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Neighbor Bird
PLUNK!
The tater landed in the pail, reverberating through the green and brown field.
Tossed paused for a moment to wipe his brow. He was in the southwest field now, a relatively smaller field compared to the others. But for a little colt like Tossed, every field looked like it went on forever. Especially when he was the only one in it.
It was a hot day today. Not that it was ever really cool, but today had those special marks of an especially warm day: No songbirds, no clouds, and an extra layer of sweat coating Tossed’s orange coat.
“Ah swear,” the little Tater muttered. “Th’ princesses oughta keep that sun to themselves when-”
“Rawk, rawk!”
Tater’s eyes shot toward the direction of the sound, down toward the eastern edge of the field. There, a large oak stood, planted a long time ago by a Tater ancestor whose name Tossed could not remember. It was far enough away that Tossed had to squint to get his vision right. But when he did, he quickly spotted the noise’s source.
“Rawk, rawk!” The source reiterated. It was a big white bird, a good two feet tall and about 5 feet of wingspan. It had a big red beak that clashed with the light brown and greens of the oak it was perched on. It was looking at Tossed with a blank expression, like it wasn’t really sure whether to ask him a question or tell him to beat it. It really didn’t matter what he would say though, since Tossed Tater could not speak bird (most ponies can’t).
But Tossed decided he would do something he never had before: He would pretend he knew what the bird was saying. Why? He didn’t know. It was just one of those things that came to him, like most flights of fancies do for most little colts.
Why, what’s th’ matter, Neighbor Bird? The little Tater said in his mind.
Well, Tossed, I’m afraid to say that I’ve gotten quite lost. Would you happen to know which way Ponyville is?
“Tossed!” A voice rang out. The poor little colt nearly fell on his face as he lurched forward. Peering behind himself, Tossed could see his father, Tough Tater, looking down at him, a deep frown planted on his face.
“Boy, what are ya doin’?”
“Nothin’, sir!”
“And that’s just th’ problem, boy! Th’ rest o’ yer brothers and sisters are digging them taters like there ain’t no tomorrow, and yer just standin’ there!”
Tossed hung his head. “Ah’m sorry, sir.”
“Hmph,” the grey stallion huffed through his beard. “Yer a good boy, Tossed, but ya need ta focus. Winter’s gonna be mighty harsh this year, and Ah don’t want to be diggin’ no graves for any mah chilren because we didn’t have enough food. Understand?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Now git to it.” He turned away and made his way back north, towards the homestead in the middle of the farm.
Tossed went back to the potatoes, pulling at them like they were weeds.
PLUNK! PLUNK! PLUNK!
He pulled and pulled at the spuds for some time, working his way towards the eastern edge of the field. But Tossed kept his eyes fixed to the ground. He knew that bird was still up there and would make his mind wander again. But as he got closer and closer to the oak, the sweat building up on his thin orange coat, his little mind began to drift once more.
It was awfully rude ta leave th’ bird hangin’ like that. Oughtta at least tell it which way ta fly. Tossed did his best to ignore these thoughts, but they kept building up inside of him, like they were boiling water and he was the pot in this hot autumn sun.
Eventually, he could stand it no more and glanced back up at the oak. The bird still stood there, staring at him with that same blank expression.
Well, Neighbor Bird, you just need to fly east from here. You’ll eventually see Ponyville if ya go that way.
The bird blinked.
And then it just stood there.
It stood there even after Tater had gone back to work, picking and sweating even more. It stood there as Tossed ran back homeward as the dinner triangle rang. And it stood there long past midnight, when ponies and beasts laid down to sleep.
Then, when the Moon was at its highest, it opened his wings and flew away, due east.
The tater landed in the pail, reverberating through the green and brown field.
Tossed paused for a moment to wipe his brow. He was in the southwest field now, a relatively smaller field compared to the others. But for a little colt like Tossed, every field looked like it went on forever. Especially when he was the only one in it.
It was a hot day today. Not that it was ever really cool, but today had those special marks of an especially warm day: No songbirds, no clouds, and an extra layer of sweat coating Tossed’s orange coat.
