 'Course," Pistachio said, turning away as his muzzle flushed. "Sun's gonna rise, you mark the Princess' words."
Pecan returned to staring at the moon.
" 'Course it will," he slowly said. "That sister o' hers has been reformed."
"That's what she says," Pistachio said. And then, as he realized that hadn't come out with nearly the note of finality he had intended, he added, "What Celestia says." Even that seemed insufficient, so he coughed and continued: "That's all we need."
They stared at the moon. Pistachio snuck another glance at the clock. One minute.
"Hypothetically," Pecan said. "If it didn't—it will, o' course, but if it didn't—I reckon the Royal Guard might need some good, strong earth pony volunteers."
Pistachio frowned. "Hypothetically," he said, "if it didn't, yer military career would last exactly as long as it takes to charge at a lunatic alicorn."
"Proclamation says we ain't supposed to say that word," Pecan said, with a note of acid at the edge of his tone.
"Well, we're speakin' hypothetically," Pistachio said. "If the sun didn't rise, I reckon that's what she'd be. But it will, so she ain't."
Pecan thought for a bit. "True."
A breeze stirred leaves in the orchard. The poor, confused rooster crowed, a sound as sad and half-hearted as the pale light of the not-a-sun.
The ponies stared at it. Was it moving? It was. Maybe. No? It kept looking like it was moving, but it hadn't changed position against the few nearby stars it hadn't washed out.
"Any second now," Pistachio said, his heart pounding against his ribs.
"Sun'll rise," Pecan said tightly.
Pistachio glanced back at the clock. Six o'clock and eight seconds, and his heart stopped. He opened his mouth, turning toward his son—
Shadows shifted. The moon shivered, and lurched, and visibly, unmistakeably sank.
The horizon brightened. The rooster crowed again, full-throated. Sunlight kissed the wall of the farmhouse. Pistachio let out a long, shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and felt the light warm his skin.
He'd have to go talk to the local pegasi. The night had to have been unseasonably cold for him to be shivering like this.
There was a snort next to him. "Clock's a bit fast, pa."
"Reckon so," Pistachio said. "But there's chores that need doin'."
Pistachio heard the sound of Pecan plodding back out to the orchard. "Reckon so."
That was all it was. The moon was too bright.
He stared up at its blank white face, squinting a bit. Despite its ominously smooth look, any minute now it would yield to the sun. Of course it would. It already had, once.
There was no reason for it to be late, not with Celestia back in charge. She had raised the moon and its dark prisoner—former dark prisoner—for countless generations before him. And according to the royal proclamation that a Wonderbolt had posted in the town square after the long night ended, everything was back to normal. That was all there was to it. He trusted Celestia like he trusted the sun to ri…
No, bad analogy.
Pistachio thought for a moment. Like he trusted the seasons to turn.
Pistachio stepped back from the edge of the porch, glancing through the farmhouse window at the grandfather clock in the living room. Five fifty-seven a.m. Real soon now. Three more minutes.
Some hens trilled. A rooster clucked. Pistachio stared at the clock face as the languid sway of the pendulum propelled the second hand upward, then across. Two minutes.
Pistachio turned at the clip-clop of hooves on packed earth—his son plodding back from the orchard. Pecan's head was turned, staring back over his shoulder at the too-bright moon suspended over the horizon.
"Chickens are nervous," Pecan said, slowing as he neared the porch.
Pistachio took a long and silent breath, and tried to ignore their spreading trilling. "Two minutes now."
Pecan glanced at his sire and languidly walked up onto the porch next to him. "I was just gonna say the moon's too bright."
" 'Course," Pistachio said, turning away as his muzzle flushed. "Sun's gonna rise, you mark the Princess' words."
Pecan returned to staring at the moon.
" 'Course it will," he slowly said. "That sister o' hers has been reformed."
"That's what she says," Pistachio said. And then, as he realized that hadn't come out with nearly the note of finality he had intended, he added, "What Celestia says." Even that seemed insufficient, so he coughed and continued: "That's all we need."
They stared at the moon. Pistachio snuck another glance at the clock. One minute.
"Hypothetically," Pecan said. "If it didn't—it will, o' course, but if it didn't—I reckon the Royal Guard might need some good, strong earth pony volunteers."
