Jump to content
Banner by ~ Ice Princess Silky

Quilled Inc

User
 View Profile  See their content

  • Posts

    243

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Quilled Inc

  2. Quilled Inc
    The first two chapters of my first ever MLP-themed fan fiction are finally finished! Over a month of writing, excessive proof-reading and revision, finally over! Here's to hoping that it pays off! Do give it a read and let me know how I did!
    http://www.fimfiction.net/story/149680/a-series-of-right-rotten-events
    A huge thank-you to Killsy, Mr. Critical, CrioArathemis, Tsuki Kanshisha, and the friends and family that proof-read and provided their feedback for this story! I sincerely hope that you all have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!
    DISCLAIMER: As my first fan fiction publicly released, I am sure that it is far from being my best work, however I did put some genuine effort into this one. However, the prospect of me continuing it from here relies entirely on the feedback I receive, since I have many other ideas that I would like to explore in fan fiction, and what fun is there in writing with the lack of an audience?
  3. Quilled Inc
    You will never see the world through my eyes. Or I through yours. What right is there to call anyone strange, stupid, or misguided? Every action and decision is individually justified, but you would never know that by looking at everyone as though looking at a mirror.
    I have somewhat of a motto, which I have posted and shared around frequently; some of you may have seen it before: “With patience comes understanding, with understanding comes peace.”
    I would now like to alter and add to it to be a bit more specific “With comprehensive patience in observation and learning comes comprehensive understanding, and with understanding comes peaceful relations.”
    Sometimes it takes more than the submissive “Let’s agree to disagree” approach to be truly at peace with the world. Why not agree to seek understanding, and agree not only to be of a differing opinion but to take the opposing completely into account, allowing it to influence and move your own approach, therefore settling upon a harmonious medium with our fellow people? “With understanding comes peace,” I have found this to be true time and time again. If peace can ever truly be realised, it cannot be through closing doors.
  4. Quilled Inc
    Depression is one hell of a condition. Waking up every morning and wishing that you hadn’t, forcing yourself to move your tired, worn limbs as your brain sluggishly tries to process thought, just to have the same negative impressions loom at the brim of your subconscious…
    What is the point?
    Why did I bother waking up at all?
    What does it all mean? What do I live for?
    Man without purpose is like the walking dead. We need to have a drive, a motivational force, to pull us out of our beds every morning and encourage us to face the new day. Without it, we are like empty, dried husks of lost hopes, drifting through life without destination.
    But then there is a spark. A little gleam at the end of the dark and dreary tunnel, that is so soft and friendly that you cannot help but follow it’s beckoning glow. You come to realise that there is a point and a purpose, there always has been, you just did not notice it before, or maybe you did not even know that it existed at all, until now at least. You reach out and grasp it tight, not sparing any risk of letting it escape your grip, and hug it close, relishing it’s warmth and the dark tunnel fades and you are back in your house, in your bed.
    But now you know. Now life beckons you to do great things. It matters not if the world recognises you or grows to know and cheer your name, or boo it down. Greatness is not defined by the masses, but by the heart. You have found your purpose at last, and you will ride it to the end of your days. A gleam on your flank; a cutie mark? And why not? You have found your spark, your special talent, what makes you you! This is where the words end and the magic begins, a never ending stream of doorways, opportunities waiting to be discovered, paths longing to be tread, and art yearning to be made.
    Do not worry, young foal. The spark is there, and you will find it, in time. It may be staring you in the face, even now. Just keep your chin up and push those doubts away, for you will achieve great things.
    Look not for Celestia to raise your sun for you. Your hooves are capable of that, and so much more, even if not now. They will be. In time.
  6. Quilled Inc

    My Constant Companion

    By Quilled Inc,

    (Just a short personal narrative that I wrote this evening under the strong influence of caffeine and excessive studying for finals.)
     
    Thomas was alone. A solitary plush toy seated in the centre of a sea of black bed sheets. His back propped up against the small pile of pillows, he stared straight ahead with emotionless, glass eyes. He looked sad and forlorn, just sitting there with his soft, flexible limbs spread-eagled across the bedspread. He was alone. Alone in this room, alone in this house, alone in this world. That is how I found him, when I walked into my bedroom, leaving a long day of school and work at the door as I let my bags fall from my shoulders lazily. I was just about to begin my usual routine of changing into my evening attire and preparing my mind for the evening’s work, when I spared a glance at my bed. I met Thomas’s eyes, and he held them there. For a few moments, I merely stood, staring at the toy. It had been so long since I had last spared the stuffed animal a thought, let alone a glance, to the point where at that moment I was struck by my negligence. With a quiet chuckle, I walked over to the bed and picked the small, plush lion up in my arms, cradling him a bit as if he were a newborn cub, just as I had back when…
     

    * * *


     
    “Have you made a decision?”
     
