So I finally created a Fimfiction account. Both “The Farmer in the Dell” and “Conference” have been approved and now appear on the site.

I debated whether to withdraw from Furaffinity entirely. In the end, I think I simply will leave my gallery, but visit and update less. My Deviantart gallery is more active, for some value of “more”.

. . . How much like hobbits the ponies are in MLPFIM? (That’s a good thing, by the way.)

I’ve been engaged to handle graphic design and page lay-out for a pen-and-paper pony role-playing game book titled Roan. The creator has started a Kickstarter campaign to cover the costs of payment to myself and other contributors, most especially illustrators, and of printing and distribution.

The setting is strongly influenced by pulp adventure—both the original interwar fiction featuring the likes of Doc Savage and the Phantom, Terry and the Pirates and Billy Barnes, and latter-day homages such as Indiana Jones, the Rocketeer, and Sky Captain. The game mechanics are a licensed customized version of the Ubiquity rules set by Jeff Combos.

The project was funded to the tune of more than $20,000! Now the real work begins.

I’m looking actively for new clients, preferably steady ones, who need graphic design and/or production art services. I can telecommute anywhere, of course. My professional Web site with sample work is at catspawdtp.com.

“Rainbow Falls” is the first episode since “Wonderbolts Academy” to feature the Wonderbolts in general and Spitfire in particular. Otherwise an acceptable but not strong installment, its storyline crashes and burns on the same problem that torpedoed the previous Wonderbolts outing.

Spitfire and Fleetfoot simply do not act like mature, experienced military officers. In fact, a real-world field-grade or general officer (in an organization of good quality) who behaved in like fashion immediately would be hauled up on charges before a board of inquiry and possibly a court-martial. The charge in question is, in United States military parlance, “conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman”—or lady, in this case. British wording for the same offense is similar, though not identical. In both cases, military slang shortens the phrase to “conduct unbecoming”.

The reason for this is simple. Part of military training for all ranks, and even more for officers, is to instill a strong and consistent code of morals and ethics. One may quibble over some aspects of that code, but it exists and is critical to the success of the service in question. The widespread belief, fostered by Hollywood, that military officers are bloodthirty barbarians with no moral compass rests on the flawed assumption that any such code must rise from the same foundation as the social contract of the civilian world. In fact the two must be, and are, utterly different: War is the most extreme activity any society can undertake, with uniquely harsh but vitally necessary imperatives and requirements. (This, incidentally, is one reason why military personnel, especially those who engaged in frequent combat for long periods, often experience difficulties reintegrating into civilian life.)

A military officer is responsible both for the individual fates of the personnel under his or her authority and very possibly for the fates of nations. Balancing one against the other in wartime is an agonizing ongoing process, often with mere minutes or seconds in which to make decisions great or small, on little or no (or even faulty) information. At the same time, while patriotism or other abstract motivations may have led one into donning the uniform, what keeps the same person going in the cauldron of battle is loyalty of a very personal sort—the need to keep faith with one’s comrades because everyone’s lives and, perhaps more importantly, victory and the survival of one’s country depend on it. In short, every instinct in Spitfire and Fleetfoot should impel their behavior toward Soarin’ to be exactly the opposite of what it was in the episode.

The military code has been refined and tempered in that cauldron over the millennia of recorded history. Details vary from nation to nation and service to service, but the broad outlines remain generally the same—and that is the answer also to any objection based on the observation that brightly colored magical ponies might be different from hairless apes. While true, it overlooks two facts: First, that war and combat would impose the same strains and urgencies, and require the same personal and institutional responses, regardless of species; second, that pony society has been shaped by the writers to resemble human society, mostly to ease storytelling for themselves and their young primary audience.

Allowing active-duty military officers to participate in an athletic festival, particularly representing a civil municipality, is shaky, but can be justified by invoking “ponies have different traditions”. The same can be said of allowing an individual to participate in only one event, especially with the justification that said rule encourages participation by as many ponies (or, apparently, griffons) as possible, which comports well with the Equestrian ethos.

So, again, the question legitimately may be raised: “How would you do it, smarty-pants?” The answer in this case is simpler than for “Wonderbolts Academy” and apparently has occurred independently to others. Instead of the Wonderbolts, the Cloudsdale team should have been foalhood friends of Rainbow Dash—perhaps fellow alumni of the Junior Speedsters, as was Gilda in “Griffon the Brush-off”. Not only would it avoid the whole tangle of involving military personnel in a dubious ethical and legal situation, it would heighten Dash’s test of loyalty by making it a good deal more personal: Which cherished friends does she support, and which does she leave aside?

