>Be Anon in Equestria
>Day Whatever
>You stare into the screen in front of you as a small white line blinks back at you.
>Your mind wanders occasionally as you struggle to maintain focus on the task at hand.
>You decide that some fresh air might help sway the idea gods in your favor.
>As you step out onto your back porch, you inhale the cold air of the night.
>You lean on the wooden balcony railing and look up at the moon.
>You wait, and wait, and continue to wait, but nothing comes.
>It seems the hardest part of writing stories is coming up with satisfying ideas.
>With the fresh air being unable manifest anything interesting, you trudge back inside and resume your previous slump on your seat.
>Once again, the slow blink of the white line taunts you.
>Your lower back finding it difficult to re-subject itself to your chair, urges you for a place to truly rest.
>You move over to your bed and collapse onto the soft cushioning of the mattress beneath you.
>You slowly feel the pressure from your lower back dissipate as you attempt to fill the holes of your story with suitable ideas
>Your hyperactive mind wrestles for more interesting topics as you battle to remain conscious.
>Slowly, sleep takes hold of you, putting your mind to rest.
 
 
>The next morning you make your way over to your place of employment: Sugarcube Corner.
>Walking inside, you greet the relentlessly enthusiastic pink earth pony filling the confection counter.
>The counter also serves as a check-out, and the place where you spend the majority of your time in here, seeing as you're one of the cashiers.
>The other cashier being Pinkie Pie, the pony giving you the massive smile right now, but she's mainly scheduled with you as the baker for the day.
>You're sort of Mr. and Mrs. Cake's full-time Cashier, who are the owners of this humble establishment.
>Providing colorful horses everywhere with equally as colorful confections.
>It's not a bad position. It pays the bills, but isn't an environment where you could really rise through the ranks.
>Nonetheless, you make enough that you can live well within your means, so there isn't much you can complain about.
>The work pays way more than it's worth.
>It makes you almost feel bad for the Cakes.
>But since you don't really know too much about Equestrian economics yet, you try to rationalize it as the norm and pretend like nothing ever crossed your mind.
>Mr. Cake handles the deliveries, and Mrs. Cake mainly bakes with Pinkie and acts as a backup Cashier.
>But Mrs. Cake isn't in as often as you or Pinkie.
>So you two are usually free to do whatever you please, as long as the work gets done.
>That doesn't stop the days being long and boring though.
 
 
>"Hey Nonny! You don't look very excited today," Pinkie Pie says.
"That's just because you're always excited, Pinkie, it makes everyone look miserable in comparison," you say.
>"Well then everypony needs to loosen up a little!" she says, before putting the tray she was using to fill the display on the counter.
>She trots beside you and follows you into the kitchen.
>The smell that hits you conveys that Pinkie must have already started on the custom orders for today.
"How do you get up so early without any difficulty?" you say.
>"That's simple; who wouldn't want to get up early when every day is a day full of wonderful possibilities?"
"Silly pony."
>Walking over to your personal cupboard, you look into the mirror mounted below the apron hook and adjust the collar on your white baker uniform.
>You grab your baker's hat out of the cupboard and turn to face Pinkie, who appears to be checking on what's baking in the oven.
>You move closer to get a better look, and the ingredients inside resemble a round chocolate cake, which probably tastes as delicious as it looks.
"Pinkie, have you written any stories before?" you ask.
>"Yeah Nonny!" she says, closing the oven door and turning towards you, "Back when I was a filly at school they used to make us write them for assignments."
"No, I mean one of your own accord. Like, an idea that pops into your head and you decide to write a short story on it."
>"Oh? No, not really, I don't think I've written anything in years. Why'd you ask?"
"Uh, well, I've sort of been writing a story of my own recently, and I've gotten stuck coming up with an idea for the next part."
>"Ooo! That sounds like fun! I don't think I can tell you anything that might help, though. I never was the writing type."
>She gestures with her hoof. "So what's it about?"
"Uhh, well," you mumble, "It's sort of based on a show I watch."
>"Cool! Which one?" she pries.
>Just then, the bell on the counter of the show floor rings.
"I'll get it!" you exclaim.
 