    I shook my head. “I don’t want a bear, Mummy!” I said, looking up to meet my mother’s kind gaze. “Don’t they have anything else?”
     
    My mother looked down the line of bins arranged against the back wall of the small store, each with a pile of stuffed animal skins within, ready to be stuffed. It was early upon a Tuesday morning, when the mall in which the Build-A-Bear Workshop was located was not yet overcome by the thick rush of afternoon shoppers. I looked down the line, too, scanning the little plaques above the bins for an animal that would suit my interests. A cat? No, too feminine! It had to be something fierce, ready for adventure! How about a dog? Heavens, no. Dogs were fun, but they were not ferocious!
     
    “How about this one, lad?” My mother asked, gesturing toward a bin near the end.
     
    I walked over slowly, on clumsy eight-year-old legs, my last growth spurt having left one leg slightly longer than the other one. I looked into the bin and…
     
    “This is perfect!” I exclaimed with glee, lifting an empty lion skin out. We wasted no time in returning to the front of the store and my mother handed the skin across the counter top, to have it stuffed full of fluff.
     
    As the machine which would do the job whirred to life, an attendee asked me, “What will you name your new best friend?”
     
    I stopped for a moment in serious contemplation. “Thomas,” I replied at last. “His name is Thomas.”
     
    Then Thomas, freshly stuffed, was handed over the counter and into my eagerly expectant arms. I cradled him a bit, a large smile stretching from ear to ear. Thomas returned the smile, with a soft twinkle in his brown glass eyes.
     
    Two months later I held onto Thomas tightly in excitement. Back over the sea again, but this time I had a friend with me! We felt the turbulence as the plane left America far behind us. It would be another five hours before either of us were to see land again, however, I did not mind. I had Thomas, and he would keep me company over the long trip. As the minutes dragged into hours I pulled out one of my many notebooks, and we began to write. I would write a few lines of a story, and then I would hand the notebook to Thomas, who was so kind as to proof read it for me. In this manner we past the time, happy in each other’s company.
     
     
     
     

    * * *


     
    With Thomas still in my arms, I sat down heavily upon my bed. The memories were returning, of all the good times… and the bad. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be lost in the recollections of years long past.
     
     
     
     

    * * *


     
    Dirt. Nothing but sand and dirt. It was a sight that might have made the typical American house wife swoon, however it was what made up almost our entire world. We could not help but enjoy it, of course. The entirety of the Kalahari Desert was our back yard, with the expanse of flat land tall, dry trees, and scorched brown grass making up our playground. Before returning to America for furlough, it had just been me, playing in the dry dust by myself. However, now I had Thomas, and our adventures had no limits! One day, we were masked vigilantes, and the sandy landscape became a massive expanse of cityscape, in need of saving from a plethora of perils (including, but not limited to, giant snake-men, killer robots, evil arch villains, and the odd angry little sister). The next day we were travelling sorcerers, vanquishing evil from the kingdom with our powerful magics! We fought massive worm monsters, wicked enchantresses, and massive dragons with sword and sorcery, but of course we were always back home in time for lunch.
     
    However, my time of play was consistently interrupted as my family was constantly moving. From house to house we shifted, never staying for longer than a few months before my father’s mission moved him to some other town in Botswana, Africa. The landscape was always the same, and with Thomas I did not even mind the change of accommodations. When work became tough for my parents, I did not notice, because I had Thomas to keep my attention. I never had time to make friends, we moved far too swiftly. However, I did not mind. I had Thomas, and Thomas had me.
     