“Ah swear,” the little Tater muttered. “Th’ princesses oughta keep that sun to themselves when-”
“Rawk, rawk!”
Tater’s eyes shot toward the direction of the sound, down toward the eastern edge of the field. There, a large oak stood, planted a long time ago by a Tater ancestor whose name Tossed could not remember. It was far enough away that Tossed had to squint to get his vision right. But when he did, he quickly spotted the noise’s source.
“Rawk, rawk!” The source reiterated. It was a big white bird, a good two feet tall and about 5 feet of wingspan. It had a big red beak that clashed with the light brown and greens of the oak it was perched on. It was looking at Tossed with a blank expression, like it wasn’t really sure whether to ask him a question or tell him to beat it. It really didn’t matter what he would say though, since Tossed Tater could not speak bird (most ponies can’t).
But Tossed decided he would do something he never had before: He would pretend he knew what the bird was saying. Why? He didn’t know. It was just one of those things that came to him, like most flights of fancies do for most little colts.
Why, what’s th’ matter, Neighbor Bird? The little Tater said in his mind.
Well, Tossed, I’m afraid to say that I’ve gotten quite lost. Would you happen to know which way Ponyville is?
“Tossed!” A voice rang out. The poor little colt nearly fell on his face as he lurched forward. Peering behind himself, Tossed could see his father, Tough Tater, looking down at him, a deep frown planted on his face.
“Boy, what are ya doin’?”
“Nothin’, sir!”
“And that’s just th’ problem, boy! Th’ rest o’ yer brothers and sisters are digging them taters like there ain’t no tomorrow, and yer just standin’ there!”
Tossed hung his head. “Ah’m sorry, sir.”
“Hmph,” the grey stallion huffed through his beard. “Yer a good boy, Tossed, but ya need ta focus. Winter’s gonna be mighty harsh this year, and Ah don’t want to be diggin’ no graves for any mah chilren because we didn’t have enough food. Understand?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Now git to it.” He turned away and made his way back north, towards the homestead in the middle of the farm.
Tossed went back to the potatoes, pulling at them like they were weeds.
PLUNK! PLUNK! PLUNK!
He pulled and pulled at the spuds for some time, working his way towards the eastern edge of the field. But Tossed kept his eyes fixed to the ground. He knew that bird was still up there and would make his mind wander again. But as he got closer and closer to the oak, the sweat building up on his thin orange coat, his little mind began to drift once more.
It was awfully rude ta leave th’ bird hangin’ like that. Oughtta at least tell it which way ta fly. Tossed did his best to ignore these thoughts, but they kept building up inside of him, like they were boiling water and he was the pot in this hot autumn sun.
Eventually, he could stand it no more and glanced back up at the oak. The bird still stood there, staring at him with that same blank expression.
Well, Neighbor Bird, you just need to fly east from here. You’ll eventually see Ponyville if ya go that way.
The bird blinked.
And then it just stood there.
It stood there even after Tater had gone back to work, picking and sweating even more. It stood there as Tossed ran back homeward as the dinner triangle rang. And it stood there long past midnight, when ponies and beasts laid down to sleep.
Then, when the Moon was at its highest, it opened his wings and flew away, due east.
I think I'm missing some key to interpret this story. I can see that there is some symbolism involved but I can't really get behind it. Sorry.
On the technical side, the language was in this case deeply bound to the story itself. While it made it a bit difficult for me, it added a lot to the atmosphere.
On the technical side, the language was in this case deeply bound to the story itself. While it made it a bit difficult for me, it added a lot to the atmosphere.
This one didn't work for me on any level, I'm afraid.
I'm not a fan of accents in written word, for one (though it's not too bad for understanding's sake here, it's just always distracting).
But more importantly, I'm not really sure where the story is here. There's nothing to latch onto. Well, okay, I admit I was genuinely intrigued as to what the import of this bird was (a bird which, I might point out, gets more description than literally anything else in the story), but as soon as that bit of intrigue hits us, we're yanked away from it and nothing happens.