 
>Sitting at the counter, you rest with your fist against your cheek and your elbow propped keeping your head suspended.
>The customer flow always slows down before the end of your shift.
>If you kept track of the average, that probably wouldn't be the case, but time always drags on whenever you're about to get off.
>During your spare time adjusting the displays and cleaning up the show floor, you've attempted to at least to come up with some ideas for where your story is headed.
>Even though you've had plenty of time, you never come up with anything interesting and then your mind switches subjects.
>Maybe there's a pony drug that would help you concentrate better.
>...
>On second thought, most pony medication has never been tested on you, save for a few you've asked Twilight for like painkillers, so they would probably do anything but help you concentrate.
>Hey, Twilight might be a good person to ask about stories, she loves books.
>You decide to stop by Twilight's after you get off work.
>Just then, the Cutie Mark Crusaders trot through the door and onto the show floor.
"Hey girls!"
>"Hey Anon," they all say back.
>They begin browsing the displays while Sweetie Belle continuously questions how shopping for baked goods would get them their Cutie Marks.
>Eventually, you try asking them if they've ever written stories, because why not?
>After, you explain to them your predicament.
>However, instead of them offering suggestions, or sharing their own stories, they laugh at you.
>"Oh wow!" Sweetie Belle manages to get out between bouts of laughter.
>"That's hilarious!" Apple Bloom exclaims.
>"Anon watches a show for little fillies!" Scootaloo says, falling onto her back.
"But you girls /are/ little fillies!" you shout back.
>"Even we're too old fer that Anon!" Apple Bloom says before losing herself.
"But it's really good! You should just give it a try!"
>"No thanks Anon," Scootaloo says, "I think we'll stick to the big kid shows."
 
 
>You open the door to the Golden Oak Library, and step inside.
>You take in the cozy sight of the first floor, before calling out for Twilight.
>"I'm up in my bedroom Anon! Just come up!" Twilight responds.
>Walking over to the stairs leading to her bedroom, you take your shoes off, and begin your ascent.
>Once at the top of the stairs, you can't help but admire the overwhelming cozy her room gives off.
>It makes you perform the human equivalent of scrunching simply out of sheer jealousy.
>"Hey Twilight," you call.
>"Hey Anon. How's your day been?" Twilight responds from her perch.
>She's curled up reading a book on her bed, and she's turned her head in your direction in preparation of your answer.
"Fine, I guess. Work wasn't bad, but got a little boring at the end. What are you reading?"
>"Oh, it's just the second Daring Do book from the original trilogy. I decided to reread them since I haven't read them in quite a while."
"I see," you say, as you ascend the stairs to the upper loft, "I've only read the original trilogy. Is the series after any good?"
>"Definitely, but personally I prefer the original trilogy. That doesn't mean the others aren't good though. You should give them a try sometime."
>You walk over and sit on the side of her bed.
>She sits up and moves over a little, giving you some more room.
"Actually, I was coming over to ask a question. You wouldn't know anything about writing stories, would you?"
>Twilight's eyes widen.
>"Oh yeah! I write stories all the time! I have short stories on lots of things and I've written tons of Daring Do fanfiction!"
"Uhh, Daring Do fanfiction?"
>"Yeah, that's what I said, here, let me show you some!"
>Twilight looks behind you as she accesses a dresser out of your sight with her magic.
>She lowers three stacks of paper held individually together with staples at their corners into your grasp, before explaining more.
>"I love Daring Do," she says, "Which I'm sure you've noticed. I have tons of cool ideas floating around and I've turned some of them into full fledged stories. I think my 'Daring Do and the Monsters of Tartarus' is my best work." she proclaims proudly.
"Twilight?"
>"Yeah Anon?"
>She readjusts her gaze towards you.
"Is it still considered fanfiction if they're all about your brother?" you say, flipping through the pages of each stack.
>Twilight's pupils practically disappear.
>Blush coats her entire face.
>Her mouth drops open a little.
>She magically rips the assortment of pages out of your hands and throws them somewhere out of sight.
>You hear another drawer slide open behind you, and soon three other assortments of pages land in your hands.
>Twilight's expression remains unchanging.
>You look down at the stacks.
>The top stack's first page reads 'Daring Do and the Monsters of Tartarus'
>Twilight doesn't move a muscle when you look at her.
 
 
>That's it!
>You've finally figured it out!
>Barging through your front door, you throw your shoes off and run towards your computer.
>You open up the file that contains your current story and furiously begin typing away.
>Within a half hour your hands start hurting.
>You pause to go grab yourself a muffin and to give your hands a rest.
>It only took you a whole week, but you've finally come up with the idea you've been waiting for!
>You were so excited to write that you ran straight home as soon as you thought of it.
>The words just poured out of your hands.
>You hadn't written this fast in a long time.
>As you chow down on your muffin, you browse what you've written and pick off small mistakes and re-adjust some sentences.
>You feel it all slowly coming together, this new chunk of writing slowly melding with your previous work.
>It all flows so nicely together, so satisfyingly.
>You finish your muffin, roll the wrapper up and toss it into the garbage bin adjacent to your desk.
>You resume your flurry of finger strikes.
>You can feel every finger working at maximum efficiency as you hammer out the strings of text.
>The rush you get from simply writing a few witty sentences is truly exhilarating.
>With a satisfying slam of the enter key, you finish off.
>You look, amazed at the sheer length of writing you wrote.
>You chuckle, impressed.
>You cross your arms and lean back in your chair.
>Now, only the other half of the story to write.