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The Twinkle Must Shine On
Applewood Studios loomed overhead, empty despite the ponies milling about. Twinkleshine had butterflies in her stomach.
Stars were on her cutie mark, stardom on her mind.
Back home, Minuette had explained that Applewood used to be barren wasteland. Yet two mares seeking their fortune, through sheer will, built the studio from the ground up. Big Apple and Holly Wood.
A myth, it turned out; Twinkleshine researched it. But she wanted myths. Fairy tales. Legends.
Her story would begin here.
“Another mindless crime!” shouted the Director.
“Um,” said Twinkleshine. “Excuse me…”
“You’re perfect, honey!” He thumped her on the back. “The quintessential damsel!”
“Yes, Mister Director? Um? I was wondering…? I’ve been the damsel… lots of times…”
“Fifty-seven, to be exact. Fifty-seven golden performances!”
“Yes… I was wondering… Could I be… something else?”
“And break the formula!? We’re on a certainty here. Goldmines like this are the stuff of Equestrian dreams!”
Inside, Twinkleshine fumed. That had been a line from one of her own submitted… ignored… scripts.
How much longer? she thought.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly reared up behind the curtains, which drew aside to reveal packed seats. Endless eyes.
Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
For yet another night, she sang the Lonely Aria. How she’d take life, come what may. How, no matter that her lover had pretended to break her heart in a complicated bid to mislead and defeat villainous Smug Whipcrack, nevertheless her love would never die.
Yet Twinkleshine’s heart broke. Why was she still doing this? Why was she trapped in limbo?
Later, in her scarcely decorated caravan, Twinkleshine opened her letters from Canterlot. Ah, how she missed Canterlot! Las Pegasus was far too leery, far too tacky, far too obsessed with superstars and nothing else.
In the dark, under candlelight, Twinkleshine read the happy, fussy little letters giving her slices of home. How she loved to listen to her friends talk about who was doing what to whom and why. How she missed Minuette, going on about space-time.
Wiping her eyes, Twinkleshine forced herself to smile for Minuette’s sake. She summoned a sheet. She wrote: “I’m on my way! Big roles for me soon! Lots of love.”
Apart from the last one, every sentence was lying.
Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly sang her aria yet again. She noticed ponies leaving their seats far, far earlier than they should’ve done.
“What’s going on!?” said the Director. “They were scoffing this stuff last week! And the week before that!”
“Mister Director, sir?” said Twinkleshine, shuffling where she stood.
“I haven’t changed anything. Why would they suddenly start criticizing it? You’ve seen the papers! And attendance rates are freefalling!”
“Mister Director?”
“What?”
Twinkleshine hesitated. But then, wasn’t this what Minuette had warned her about, all those years ago? Follow your dreams, stick your neck out, no matter how dark it gets.
Here and now, Twinkleshine held out a shaking hoof. “I was wondering…?”
“Not now, kid! This is a major crisis! I might have to fire someone! They’re not doing their jobs right!”
Twinkleshine’s butterfly courage went out. She left her script on the desk when he wasn’t looking and backed out apologetically.
Under the spotlight, she burned again. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly finished her aria.
This time, the theatre was empty.
The Director invited her to his office for the last time. She entered as Twinkleshine the would-be star. She left without a job. Apparently, damsels weren’t “in” anymore. She’d held them back.
Two days later, some sensational, thoughtful epic came out that drew audiences in by the cartload. No one knew who had written the script, but no one believed “Dame Damselfly” when she recognized the title on the posters. Glory-chaser! Pretty damsels didn’t write plays!
Boors, she thought.
Walking home, Twinkleshine turned around and saw Applewood for the last time. The candlelight flared inside her to a roaring inferno.
She’d show them! Her fairy tale would never die! She’d make her own studio! She’d give Applewood a run for its money!
She wiped her eyes again.
Minuette was right. Flit like a butterfly though she did, she could yet learn to sting like a bee. After all, the show must go on. The good show.
So she went back to Canterlot, to discuss with friends who did what to whom and why. Overhead, the setting sun cast its light on the painted wings of butterflies.
Stars were on her cutie mark, stardom on her mind.
Back home, Minuette had explained that Applewood used to be barren wasteland. Yet two mares seeking their fortune, through sheer will, built the studio from the ground up. Big Apple and Holly Wood.