If retaining Wonderbolts as characters is absolutely necessary, make them junior officers—second lieutenants (nicknamed “butter bars” in US military slang for their single gold-colored rank bars). There are several storytelling benefits to this tack: They are closer to Dash’s age and therefore more like peers—and would be of the rank she would hold upon Academy graduation. They are young and therefore more likely to engage in brash borderline behavior, and it could have been an opportunity to show them being chewed out or an ominous hint of disciplinary action for their improper behavior.

. . . And why did the winner of Manehattan Fashion Week design an athletic uniform that looks like a tablecloth?

With the current version, Pony Tales finally appears to be past the need for major additional work. In light of that maturity and my own sense of “project fatigue”, I am reducing support for it to what the software business calls critical patches, shoring up fatal flaws that yet may surface, but no longer pursuing active development.

It’s been two years since I first started playing around with the notion of a pony role-playing game. Since then, playtesting via the “pilot” game with local friends and input from varying viewpoints on design or play—sometimes orthogonal and occasionally opposed to one another or to mine—have exerted positively tectonic pressures that transmuted Pony Tales almost beyond recognition. As a result, I long since have lost sight of the game I set out to create—and, I must admit, my original motivation for creating it.

My goal had been simple, briskly paced rules emphasizing playability and fluidity, yet more full-featured than an utterly basic “beer and pretzels” sketch, accompanied by background information as I understood it. I regarded the project as a lark, a thought experiment, so when certain unformulated elements threatened to bog down the creative process, rather than delve into a more serious design effort I opted to do what was expedient: I bolted my ideas to an existing rules set that I felt was reasonably compatible and exhibited certain qualities I found agreeable in a game with a cinematic approach. As a bonus, it was open-source.

Over time, when revising the game to address the inevitable problems that cropped up, I decided again on the expedient route, both for myself and to avoid delaying the active pilot game: Instead of re-examining the existing structure before becoming irrevocably committed to it and if necessary restarting from scratch, I simply adopted or adapted previously unused portions of the open-source rules set that could be plugged in to address the weaknesses. I suppose if I were writing to Princess Celestia, the lesson would be not to let the most expedient choice dictate one’s course of action, on pain of unintended consequences.

I do feel a wistful urge to start fresh on a new, more original set of rules—if not replacing the current incarnation, then alongside it. Certainly the whole process has been a learning experience, I have some new ideas, and other games as well as the existing rules can supply inspiration or act as catalysts. Should some new method or possibility for playtesting emerge, I might pursue the project, but for now I am leaning regretfully toward shelving it.

I’m a cantakerous old pre-Internet-generation curmudgeon, but even I have succumbed and obtained a Twitter account.

What name does Dale’s wife adopt, and what do they name their unicorn colt?

A phenomenon I've noticed both here on Furaffinity and on Deviantart has generated much good-natured amusement in our household.

The script runs something like this: BloodWolf666, InvisibleNinjaMan, MisunderstoodAngryTeen, Black-Clad-Goth or similar over-the-top handle has a gallery full of violent, fetishy, angstful, or otherwise not-family-friendly content, perhaps stretching back years.

Then, abruptly, there are ponies. Ponies everywhere. Ponies possibly entirely displacing all other content. Nearly always it is possible to pinpoint the month when the new pony overlords take control; often it is possible to pinpoint the exact date.

That candy-colored magical ponies have this astonishing power to uplift the human spirit is, in my view, a wonderful thing. It does raise an understanding smile, though, to see these hard-boiled or trying-to-be-hard-boiled personalities so completely won over.

For a while I’ve been puzzled by complaints I’ve seen and heard that Applejack hasn’t had any episodes the way the rest of the “mane six” have. I haven’t compiled a count, so I’m willing to concede that fewer episodes may revolve primarily around her, but I look at “Applebuck Season”, “Look Before You Sleep”, “Fall Weather Friends”, “The Last Roundup”, “The Super-Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000”, and the upcoming (at time of writing) “Apple Family Reunion” and “Spike at Your Service” and wonder from whence this sentiment comes. I think I’ve figured out the dissonance at last.

