So, I wrote... a monologue? I don't even know · 3:50am Oct 13th, 2017
Love. Perhaps of all of life’s great mysteries, love was the greatest. It had been lust, not love, that had been the force of creation for Esmeralda Verde. His fling with Cielo del Este was just that, a fling, a conquest, a meaningless act done to satisfy juvenile pride. It was the worst sort of sex, done for the worst sort of reasons, and while it had felt good at the time, it was ultimately unfulfilling—unrewarding beyond the sense of conquest.
Two things had come from this act of lust: bragging rights—a reward squandered, rendered meaningless, pointless, due to newfound maturity—and Esmeralda Verde. The moment that Copperquick had encountered his daughter, he had no choice but to love, and what a love it was. Young, carefree, Copperquick had spent far too much time loving himself and looking after his own needs. Like so many his age, he was oblivious to the needs of others. Self-focused, he lived and acted as if he was the only pony who existed.
But with the arrival of Esmeralda Verde, all of that changed. Copperquick was forced to acknowledge that other ponies existed—they existed, had needs that were sometimes contrary to his own, and in the case of little Esmeralda, she was utterly incapable of looking after her own needs. Understanding these needs, anticipating these needs, it required a certain amount of empathy, of understanding, it demanded awareness, patience, sympathy, mercy, forbearance, and ultimately, love, which was the root of all of these things, the wellspring, the source.
Not that these things were impossible without love; but they were things made far more difficult and limited without love as a motivating force. Such as it was, Copperquick was forced to feel love for another, and this had been awakening. In feeling these first few moments of love, when it was its most tender, most fragile, Copperquick became a creature compelled by love to act in the better interests of another.
This in turn, perhaps as a fickle twist of fate, put him into contact with another who was compelled by love to do extraordinary good; a one Buttermilk Oddbody, who had given over the entirety of her life to the service of others, asking nothing in return. In opening his heart to his daughter, to feel and experience love for her, he had unknowingly primed himself to feel and experience love from from others.
Love communicates in strange ways, odd ways, manifesting itself in the most mysterious, most cryptic of acts: in this instance, it was Miss Oddbody following her Moomy’s advice and fixing hot buttery toast with cheese. It was a question, an invitation, a means for the love within to make a query, and Copperquick had responded.
And so it was, Copperquick had opened his heart to experience and feel two profoundly different types of love, forever altering his life, his outlook, and his future. The switch located deep within his heart had been flipped from ‘selfish’ over to ‘selfless’ and this could be seen in his actions, his interactions, and his reactions to the world around him.
Copperquick became a devoted, fervent servant to the whims of love…
It just sorta happened. It wasn't planned. I went to write something else, to follow the script and the framework that I had laid out for the story, and this just sorta happened out of the blue. I think this story is having a profound effect upon me, as I keep deviating off into these tangents. I don't know if this is a good thing, because this will make the story much longer than I anticipated and I fear the Feature Creep that can happen if a writer goes off chasing butterflies. Been there, done that, was destroyed by it.
Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions?
Sometimes, we throw the match into the bonfire, only to find somebody else has added a few hundred gallons of gasoline, and we writers are lucky to escape with our eyebrows.
I feel regret for not ordering more shrimp lo mein when I had the chance.....
Oh hey, there's a monologue up there.
You can always perserve the line you wrote as reference for later use.
a small little piece about parental love, cute in its own way
It doesn't feel like feature creep to me, since it fits the theme and tone of the story quite well. Hadn't you told, I'd have been convinced that it was planned.
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All the this.
'S good. Keep it.