     
     
     

    * * *


     
    I felt a tear fall from my face. My younger self had been blessedly ignorant to what had been happening around him. My family had been relocated from house to house, because Flying Mission, the anti-AIDS organization for whom my father worked, was swiftly losing financial support. My father had been devastated as his paycheck had grown smaller and smaller, to the point where the last Christmas that we spent in Botswana was devoid of presents. But I had not minded, because I had Thomas. But then the finances had completely dried up, and we were forced to leave the country, and leave everything that my father and his mission had worked so hard to achieve and maintain behind. I still remember my mother’s crying face as we boarded the plane from Johannesburg, South Africa, to return to the United States. She had been born in Africa, and had lived most of her life surrounded by the dry landscape. This may have been the last time that she would ever see what to her had been the only home that she had ever cared about.
     
    But it was too late to pull out now. I allowed my mind to continue to reel back through the memories…
     
     
     
     

    * * *


     
    The tears stung my eyes as I hugged Thomas tight, hoping to draw comfort from him, to shield me from the barrage of abuse that I was facing.
    I looked up at the cackling faces of the boys around me; all of them laughing gleefully and some of them pointing mockingly at me where I was sprawled upon the floor after having been pushed forcefully from my seat.
     
     
    “I cannot believe that you still carry around dolls, Skaggs*!” One of them, a boy named Jon, guffawed. “You are, like, totally too old for that!” *(My last name)
     
    In a way, he was right, and I acknowledged it internally. At twelve years of age, I was too old for stuffed animals and imaginary friends, however I would never be too old for Thomas. He was my constant companion and my best friend. Especially now, when every boy in my age group at church found it impossible to take me seriously. From the moment we had moved to this small town in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky, I had been singled out as “that weird kid from Africa.” At first I had reveled in the attention that my experiences had merited me, but things had swiftly turned sour as the other children had become acquainted with my strange accent and habits.
     
    I jumped up from where I had fallen and ran out of the building. I did not care that it was still the middle of morning services at the small town church, I could not bear to be in their company for a moment longer. I held my best friend close to my chest, making sure not to lose my grip as I ran the entire two miles back to our house, where I slammed the door to my bedroom and collapsed upon the bed. I cried, hugging Thomas close. Thomas didn’t tease me. He didn’t call me names, or point at me, or use me as a punch line for his jokes. Thomas just sat, looking into in my eyes forlornly, sharing in my pain as I hugged him close.
     
    The next three years would pass by in this manner. Though the other children “grew up,” maturing into sports players, video gamers, or socially-driven young adults, I remained apart from them, finding my solace in my constant companion. I poured the imagination which I could not project out across the small, cramped lawn into my writing, spending hours with Thomas on my lap and a pencil in my hand, scrawling and sketching out my thoughts, with no one there to witness but Thomas. I did not need friends, I told myself. I had Thomas. Thomas was the only friend I needed. He was my special friend.
     
     
     
     

    * * *


     
    But now he was alone. I had grown up. In a frenzy of quickly-moving events, my entire life had changed practically overnight. My father had been hired at a university in Cincinnati, Ohio, and we had moved there. Not long afterward I took up harp playing, and my Mum introduced me to a youth group of like-minded individuals, who didn’t care where I came from, what I sounded like, or what kinds of things interested me. Days turned into months, which subsequently turned into years, and my life kicked off. Thomas, however, remained behind. I did not even realize it, at the time, but I played with Thomas less and less, until eventually he never moved from the top of my bed, except to be set aside while I slept. My life had become so fast-moving and frenzied, that I had left him in the dust. So the years had passed, and Thomas was left alone, becoming an aspect of my past and a testimony to what I had moved on from. I graduated high school with high marks and set my passions as a writer into motion, writing short stories for friends and taking on small projects like script writing and editing papers.
     
    But Thomas never moved. His fur colour became faded by time, and the twinkle in his glass eyes faded and dulled over. I don’t know how long it has been, in total, all I know is that, as I hold him in my arms, I feel guilty. Guilty for leaving him behind, for forging ahead on my own without him. He has done so much for me, eased me through times which would have been too unbearable to have experienced alone. But I had left him behind as soon as things began to pick up for me. How could I be so selfish.
     
    I stared into his brown eyes, and my racing thoughts stopped in their tracks. Those eyes were calm, and at peace. The forlorn expression upon that soft face was no longer there, having been replaced by a visage of acceptance. I understood, now. If Thomas had been a real, living conscience, I know just what he would have told me. “Don’t be sorry for me,” I heard the high voice that I had always given him ring out in my head. “My purpose is done. You do not owe me anything.”
    It is strange, to sit here, now, holding this small, artificial, inanimate object in my hands, but feeling more emotion for it than I had felt in a long, long time. No, not it. Him. I may have grow up, and I may have become a mature young adult. However, though the time may have come for me to grow in mentality and stature, I will never forget the times I spent, and the pain that I was spared, thanks to my constant companion and the best friend of my childhood. With a smile, which was returned to me, if only in my imagination, I placed Thomas back upon the pile of pillows, reveling in the memories of the times come and gone, and refreshed in my own purpose. For I knew that, no matter what I did from here on out, I would have my truest friend, my constant companion, cheering me on.
     