Pistachio frowned. "Hypothetically," he said, "if it didn't, yer military career would last exactly as long as it takes to charge at a lunatic alicorn."
"Proclamation says we ain't supposed to say that word," Pecan said, with a note of acid at the edge of his tone.
"Well, we're speakin' hypothetically," Pistachio said. "If the sun didn't rise, I reckon that's what she'd be. But it will, so she ain't."
Pecan thought for a bit. "True."
A breeze stirred leaves in the orchard. The poor, confused rooster crowed, a sound as sad and half-hearted as the pale light of the not-a-sun.
The ponies stared at it. Was it moving? It was. Maybe. No? It kept looking like it was moving, but it hadn't changed position against the few nearby stars it hadn't washed out.
"Any second now," Pistachio said, his heart pounding against his ribs.
"Sun'll rise," Pecan said tightly.
Pistachio glanced back at the clock. Six o'clock and eight seconds, and his heart stopped. He opened his mouth, turning toward his son—
Shadows shifted. The moon shivered, and lurched, and visibly, unmistakeably sank.
The horizon brightened. The rooster crowed again, full-throated. Sunlight kissed the wall of the farmhouse. Pistachio let out a long, shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and felt the light warm his skin.
He'd have to go talk to the local pegasi. The night had to have been unseasonably cold for him to be shivering like this.
There was a snort next to him. "Clock's a bit fast, pa."
"Reckon so," Pistachio said. "But there's chores that need doin'."
Pistachio heard the sound of Pecan plodding back out to the orchard. "Reckon so."
A nice little slice-of-life about salt-of-the-earth everymenhorses reacting to events outside their understanding or ability to influence. And you used the word "reckon" a bunch of times. Always a plus.
Some really good descriptions and exchanges of dialogue. And this bit right here?
You can't see me, but I'm doing that thing that Italian chefs do where they kiss their fingers because something is tasty. I love that little wordplay you slipped in there.
Some really good descriptions and exchanges of dialogue. And this bit right here?
"Hypothetically," Pecan said. "If it didn't—it will, o' course, but if it didn't—I reckon the Royal Guard might need some good, strong earth pony volunteers."
Pistachio frowned. "Hypothetically," he said, "if it didn't, yer military career would last exactly as long as it takes to charge at a lunatic alicorn."
"Proclamation says we ain't supposed to say that word," Pecan said, with a note of acid at the edge of his tone.
"Well, we're speakin' hypothetically," Pistachio said. "If the sun didn't rise, I reckon that's what she'd be. But it will, so she ain't."
Pecan thought for a bit. "True."
You can't see me, but I'm doing that thing that Italian chefs do where they kiss their fingers because something is tasty. I love that little wordplay you slipped in there.
I (as with the first reviewer) picked up on the "word" you meant. It was cute, though it's hard for me to imagine the proclamation actually mentioning it. Also, I suspect a few readers may miss the intended word and think you meant alicorn instead.
The farmers seem overly-nervous, even though that's the intended tone, and it's set very well. I felt the story here was strong and well-written overall. I don't buy the rooster being confused like this, though. In both real life and show canon, the Sun rises at a different time each day (the Summer Sun celebration is on the Solstice, when it rises earliest). The farmer should have been nervously referencing an almanac.
I was a little disappointed that this story circles around a topic it never actually breaches: how seriously important the princesses' jobs are in keeping their subjects calm. I think reflection on the part of the princesses and the stress of their duties would make for a more compelling (emotionally) approach to this subject. If I'd written this story, I'd probably have done it in two parts: first from the farmers' side, then from the princesses'.
The farmers seem overly-nervous, even though that's the intended tone, and it's set very well. I felt the story here was strong and well-written overall. I don't buy the rooster being confused like this, though. In both real life and show canon, the Sun rises at a different time each day (the Summer Sun celebration is on the Solstice, when it rises earliest). The farmer should have been nervously referencing an almanac.
I was a little disappointed that this story circles around a topic it never actually breaches: how seriously important the princesses' jobs are in keeping their subjects calm. I think reflection on the part of the princesses and the stress of their duties would make for a more compelling (emotionally) approach to this subject. If I'd written this story, I'd probably have done it in two parts: first from the farmers' side, then from the princesses'.