Unlike the rest of the central characters, Applejack nearly always is surrounded by family and rarely is far from them; the phrase “blood is thicker than water” might as well have been coined to describe her. Moreover, the very nature of her character makes her by far the most communal* member of the main cast, with the result that she almost never does anything alone. “Cider Squeezy” exemplifies this best, particularly in what has to be the most hilarious friendship report in the entire series to date. Look what happens in “The Last Roundup” when she up and disappears: everypony else is so distraught at this astonishingly uncharacteristic action that they promptly go looking for her.

Applejack is all about her relationships, and that’s why she nearly always shares the stage.

(* Pinkie Pie is the most gregarious cast member, which is something rather different.)

To date I generally have refrained from commenting on pony episodes, but I’m making an exception for “Wonderbolts Academy”. This isn’t a review, exactly, nor is it an overview, exactly—but it does contain elements of both.

Along with a couple of local friends I was mildly disappointed by the story, for reasons summed up in this post’s title. That phrase is my private nickname for the funhouse-mirror treatment of military organizations by civilian scriptwriters who have little or no knowledge or understanding of how and why they work. Instead those authors create caricatures that would not look out of place on a playground littered with small plastic molded toy soldiers. It is so pervasive in the entertainment industry as to be endlessly grating, especially to one whose father and grandfather served in the United States Air Force and who personally harbors a deep respect and sympathy for military history and traditions. Those institutions, almost alone in modern society, revere the concepts of honor and sacrifice without a trace of irony or postmodern hipster disdain.

The writing staff has shorn away the cynicism, to their credit—but they failed to avoid the syndrome. Some errors could have been corrected; others could not without changing the story greatly. In like fashion, some were large while others were small enough to be quibbles.

The biggest problem is Spitfire. A commanding officer must know, at all times, exactly what is going on in her command area—down to how many ants are crawling across the parade ground, if she can manage it. That’s part of why she has junior officers and NCOs; they are her eyes and ears and proxies. Spitfire cannot be unaware of the shenanigans going on among her cadets if she is to remain believable as a competent and capable senior officer.

This goes double for an academy commandant, which by the way should be a separate post. “Wearing two hats” of such magnitude is more than most organizations would be willing to permit a single officer to do. The desire to use an established character plainly trumped that consideration. On the other hand, this Spitfire didn’t seem to mesh well with the glimpses given in earlier episodes, so it might have served them better to introduce a new character anyway—especially since a different voice actress read her lines. (I felt her voice in “The Best Night Ever” was more fitting.)

The autographing gag was funny once, but it would have been nice to see her doing some legitimate paperwork or other command tasks as well, to help bolster that aspect of the character. In that vein, while a commandant might review and speechify to a new class, she would not conduct training personally. She has far too much else to do, and again, that’s why she has junior officers and NCOs. Moreover, a training instructor does much more than simply yell at trainees, which is most of what Spitfire actually does.

The other major problem is Lightning Dust. With a few millennia of accumulated empirical experience to fall back on, most military organizations of any quality know exactly what signs to look for in personalities like hers. Given the history established in “Hearth’s-Warming Eve”, the ponies don't lack for such experience themselves. She should have been bounced out very quickly indeed, for exactly the reasons that played out in the episode, but that would short-circuit the story.

Since it all takes place in only a few days anyway, one can paper over this quibble by claiming that the purpose of the initial week is to weed out or straighten out the misfits. This is especially true if the training program is more akin to JROTC than to the “real thing”, which is reasonable given that the “main six” are supposed to be in their teens.

Pairing Dust with Rainbow Dash was necessary to the story, but unfortunately that too doesn’t reflect real training methods. Generally the opposite is done—strong is paired with weak, to encourage mentorship on the part of the strong, improvement on the part of the weak, and mutual support in both. Indeed, the story explains quite well why academies and boot camps don’t pair strong with strong!

“So, smart-aleck, how would you do it, huh?” is a fair question at this point. Generally, my rule of thumb is that if doing it right—whatever “it” may be—takes no extra effort, or even not much extra effort, then it should be done right. If doing it right would be a lot more hassle, other factors have to be weighed (including whether the story should be scrapped).

I probably would have done away with Spitfire entirely, or limited her to an initial speech; in the latter case I would have had her finish by introducing the class’s primary instructor—probably a senior sergeant. Make the instructor the hard case, going through all the “you only think you’re ready” scare talk. (Wouldn’t it be a hoot if they could have had R. Lee Ermey fill that role?) Of course “Sergeant Sideburns” and “Corporal Cookie-Duster” would remain; they’re just fine, although I might have made them a little more active.