The ending feels like it's trying to convey something but... well, I'm not sure what that was. There's nothing in the story really indicating it, I'm afraid, and that just leaves me confused as to what the story was actually trying to say.
Verdict: Needs work.
I'm not a fan of accents in written word, for one (though it's not too bad for understanding's sake here, it's just always distracting).
But more importantly, I'm not really sure where the story is here. There's nothing to latch onto. Well, okay, I admit I was genuinely intrigued as to what the import of this bird was (a bird which, I might point out, gets more description than literally anything else in the story), but as soon as that bit of intrigue hits us, we're yanked away from it and nothing happens.
The ending feels like it's trying to convey something but... well, I'm not sure what that was. There's nothing in the story really indicating it, I'm afraid, and that just leaves me confused as to what the story was actually trying to say.
Verdict: Needs work.
Pros:
The voice here is a bit odd, but works well for this story. It seems a bit like an old fairy tale or children's book sometimes.
Cons:
Whatever meaning this story is supposed to have is far too obfuscated. I am left with many questions, but not a single answer.
Suggestions:
Just make whatever point this story was supposed to have clearer.
The voice here is a bit odd, but works well for this story. It seems a bit like an old fairy tale or children's book sometimes.
Cons:
Whatever meaning this story is supposed to have is far too obfuscated. I am left with many questions, but not a single answer.
Suggestions:
Just make whatever point this story was supposed to have clearer.
I have to concur with the assessment of my esteemed colleagues; I’m not sure what the point you were trying to make with this story was. It felt like it had some sort of point, but what was it? If you were trying to emphasize something about Tossed not living up to his potential, doing more with that would help. If the bird was meant to symbolize something, it needs to be made more obvious.
You really need to clarify the distinction between lowercase-t taters and capital-T Taters, because it almost seems like the tuber in the bucket says the first line of dialogue here. At the very least, call the colt by his full name at some point.
As for the story… yeah, I’m going to have to join the chorus of “I don’t get it.” Especially since it isn’t clear whether Tossed actually says anything to the bird or if it read his mind. And the pronoun confusion at the end, where the bird goes from “it” to “him” midsentence, only confuses matters further.
As for the story… yeah, I’m going to have to join the chorus of “I don’t get it.” Especially since it isn’t clear whether Tossed actually says anything to the bird or if it read his mind. And the pronoun confusion at the end, where the bird goes from “it” to “him” midsentence, only confuses matters further.
I assume that the bird is a metaphor for something (probably death?), but I'm at a loss to guess. If the bird isn't a metaphor, I don't understand what the story is supposed to do. The contrast between the lighthearted youth's flights of fancy and his sire's grimness is too strong to allow either element to shine through as the purpose of the story, so you're not making a cohesive statement (again, unless the bird is some sort of metaphor I missed).
The beginning is super-confusing because you never mention Tossed's full name, so it sounds like the potato he just put in his pail is suddenly alive and talking.
Taters can't reverberate. You probably meant "the sound reverberating".
Horse Jesus, author. I'm not sure I buy an Equestria where starvation is common, given the prolific nature of earth ponies and unicorn magic. Earth ponies in particular should be less sensitive to food shortages because they control all the food (even though I presume they also eat most of it).
Also, "Ah" is a tempting way to put in an accent, but it isn't a good one (I used to do that too). Think about how the pony would write their own words on paper, and try to limit yourself to an accent you can portray that way. He isn't saying "ah" but "I", so "I" should be the word you use.
The beginning is super-confusing because you never mention Tossed's full name, so it sounds like the potato he just put in his pail is suddenly alive and talking.
Taters can't reverberate. You probably meant "the sound reverberating".
Winter’s gonna be mighty harsh this year, and Ah don’t want to be diggin’ no graves for any mah chilren because we didn’t have enough food.
Horse Jesus, author. I'm not sure I buy an Equestria where starvation is common, given the prolific nature of earth ponies and unicorn magic. Earth ponies in particular should be less sensitive to food shortages because they control all the food (even though I presume they also eat most of it).