The world changes at different rates. Some changes are generational or longer still, the shift noticeable only to those who were alive before it happened. Others, the ones where people will be asking “Where were you when it happened?” are so abrupt that they give everyone whiplash as they struggle to make sense of a world they thought they understood. The emergence of a mythological figure, a night that lasted far too long, and the nation’s god-queen suddenly having a sister would definitely qualify. Excellent work in capturing the fear and uncertainty that come from such upheaval.
Well, while I was not enthused by the story, it is nevertheless quite solid. It’s a good insight in how the “commoners” might react to the return of Luna.
My only gripe would be in the use of the word “hypothetical” which I am not sure would be in the lexical field of those two farmers. It doesn't sound to me as a very common word, at least one that the two would use why bantering together.
But I may be wrong.
In any case, good, solid stuff, as you might expect from farmers. ;)
My only gripe would be in the use of the word “hypothetical” which I am not sure would be in the lexical field of those two farmers. It doesn't sound to me as a very common word, at least one that the two would use why bantering together.
But I may be wrong.
In any case, good, solid stuff, as you might expect from farmers. ;)
A really unique... dare I say, "fun" perspective on major events from canon. I really loved the wordplay around "lunatic", as it's exactly the sort of logic I expect from anyone that uses "reckon" that frequently. Yes, it plays to stereotypes a bit heavily, but it works perfectly here.
The understated emotions here are really powerful, especially since you let the reader feel like they're figuring out a lot of the themes along the way. I also really liked your characters' voices; they lend the setting a more lived-in, grittier feeling, but without divorcing it from the source material. If I'd have to level a complaint at this one, I'd mention that a lot of this skirts dangerously close to talking heads territory--I was tempted once or twice to start skimming. Regardless, though, this one's going towards the top of my slate.
I think what I can really appreciate here is the character work. It's great. Unfortunately, I don't think the rest of the story serves it quite as well as it deserves. I can't help but feel that you're slightly limited by using a situation we all know the ending to.
Because of how this is set up, my eventual conclusion is that the actual 'conflict' in this story is encapsulated in the middle, where Pecan talks about joining the guard and Pistachio disagrees. This is the one place the story offers us something uncertain, but... it doesn't really carry through, with them resolving it even before the ending.
What I'd like to see is these two characters drawing much more divergent conclusions from the idea that the sun might not rise. Let's have a bit more division between them. The emotional climax of the story, where their disagreement hits its peak and resolves, should also (I think, for maximum storytelling impact,) land at the same point as the external turning point, the sun coming up/the clock chiming.
This is good work in several ways. Unfortunately, I don't think all the ways it's good in work together as well as they should/could.
Oh, I liked the names a lot too. They're both a little nuts and have hints of sweetness, although you have to get past the shell first. :P The alliteration and meaning suggests these similarities, but also highlights how they can be different.
EDIT: To make it clear the 'don't say that word' bit is about 'lunatic' instead of 'alicorn' (which did take a second look from me) consider italicizing 'lunatic' instead of 'hypothetically' in that sentence. The extra emphasis should clear things up, and I don't think the change in tone would detract from the meaning much.
Because of how this is set up, my eventual conclusion is that the actual 'conflict' in this story is encapsulated in the middle, where Pecan talks about joining the guard and Pistachio disagrees. This is the one place the story offers us something uncertain, but... it doesn't really carry through, with them resolving it even before the ending.
What I'd like to see is these two characters drawing much more divergent conclusions from the idea that the sun might not rise. Let's have a bit more division between them. The emotional climax of the story, where their disagreement hits its peak and resolves, should also (I think, for maximum storytelling impact,) land at the same point as the external turning point, the sun coming up/the clock chiming.
This is good work in several ways. Unfortunately, I don't think all the ways it's good in work together as well as they should/could.
Oh, I liked the names a lot too. They're both a little nuts and have hints of sweetness, although you have to get past the shell first. :P The alliteration and meaning suggests these similarities, but also highlights how they can be different.
EDIT: To make it clear the 'don't say that word' bit is about 'lunatic' instead of 'alicorn' (which did take a second look from me) consider italicizing 'lunatic' instead of 'hypothetically' in that sentence. The extra emphasis should clear things up, and I don't think the change in tone would detract from the meaning much.