Strictly speaking, Dust asking for the Dizzitron to be revved up is a bit out of line, and I might put a comment to that effect in the trainer’s/Spitfire’s mouth. On the other hand, I consider this a relatively minor issue, and might have gone on with the response expressing a sentiment like “But now I’ll give you enough rope to hang yourself.” (Not literally, of course, but it gets the idea across for the purposes of this post.)

Pairing Dash and Dust as leaders to other weaker flyers could have been an interesting direction, even if the major plot elements otherwise were retained. It would resonate with Dash’s foalhood friendship with Fluttershy, for one thing. The two cadet-leaders’ conflict could be thrown into starker relief as their similar but not identical leadership styles would be pointed up.

Dash, for all her occasional obnoxiousness, can be an adequate mentor, and this could have been an opportunity for her to grow in that role. I’d show her trying to support her wingpony, while Dust seeks to outdo everyone else, even at the expense of her wingpony. (As one of those disappointed friends put it, “They give out an extra day of leave to the team that clears the obstacle course most quickly—but it’s the fellow who goes back to help his comrade instead that graduates boot camp as E-2 rather than E-1.”)

Dust’s pair beating out Dash’s by narrow margins, but at visible cost to Dust’s partner and their other classmates, would stick in Dash’s craw on several levels. If Dust’s partner is too cowed to speak up, that might remind Dash a little of Fluttershy. Maybe Dash has an initial confrontation with Dust over it and the latter brushes her off, perhaps with a variation of “What are you going to do, tattle on us?” (The problem with that, of course, is the appearance of a similar trope only a couple of weeks earlier—but the dynamics would be similar if a lot more serious.)

In the end, the lecture Dash gives should come from the trainer/Spitfire, because that character is supposed to be the preceptor. I’m sure the reason Dash gave it in the episode is because she’s a primary character, but other episodes have given similarly central roles to supporting characters—notably Shining Armor and Cadance in “A Canterlot Wedding”. There’s no reason it couldn’t be used here, and to similar effect as the actual denouement.

Incidentally, dustykat felt Pinkie’s scenes were a little too prominent. While I’m ambivalent myself, I agree they probably could have been telescoped somewhat—possibly eliminating the first mailbox-obsession scene and slightly extending the previous and following scenes to cover that territory. This would pry loose an extra minute or two of screen time for the Dash/Dust conflict.

No one can do good work for people they hold in contempt. Respect for one’s audience, constituency, customers, or whomever one is serving is an absolute requirement if one is to achieve excellence.

This is why “next year will be the year of Linux on the desktop” has degenerated into a bad joke over the last twenty years. This is why open-source software is not, and cannot be, successful. The proponents of those movements consciously or unconsciously regard the vastly larger population of non-techies as ignoramus troglodytes for not sharing their priorities and interests. As a result, “usability” is a coat of paint slapped on at the end, not an overriding requirement guiding the entire development process; programmers actively reject the input or even presence of designers.

This is why Microsoft earned a well-deserved reputation for mediocrity, for selling software that was “just good enough”—never mind how many metaphorical gashes users got from its raw edges. To a degree they appear to be learning the lesson; their more recent products, released or announced, seem to pay more attention to the idea that respect is necessary to attract and keep customers.

This is why Apple is wildly successful, and why nearly every competitor (including open-source banner-wavers) seems bewildered or enraged by that success. Those competitors do not understand this basic principle of respect, and generally refuse to accept it even when their faces are shoved into it. Conversely, Apple’s entire business model revolves around it; the job of the programmer or engineer is to collaborate with the designer to create a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Of course, this principle is true not only in the electronics and computer industries but across most fields of human endeavor; it simply is more glaringly visible there than elsewhere. Big studios pump out insultingly shallow, formulaic movies; Pixar has an enviable track record of intelligent, well-crafted stories resulting in blockbuster revenues. My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic has spawned an astonishingly large and vital adult fandom because, thanks to sharp writing and painstaking animation, it is of better quality than a goodly share of prime-time television, let alone children’s programming—most especially the astoundingly poorly-served young-girls demographic. Consider any profession, any art or craft: the word “respect” comes into it sooner or later.

If you find yourself curling your lip at someone whom you hope to win over, be it a customer, a voter, a fan, whomever, stop and think about what you’re doing—and why and how you’re doing it.