A myth, it turned out; Twinkleshine researched it. But she wanted myths. Fairy tales. Legends.
Her story would begin here.
“Another mindless crime!” shouted the Director.
“Um,” said Twinkleshine. “Excuse me…”
“You’re perfect, honey!” He thumped her on the back. “The quintessential damsel!”
“Yes, Mister Director? Um? I was wondering…? I’ve been the damsel… lots of times…”
“Fifty-seven, to be exact. Fifty-seven golden performances!”
“Yes… I was wondering… Could I be… something else?”
“And break the formula!? We’re on a certainty here. Goldmines like this are the stuff of Equestrian dreams!”
Inside, Twinkleshine fumed. That had been a line from one of her own submitted… ignored… scripts.
How much longer? she thought.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly reared up behind the curtains, which drew aside to reveal packed seats. Endless eyes.
Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
For yet another night, she sang the Lonely Aria. How she’d take life, come what may. How, no matter that her lover had pretended to break her heart in a complicated bid to mislead and defeat villainous Smug Whipcrack, nevertheless her love would never die.
Yet Twinkleshine’s heart broke. Why was she still doing this? Why was she trapped in limbo?
Later, in her scarcely decorated caravan, Twinkleshine opened her letters from Canterlot. Ah, how she missed Canterlot! Las Pegasus was far too leery, far too tacky, far too obsessed with superstars and nothing else.
In the dark, under candlelight, Twinkleshine read the happy, fussy little letters giving her slices of home. How she loved to listen to her friends talk about who was doing what to whom and why. How she missed Minuette, going on about space-time.
Wiping her eyes, Twinkleshine forced herself to smile for Minuette’s sake. She summoned a sheet. She wrote: “I’m on my way! Big roles for me soon! Lots of love.”
Apart from the last one, every sentence was lying.
Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly sang her aria yet again. She noticed ponies leaving their seats far, far earlier than they should’ve done.
“What’s going on!?” said the Director. “They were scoffing this stuff last week! And the week before that!”
“Mister Director, sir?” said Twinkleshine, shuffling where she stood.
“I haven’t changed anything. Why would they suddenly start criticizing it? You’ve seen the papers! And attendance rates are freefalling!”
“Mister Director?”
“What?”
Twinkleshine hesitated. But then, wasn’t this what Minuette had warned her about, all those years ago? Follow your dreams, stick your neck out, no matter how dark it gets.
Here and now, Twinkleshine held out a shaking hoof. “I was wondering…?”
“Not now, kid! This is a major crisis! I might have to fire someone! They’re not doing their jobs right!”
Twinkleshine’s butterfly courage went out. She left her script on the desk when he wasn’t looking and backed out apologetically.
Under the spotlight, she burned again. Sweat trickled over the makeup.
Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly finished her aria.
This time, the theatre was empty.
The Director invited her to his office for the last time. She entered as Twinkleshine the would-be star. She left without a job. Apparently, damsels weren’t “in” anymore. She’d held them back.
Two days later, some sensational, thoughtful epic came out that drew audiences in by the cartload. No one knew who had written the script, but no one believed “Dame Damselfly” when she recognized the title on the posters. Glory-chaser! Pretty damsels didn’t write plays!
Boors, she thought.
Walking home, Twinkleshine turned around and saw Applewood for the last time. The candlelight flared inside her to a roaring inferno.
She’d show them! Her fairy tale would never die! She’d make her own studio! She’d give Applewood a run for its money!
She wiped her eyes again.
Minuette was right. Flit like a butterfly though she did, she could yet learn to sting like a bee. After all, the show must go on. The good show.
So she went back to Canterlot, to discuss with friends who did what to whom and why. Overhead, the setting sun cast its light on the painted wings of butterflies.
Pics
Genre: Coulda Been A Contender
Thoughts: This is a unique, but odd, but strangely lovely, but vaguely wanting work. There are definite bits of emotional appeal going on up in here. The descriptions of Twinkleshine’s makeup under the hot lights evoked a clear sense of empathy for her struggle and the pain of her disappointment.