The Great
Honestly, this is just an excellent story all around and my clear favorite in the write-off thus far. It puts me very much in mind of some of a slightly more serious Nobby Nobs/Fred Colon type conversation. Very excellent beats and voice all around.
I'm not sure I agree with >>Not_A_Hat re: the conflict. We -think- we know the eventual conclusion, but I'm not quite sure that impairs the conflict. We operate much in the same way Pistachio does. We know the moon will go down. We do. For sure. It totally will.
The Rough
I think the narrative voice could be tweaked just a bit more to better match Pistachio's own voice.
Honestly, this is just an excellent story all around and my clear favorite in the write-off thus far. It puts me very much in mind of some of a slightly more serious Nobby Nobs/Fred Colon type conversation. Very excellent beats and voice all around.
I'm not sure I agree with >>Not_A_Hat re: the conflict. We -think- we know the eventual conclusion, but I'm not quite sure that impairs the conflict. We operate much in the same way Pistachio does. We know the moon will go down. We do. For sure. It totally will.
The Rough
I think the narrative voice could be tweaked just a bit more to better match Pistachio's own voice.
Genre: Slice of fridge logic
Thoughts: I can find no fault with >>Not_A_Hat's review and will duly bandwagon.
Tier: Strong
Thoughts: I can find no fault with >>Not_A_Hat's review and will duly bandwagon.
Tier: Strong
A wonderful bit of Slice of Life. Both Pistachio and Pecan feel like perfectly believable people. They're not heroes or villains or friends of royalty. They're just two simple farmers in a changing world, worried and uncertain about what the future holds. I liked the way their anxiety grows as the moment of truth grows closer and closer... And once it has passed, it's back to business as usual. As if that worrisome tipping point had never existed...
Two thumbs up!
Two thumbs up!
Well, now that nobody's checking the thread any more (doubly so since it's a weekend) I can :yay: at my bronze. ^.^
I don't know that I have a whole lot to say in retrospective, other than to offer a little bit of context. This was kind of a "safe" story for me, in that I picked a small idea I could write comfortably within the word limit and didn't try anything particularly experimental. Safer stories are far less risk for more internet-point reward than experimental stories, but the writing reward is a lot less: you don't learn as much from the attempt or the feedback, and you don't push to expand yourself as much. I would have tried something more ambitious if I'd had more time, but I was visiting (non-Writeoff) friends in Seattle at the time, and I basically dashed this off in an hour while I had a little bit of downtime and a quiet corner.
Counterbalancing that was the fact that I got one of said friends to give me a hot take on my original draft of the story, and it's thanks to her that this did as well as it did. The original version was nothing but a tone piece about the farmers' doubt. Granted, the current story isn't much more, but I had originally ended it at:
My friend/beta-reader looked at it and gave me an "eh" -- it had some of the bits that folks appreciated here, but didn't go anywhere. So I reconsidered it, and took her advice, and bumped the timeline a couple of minutes so I could put that conversation immediately before sunrise, and wrote their little jump-scare and their suppressed relief, and that tied everything together a lot more nicely.
It's also worth noting that over the ... um ... two and a half years (!) I've been doing the Writeoffs, I've gotten so much better at planning minifics out. I used to reliably have the same problem everyone complains about here, of ideas way too big for 750 words that got slashed down to the bone to reach entry size. I've learned over time to scope the premise down to something simple enough to fit. This one was pretty much just "Two farmers try to repress their fears just before the first sunrise after Luna's return." No plot, no progression, just letting the emotions carry the moment: a "scene that wants to be a scene", as I've said about minifics before, as opposed to the "scenes that want to be a story" because you have big emotional beats that feel like they're moored into something greater we also need to see. Sit-In did a similar thing in under 650 words; The Red Forest was under 450. You can get a lot of power out of short fics by picking one thing to hammer, and hammering it hard. It's much harder to tell an actual story -- because 750 words only gives you one thing to effectively hammer (two if lightning strikes), and "progressing a plot" is the one thing you're choosing, instead of developing emotional resonance or doing deep worldbuilding or exploring tone.