Addendum: I should have known that someone would attempt to hijack the discussion away from my actual point, distracted by the mere mention of Apple, with a diatribe about Apple’s disdain for allowing old technology to linger long past its time. I would point out that instant obsolescence is a far greater problem with Apple’s competitors—notably Android phones. The cellular-telephony industry in the US is a poster child for contempt-for-customers. These are not unconnected.

President: “All right then, are there any other questions?”

Chairman, JCS: “Yes ma’am. I have a question nobody else has asked yet.”

President: “Go ahead.”

JCS (tapping a fingertip on the table): “Why are they here?”

Sec HHS (sarcastically): “They’re invading our planet. Or hadn’t you noticed there’s a war on?”

JCS: “Yes sir, I had. But part of my job is to understand not just what the enemy is doing, but why he’s doing it. And I don’t. Nothing about the situation adds up.”

Sec HHS: “Does it really matter? They’re here. They’re des—”

President (putting out a hand, palm down): “What doesn’t add up?”

JCS: “Almost the only thing we know for sure about them is that they can reach Earth from another star system. If they can do that, we have to assume they can go pretty much anywhere they want. There are millions of other star systems out there, and most of them probably aren’t inhabited. Why not go there instead?”

Sec Def: “Maybe they’re doing that too and we just don’t know about it.”

JCS: “Could be, but it still doesn’t answer the question. With all that real estate available, they came here—to a planet with billions of people and enough industry and technology to put up a decent fight. We might be losing the war right now, but we’re tearing big holes in them.”

President (sourly): “That isn’t much consolation.”

JCS: “No, ma’am, but why bother launching a big, expensive, dangerous invasion? They could have stood off in orbit and dropped meteors on our cities until they bombed us back to the Stone Age, and there’s damn-all we could have done about it. They didn’t do that. And there’s more.”

Sec HHS: “For God’s sake—”

JCS (overriding the objection): “Some of the Pentagon’s analysts pointed out that it actually would be easier for them to reach the Asteroid Belt and the outer solar system. If they’re looking for raw materials, they could get all they wanted out there. We certainly couldn’t stop them.”

President (intrigued): “Is there really that much out there?”

JCS: “Yes, ma’am. Some of the analysts tell me there must be billions of tons of minerals in the Asteroid Belt—metals, rocks, crystals, you name it. The Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud are full of ice—water, methane, ammonia, all sorts of useful stuff. And all of it is in nice bite-sized chunks. No need to launch anything out of a gravity well with big rockets.”

Sec HHS (dismissively): “If that’s true, why aren’t we out there mining it?”

JCS (seriously): “Apparently some people have been asking that question for fifty years, sir, but nobody’s given them a good answer.”

Just once I want to see this scene in a movie.

I got a request for a wallpaper version of the art I submitted to the third We Love Fine pony T-shirt contest. It wouldn’t have occurred to me on my own, but once the suggestion was made, I ran with it.

Since Furaffinity doesn’t support zip archives, I’ve uploaded them to my Deviantart account. You can grab The Chamber of the Sun or The Chamber of the Moon at your option!

(I)f once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.
—Rudyard Kipling, “Danegeld”

Appended are addenda addressing changes and updates in the available information.

The spectacle of a man pushing fifty getting literally teary-eyed over the fate of a googly-eyed cartoon pony may seem ridiculous, but there it is. No one ever outgrows the need for a little innocence in one’s life, and that particular cartoon answers this basic human desire with a concentrated blast of pure unadulterated life-affirming joy—as golden and radiant as Celestia’s sun; as silvery and comforting as Luna’s moon. Perhaps it is not the fictitious pony herself that warrants such a profound emotional response, but rather the stomach-twisting realization that even this uplifting work of genuine art is not immune to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Beyond this admittedly sentimental reaction, however, are coldly logical reasons why bowdlerizing the episode on which Derpy was named and had spoken lines may turn out to be a mistake. (Derpy she was, and Derpy she shall remain. I for one will not let her go gentle into that good night.) Hasbro built up an enviable store of goodwill by granting the program’s production staff enormous creative freedom with minimal interference, and by treading lightly when a wholly unexpected fandom coalesced from nowhere. This goodwill and the resulting trust very likely will suffer notably in the wake of a decision that looks to have few benefits and several important problems.