Also, "Ah" is a tempting way to put in an accent, but it isn't a good one (I used to do that too). Think about how the pony would write their own words on paper, and try to limit yourself to an accent you can portray that way. He isn't saying "ah" but "I", so "I" should be the word you use.
>>Trick_Question
I suspect it is a literal psychopomp, not a metaphor, but this is an unsubstantiated hypothesis deriving more from the tone, the fact that it waited 'till the night and the prompt than anything I can get from the text itself.
I suspect it is a literal psychopomp, not a metaphor, but this is an unsubstantiated hypothesis deriving more from the tone, the fact that it waited 'till the night and the prompt than anything I can get from the text itself.
Okay, I can't let this one go. I did some research to try to discover if the kind of bird was relevant.
I can't find any 2' tall bird with a 5' wingspan, much less a white one: that wingspan is very large for that height. From an evolutionary perspective, as best I can determine it would have to be some sort of mid-sized seabird to have those proportions (which would support the color as well). But if that's the case, you wouldn't expect to see a bird like that inland on a hot day, so it doesn't make much sense.
I suppose it could be a flamingo with one-inch legs. :V I'm still lost on what this story is about.
I can't find any 2' tall bird with a 5' wingspan, much less a white one: that wingspan is very large for that height. From an evolutionary perspective, as best I can determine it would have to be some sort of mid-sized seabird to have those proportions (which would support the color as well). But if that's the case, you wouldn't expect to see a bird like that inland on a hot day, so it doesn't make much sense.
I suppose it could be a flamingo with one-inch legs. :V I'm still lost on what this story is about.
>>Orbiting_kettle
If it's a psychopomp, then somepony should have died. I don't see any evidence that happened. The fact that it finally headed toward Ponyville seems relevant, but I can't figure that out either.
If it's a psychopomp, then somepony should have died. I don't see any evidence that happened. The fact that it finally headed toward Ponyville seems relevant, but I can't figure that out either.
>>Trick_Question
As said, this is almost unsubstantiated speculation BUT the bird waits and then leaves in the middle of the night at a seemingly random time, and it had me thinking of a crane who sometimes are psychopomps. I was also convinced that potato harvesting time was in fall, which could indicate that Tater is ill as he complains about the heat, but I read a bit about the right harvesting time and it has more to do with when they were planted than with anything else, which throws that clue out of the window.
As I said, it's mostly an idle theory thrown there because I can't seem to grasp the right key to read the story.
As said, this is almost unsubstantiated speculation BUT the bird waits and then leaves in the middle of the night at a seemingly random time, and it had me thinking of a crane who sometimes are psychopomps. I was also convinced that potato harvesting time was in fall, which could indicate that Tater is ill as he complains about the heat, but I read a bit about the right harvesting time and it has more to do with when they were planted than with anything else, which throws that clue out of the window.
As I said, it's mostly an idle theory thrown there because I can't seem to grasp the right key to read the story.
>>Orbiting_kettle
Yeah, I don't buy that mainly because he ran right back to the house for the dinner bell and showed no signs of illness, unless he hallucinated the bird, which would contradict the theory about it being a psychopomp.
Yeah, I don't buy that mainly because he ran right back to the house for the dinner bell and showed no signs of illness, unless he hallucinated the bird, which would contradict the theory about it being a psychopomp.
This was a skillful mood piece. It doesn't gain much by using ponies, except inasmuch as the punch of facing starvation hits a bit harder when it's cute little equines.
I feel for the hard times facing the Tater family, and the big imagination that its youngest member brings to the situation as a way of trying to cope with that.
I don't think the bird symbolizes anything in particular. I think it's just there to prompt the kid's imagination, and to unnerve the audience. I think we're meant to feel uncomfortable; no more, and no less.
Bravo, author.
I feel for the hard times facing the Tater family, and the big imagination that its youngest member brings to the situation as a way of trying to cope with that.
I don't think the bird symbolizes anything in particular. I think it's just there to prompt the kid's imagination, and to unnerve the audience. I think we're meant to feel uncomfortable; no more, and no less.
Bravo, author.