My recent string of minific medals largely -- with oddball exceptions like Only, Only, Only Me -- represents me giving up on the idea of telling 750-word stories and writing what sort of boil down to short tone poems with story elements. I think that's one of two story types that do disproportionately well in the allotted space, along with fairy tales (which can lean on a predeveloped idiom to evoke feelings and tone from a sparse, telly style). At times I miss the old me who was still willing to fight that fight and wring beauty out of prose chopped down to the bone. But I've been pushing for bumping the minific wordcap up to 1000 for years now, and that hasn't gone anywhere either, so eh.
Congratulations to everyone for a good round of fics, FOME and Kettle for their medals, and see you for short stories!
I don't know that I have a whole lot to say in retrospective, other than to offer a little bit of context. This was kind of a "safe" story for me, in that I picked a small idea I could write comfortably within the word limit and didn't try anything particularly experimental. Safer stories are far less risk for more internet-point reward than experimental stories, but the writing reward is a lot less: you don't learn as much from the attempt or the feedback, and you don't push to expand yourself as much. I would have tried something more ambitious if I'd had more time, but I was visiting (non-Writeoff) friends in Seattle at the time, and I basically dashed this off in an hour while I had a little bit of downtime and a quiet corner.
Counterbalancing that was the fact that I got one of said friends to give me a hot take on my original draft of the story, and it's thanks to her that this did as well as it did. The original version was nothing but a tone piece about the farmers' doubt. Granted, the current story isn't much more, but I had originally ended it at:
"Any second now," Pistachio said, his heart pounding against his ribs.
"Sun'll rise," Pecan said tightly.
My friend/beta-reader looked at it and gave me an "eh" -- it had some of the bits that folks appreciated here, but didn't go anywhere. So I reconsidered it, and took her advice, and bumped the timeline a couple of minutes so I could put that conversation immediately before sunrise, and wrote their little jump-scare and their suppressed relief, and that tied everything together a lot more nicely.
It's also worth noting that over the ... um ... two and a half years (!) I've been doing the Writeoffs, I've gotten so much better at planning minifics out. I used to reliably have the same problem everyone complains about here, of ideas way too big for 750 words that got slashed down to the bone to reach entry size. I've learned over time to scope the premise down to something simple enough to fit. This one was pretty much just "Two farmers try to repress their fears just before the first sunrise after Luna's return." No plot, no progression, just letting the emotions carry the moment: a "scene that wants to be a scene", as I've said about minifics before, as opposed to the "scenes that want to be a story" because you have big emotional beats that feel like they're moored into something greater we also need to see. Sit-In did a similar thing in under 650 words; The Red Forest was under 450. You can get a lot of power out of short fics by picking one thing to hammer, and hammering it hard. It's much harder to tell an actual story -- because 750 words only gives you one thing to effectively hammer (two if lightning strikes), and "progressing a plot" is the one thing you're choosing, instead of developing emotional resonance or doing deep worldbuilding or exploring tone.
My recent string of minific medals largely -- with oddball exceptions like Only, Only, Only Me -- represents me giving up on the idea of telling 750-word stories and writing what sort of boil down to short tone poems with story elements. I think that's one of two story types that do disproportionately well in the allotted space, along with fairy tales (which can lean on a predeveloped idiom to evoke feelings and tone from a sparse, telly style). At times I miss the old me who was still willing to fight that fight and wring beauty out of prose chopped down to the bone. But I've been pushing for bumping the minific wordcap up to 1000 for years now, and that hasn't gone anywhere either, so eh.
Congratulations to everyone for a good round of fics, FOME and Kettle for their medals, and see you for short stories!
>>horizon "...I used to reliably have the same problem everyone complains about here, of ideas way too big for 750 words that got slashed down to the bone to reach entry size..."
It's experience. Back in high school, when the teacher asked for five hundred words on something, I used to despair at having to write that much. Now, I'm going to fight to keep this blog post under 500 words. By the time I hit 90, I plan on writing so much I'll never have time to die.
It's experience. Back in high school, when the teacher asked for five hundred words on something, I used to despair at having to write that much. Now, I'm going to fight to keep this blog post under 500 words. By the time I hit 90, I plan on writing so much I'll never have time to die.