It almost certainly will damage the relationship between the adult fans and Hasbro, as it has in my case. The astonishing gift presented by the production staff, squarely and unmistakeably, to those fans has been snatched back or at least greatly diminished—but only after those fans got a chance to see what was being taken from them, thereby definitely rubbing salt in the wound. They may begin to feel that perhaps they need to keep a wary eye on that corporate patron after all, and to fear being kicked to the curb after their wallets have been drained.

It perhaps could damage the relationship between that staff and Hasbro. The writers’ and artists’ expansive gesture to the fans has been cauterized away to a significant degree. They may begin to feel that perhaps they need to keep an eye on their corporate bosses after all, and to fear their decisions being second-guessed. Moreover, a scheduled new episode has failed to appear; in its place was a re-run, with a first-season episode in the tandem slot. The obvious inference is that this ruckus (fracas!) has made a shambles of the breakneck production schedule, thereby possibly rubbing salt in the wound.

If it happened once, it can happen again, is the natural thought in either case.

Even Hasbro itself may end up with cause for regret. Kipling’s poem expresses the dynamic perfectly: A relative handful of busybodies with loud voices convinces a massive corporation to bend to their demand. It seems to said corporation like less hassle than sticking to one’s guns, standing by the creative staff and the legions of fans who have fallen in love with the special thing they have wrought. On top of everything else, submitting to this emotional blackmail has lent credence to a bizarre and completely spurious interpretation of the word “derp”, abetting its effective hijacking by those little tin gods on wheels.

If we did it once, we can do it again, is the natural thought in that case.

Perhaps a threatened lawsuit has been dodged—a common reason for making such moves—but in the long run it could encourage future such threats, or even the actuality. Hasbro has paid the outrage-mongers the Dane-geld, and thus has given them power. Like the Dane they may return again and again to commit mayhem at the expense of others’ innocent enjoyment, deriving from it an unholy pleasure masquerading as righteous satisfaction. Nobody else will benefit, not even Hasbro.

In the mean time, just in case, I have burned to DVD my copy of the episode—downloaded from iTunes before its lamentable cosmetic surgery.

Addendum: If it is true that only the iTunes version is affected, the calculus changes radically. Most of the objections laid at Hasbro's door move instead to Apple's, though they lose none of their validity, and Hasbro's relationships with both fans and staff are unimpaired except to the extent the distinction is not cleared up.

There is precedent for such editorial dictates by sellers: in years past, Blockbuster and Walmart had the clout to require—and indeed got—special DVDs of R-rated movies to meet their bluenosed standards. On the other hand, the moment Apple starts making such demands, they erode their status as a mere seller of content and the limits on liability conveyed by that status. Apple generally is very shrewd about their business practices, and it is out of character for them to cast aside such limits or to kowtow to protesters in such a way.

It appears, however, that Hasbro finally has made a statement admitting responsibility, for pretty much the anticipated reasons and with pretty much the usual peppy-but-bland business-speak.

A fuller explanation from the episode’s writer, Amy Keating Rogers, has been posted that places everything in perspective. As is usually the case, the situation was more complex than it appears from the outside, and both the mere existence of an explanation and the narrative it conveys may go some way to ameliorating relations, though it does not address the potential fall-out of having paid the Dane-geld.

Moreover, this complete explanation should have come from Hasbro, and it should have come promptly—before or when the episode was removed. Such a statement would have gone a long way to dampening the fans’ hysteria. It would have presented Hasbro as honest, plain-speaking, and respectful of their audience, even if one may disagree with the move and its motives. It might have spared poor Ms. Rogers some or all of the hassle resulting from the brouhaha. In other words, Hasbro could have turned the affair to their advantage.

That Hasbro signally failed to do so demonstrates they still have no idea how to deal with the fandom. Apparently they have advertised a job opening for a community manager; if that position has not been filled it should be—soon. If it has been filled, either the person filling it is not handling it adequately or is not being heard. The company would do well to remember that while the show’s core demographic may be their bread and butter, it was the adult fans that put their property on the cover of the Wall Street Journal.

Apparently there is a Controversy™ surrounding a certain background character who, in a recent episode of Friendship Is Magic, actually got spoken lines and was addressed by name. That name was Derpy.

How real the controversy is I can’t determine; the signal-to-noise ratio is entirely unfavorable. What matters, however, is that it has resulted in real-world effects. We Love Fine, a small company that makes a great deal of money through its license from Hasbro, has felt compelled to change the description of every item featuring the character or her mark, removing the offending(?) name. The episode on which she appeared has vanished from iTunes. (Fortunately I downloaded my copy before it did so.) And the brouhaha from the fans has been deafening.