    “When I became a man, I put away childish things. Including the fear of childishness, and the desire to be very grown up.”
     
    ~C.S. Lewis
     
     
    If you are wondering why I am posting this here, it is because I love this community, and I trust you guys with personal narratives like these and, I hope, that by relaying my own experience, someone may be able to relate with it, and above all I can only hope that I can bring a smile to your faces in acknowledging that, though we grow in mind and body, there is always a place in our lives for happy memories of childhood.
    And if my little bout of personal exposition has offended anyone, or came across as pointless, then I apologise. However, it is in my nature to share, and so, share I have.
  7. Quilled Inc
    To my dearest Reader,
    I regret to inform you that the work of fan fiction which you are about to be told about is exceedingly troublesome, for it recounts the unfortunate lives of the three Apple youngsters. Though they are charming and faithful, these poor ponies’ lives are filled with misery and misfortune. From the very first paragraph of this upsetting account of events the cruelty of their lives is realised, and my horn falters even now as I record them.
    In this woeful series the three Apple siblings will encounter an egotistical and prejudiced scoundrel, uncomfortable bedding, an abused unicorn, a terrible plot, and horrible news that will change their lives forever.
    I have taken it upon myself to document these miserable happenings, but you have the freedom to keep on scrolling and pass this piece of fan fiction by. I am sure that not far from this location on the webpage is some happy story about a playful and colourful pony frolicking under a rainbow, enjoying the happiness of a life without sorrow.
    However, if the sad lives of these three ponies has grabbed your attention, then read on; but don’t say that I did not warn you.
    With appropriate resolve,

    Silver Quill
     


     
    (This is a preview to my upcoming cross-over fan fiction which will be posted on FimFiction.net by the end of the week. Stay tuned!)
  8. Quilled Inc
    There is that familiar feeling, a feeling of worry, dread, and depression, hovering on the edge of my subconscious, threatening to overflow into the active portions of my consciousness. But I will fight. What reason have I to be sad or worried? Stressful thoughts hover before my tired eyes but I blink them away. I have no reasons to be feeling this way, after all, I am happy and content, with loving family and great friends. So what could it be? Is it the taxation of the world finally taking affect; the wandering eyes and the loose lips that follow me and murmur as I pass them by, finally worming their way into my brain, telling me to want more? To desire to be something else, other than myself? That it is all meaningless?
    That I should give up?
    I have been struggling, it is true. Though I maintain a placid demeanour, the thoughts that parade through my mind leave me with a sinking feeling in my heart, a feeling of lacking, of loss, a fear of everything collapsing around me. "It would be easier to just give it up. Take the easy road; kick back and dispel all of these silly little pursuits, they won't help you find purpose. You have no promises of success, so why try?" whispers the throng around me, playing a funeral procession on my ear drums and heartstrings.
    But no, say I, for I have faith. Faith in my family to keep me straight, faith in my friends to keep me sane, and faith in myself, to continue being who I am. Faith is not just a matter of religious resolve, it is a matter of trusting assurance. I trust my family, trust my friends, trust myself.
    Never let me slip please, Lord, for I fear that I cannot survive the fall. So many of those surrounding me are giving up, succumbing to this life and it's empty promises of ease and leisure. Did I aim too high? Have I climbed this ladder of life too fast, just to lose my grip on the highest rung?
    It is THESE thoughts that I must dispel from myself, keep calm, and carry on.
     
    This post may not have much true meaning or insight, but you would not believe how good it felt to type it out.
  9. Quilled Inc
    Greetings, everypony!
    So the first chapter of my most recent fan fiction is finished, now I just need someone to help me out with editing it before posting it on FimFiction.net!
    If anypony wants to provide a helping hand, please let me know! I would like to have one or two people just look this over and provide any critical feedback on grammar, content, and consistency/flow.
    Thank you in advance!
    ~Silver Quill
×
×
  • Create New...