But, there are also some funky things going on as well that hold the experience back. Some are just technical, like a word that sticks out in the following sentence:
But then there’s also the core struggle of Twinkleshine chasing her dreams, which I feel isn’t moored very firmly to a reason why. I’d love to see some kind of more visceral presentation of what personal/emotional benefits that she gets out of acting... or is it meant to be writing? Which of the two is her true passion? I ask because it seems to go back and forth between them.
In the end, Twinkleshine retreats home to the company of friends and to plan the next phase of her ambitions—and I feel some parallels to the fic itself at this point. It definitely came out swinging, which I can respect; it’s clear that we’re meant to feel for Twinkleshine, which we sorta do. But I feel like a large part of that currently leans on the concept of “default sympathy” that Pascoite recently introduced to me. In brief, the idea is that a functional portrayal of someone in pain will tend to evoke a nominal bit of sympathy; but to go deeper, and really stick in a reader’s heart, we need the story to connect on more levels.
Take heart, though; IMO this story has a good heart. I just wish it gave us more of a sense of what Twinkleshine loves about acting/writing and why.
Tier: Keep Developing
Thoughts: This is a unique, but odd, but strangely lovely, but vaguely wanting work. There are definite bits of emotional appeal going on up in here. The descriptions of Twinkleshine’s makeup under the hot lights evoked a clear sense of empathy for her struggle and the pain of her disappointment.
But, there are also some funky things going on as well that hold the experience back. Some are just technical, like a word that sticks out in the following sentence:
“What’s going on!?” said the Director. “They were scoffing this stuff last week! And the week before that!”
But then there’s also the core struggle of Twinkleshine chasing her dreams, which I feel isn’t moored very firmly to a reason why. I’d love to see some kind of more visceral presentation of what personal/emotional benefits that she gets out of acting... or is it meant to be writing? Which of the two is her true passion? I ask because it seems to go back and forth between them.
In the end, Twinkleshine retreats home to the company of friends and to plan the next phase of her ambitions—and I feel some parallels to the fic itself at this point. It definitely came out swinging, which I can respect; it’s clear that we’re meant to feel for Twinkleshine, which we sorta do. But I feel like a large part of that currently leans on the concept of “default sympathy” that Pascoite recently introduced to me. In brief, the idea is that a functional portrayal of someone in pain will tend to evoke a nominal bit of sympathy; but to go deeper, and really stick in a reader’s heart, we need the story to connect on more levels.
Take heart, though; IMO this story has a good heart. I just wish it gave us more of a sense of what Twinkleshine loves about acting/writing and why.
Tier: Keep Developing
This story is really ambitious, but I can't help but think that it might have bit off a bit more than it can chew.
You're trying to tell a very big story, here, and I'll be honest that I don't think it fits in the wordcount. It definitely helps that you've adopted this fairytale-like tone that moves along quickly, but it does come at the expense of the strength of these characters. They do feel too simplistic to me. The director comes off to me as so oafish and evil that I really couldn't get mad at his mistreatment of Twinkleshine, and Twinkleshine herself unfortunately does feel like a damsel in distress in a way that I thought went against the central theme of the story.
My final takeaway is that while there is a complete emotional arc and well-expressed themes that compliment it, the story as a whole just felt rushed to me, which made it hard for it to emotionally resonate.
You're trying to tell a very big story, here, and I'll be honest that I don't think it fits in the wordcount. It definitely helps that you've adopted this fairytale-like tone that moves along quickly, but it does come at the expense of the strength of these characters. They do feel too simplistic to me. The director comes off to me as so oafish and evil that I really couldn't get mad at his mistreatment of Twinkleshine, and Twinkleshine herself unfortunately does feel like a damsel in distress in a way that I thought went against the central theme of the story.
My final takeaway is that while there is a complete emotional arc and well-expressed themes that compliment it, the story as a whole just felt rushed to me, which made it hard for it to emotionally resonate.
They were scoffing this stuff
"Scoffing at". "Scoff" is not a transitive verb.
I wish I had more to offer for the last bring-everyone-up-to-three-reviews review, but the two comments above me have covered my thoughts pretty well. I admire the craft that went into fitting nine scenes (!) into 750 words, but the end result is that none of them have enough room to accumulate any particular emotional weight. I don't even think that this is doing anything wrong — little touches like the lying letter are well-chosen — but, to paraphrase my last review, there's only so much audience investment you can accumulate in two minutes. The more of your 750 words you choose to spend on advancing plot and narrative, the fewer you will have you build sympathy, theme and tone. That's the devil's bargain of minifics, and why I keep saying time and time again that the form doesn't feel sufficient to tell interesting stories in. (Interesting scenes, sure. Even weighty, profound ones. But even with the tailwind of using established characters for fanfic, and even with prose condensed down so far that you're effectively writing poetry, I wouldn't try nine scenes in 750 words.)
In terms of concrete editing suggestions: I guess I'd try to figure out which are the most important scenes here, and focus only on those. The first few scenes are good context ... but the 750-word limit is merciless. Do you really need them? Can we start as late as where she gets fired, even? Insert the backstory in a sentence or two of narration, and use those reclaimed words to really dig into Twinkleshine's head. It would be a very different story, but it would give you a fighting chance to establish that emotional connection.
Tier: Almost There
>>horizon
In this context, I interpreted it as using the slang (transitive) verb definition which means to quickly eat -- i.e. "they were eating up this stuff last week" -- which I mostly remember seeing in Redwall novels and rarely anywhere else. Sometimes seen as "scarf". However, I think this version is only commonly accepted in the literal sense of eating, and not as a metaphor.
I think this version of the dialogue makes more sense, but it's still possible it was meant to be "scoffing at", as in ridiculing, so uh.... I dunno.
"Scoffing at". "Scoff" is not a transitive verb.
In this context, I interpreted it as using the slang (transitive) verb definition which means to quickly eat -- i.e. "they were eating up this stuff last week" -- which I mostly remember seeing in Redwall novels and rarely anywhere else. Sometimes seen as "scarf". However, I think this version is only commonly accepted in the literal sense of eating, and not as a metaphor.
I think this version of the dialogue makes more sense, but it's still possible it was meant to be "scoffing at", as in ridiculing, so uh.... I dunno.
>>horizon
I think in this instance, the author is using "to scoff" as in "to eat quickly", which I'm finding out from wiktionary is not particularly common usage outside the UK. US-EN equivalent is something like "gobble" or "scarf". It can be used as a synonym for "lapping it up", with a similar underlying metaphor. I don't think it's used particularly well in context, but it is a thing.
Afraid I don't have too much to add to the above, author, but I wanted to defend your use of the Queen's English. I think this story has a lot of potential, but you either need a different structure to tell it in, or a higher word count. I'd also recommend bringing in Twinkleshine's disappointment a little later? The current emotional arc seems unfairly weighted on that disappointment section, and I think the piece would be better if it crept in slowly over the course of a few scenes. I mean, we jump from her first showing up to her fifty-seventh performance! There's so much opportunity lost in that time jump, I think.
(Bonus points for writing about best pony, though.)
They were scoffing this stuff
"Scoffing at". "Scoff" is not a transitive verb.
I think in this instance, the author is using "to scoff" as in "to eat quickly", which I'm finding out from wiktionary is not particularly common usage outside the UK. US-EN equivalent is something like "gobble" or "scarf". It can be used as a synonym for "lapping it up", with a similar underlying metaphor. I don't think it's used particularly well in context, but it is a thing.
Afraid I don't have too much to add to the above, author, but I wanted to defend your use of the Queen's English. I think this story has a lot of potential, but you either need a different structure to tell it in, or a higher word count. I'd also recommend bringing in Twinkleshine's disappointment a little later? The current emotional arc seems unfairly weighted on that disappointment section, and I think the piece would be better if it crept in slowly over the course of a few scenes. I mean, we jump from her first showing up to her fifty-seventh performance! There's so much opportunity lost in that time jump, I think.
(Bonus points for writing about best pony, though.)
>>Haze >>QuillScratch
I stand corrected. As a filthy American I’ve only ever seen “scarf” used for the form of “scoff” you’re talking about. Today I learned!
Still, I’d use “eating up” for the edited version here, if only because the two meanings are so different in context.
I stand corrected. As a filthy American I’ve only ever seen “scarf” used for the form of “scoff” you’re talking about. Today I learned!
Still, I’d use “eating up” for the edited version here, if only because the two meanings are so different in context.