The objection to the name, as far as I can tell, is that it demeans the mentally handicapped and is used as a schoolyard insult. This strikes me as a classic example of political correctness run amok; certainly I’d never heard that interpretation of “derp” before, and had understood its meaning to be similar to Homer Simpson’s exclamation of “doh”. Moreover, shoolchildren will find ways to insult others; trying to deprive them of ammunition for said insults works no better than trying to outlaw real ammunition, and trying only makes things worse, not better. I know; I was the butt of enough such insults.

I firmly believe the resulting tempest in a teacup is far more hurtful to a far greater number of people than the name possibly could be. Think of the fans whose unalloyed enthusiasm for and enjoyment of the gesture made by the production staff has been soured—as mine has. Think of the production staff whose wonderful and unlooked-for gift to the fans, one they were under no obligation to present, has blown up like a grenade in their metaphorical hands. Think of the company executives who may be faced with an unpalatable choice between knuckling under to this pernicious sanctimony and being accused stridently of callousness—emotional blackmail, in effect. (Yes, they’re human beings too and some of them do try to do the right thing.)

For Celestia’s sake, it’s a children’s television program—one I watch because it is beautiful and affecting, and is able to bring down my blood pressure just by watching it. That it cannot escape the very travails it seeks to elevate its watchers above is a triumph for the Bowdlers and the Werthams of the world . . . and a defeat for the rest of us.

Despite the title, My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic isn’t about friendship so much as it is about love: love of close friends, love of close relations (particularly siblings), and even—albeit less directly and less often—romantic love. (The Cakes and the parents of the main characters are examples of the latter.) It’s no wonder fan fiction, already predisposed to matchmaking, spends so many words on finding pairings, no matter how outré, for nearly every character on the show.

This, I think, is why the program so effectively ambushes people and gets under their guard. It’s easy to play the cynical hipster and curl a lip at “love”, but substitute a different label, et voilà, stealth sweetness. And, it seems, the bigger they are, the harder they fall; the most hard-boiled people I know seem to be the ones most under the show’s spell.

One of the consistent liberties taken by a great many writers of pony fan fiction is anachronistic technology and society, generally by being up-to-the-minute contemporary in nature rather than remaining generally in the 1860s-to-1880s time period established by Faust’s original world-building. It’s true that the show’s writers and artists themselves facilitate this by throwing around their own anachronisms with wild abandon, but why does so much fan fiction fixate so strongly on this contemporaneity?

My guess is that younger writers—say, teens through early thirties—are more likely to focus on the anachronisms rather than the nineteenth-century background elements, because those anachronisms fit their everyday experience. Older writers, who have lived through more history themselves and are more likely to have broader education in history, may be responsible for more of the “period” fan fiction.

I believe a single six-second segment is, if not wholly, at least disproportionately responsible for the anachronistic fan fiction:

Vinyl Scratch and her DJ deck.

The technological and cultural implications of the character’s appearance, equipment, and occupation pretty much bulldoze quite a bit of Faust’s world-building right into the Dumpster. It really is a shame, because the charm of a nineteenth-century period “feel” is (to my mind, at least) much of Equestria’s storybook appeal. I understand the rationales behind many of the screenwriters’ and animators’ anachronisms, but I feel that a good many of them could have been avoided with no greater effort than was put into the writing and art that reached the screen—and I can’t help but wonder if Faust felt the same way.

Ah well. Regrettable as the anachronisms may be, the show still is head-and-shoulders better than not only most children’s television but most television in general. I can hope for greater consistency in the future from the program (and from fan fiction), but I shall enjoy the stories they choose to tell, regardless.

Every writer has some pet bit of advice to give when asked.

Mine is “do your homework”. If you’re writing a story set on the Moon, for instance, don’t write about days being twenty-four hours long, when the lunar sunrise-to-sunrise period is about four weeks. Anyone who’s interested in reading a story set on the Moon is likely to know that! Research is important, and the instant and widespread availability of the Web makes it easier than it ever has been before.

Don’t stop at the first page of search-engine results. Try different key words. Visit your local public library. Visit your local university library. Cross-check with multiple sources. Check the background of a source, if possible—in some cases, all the most prominent sources refer to each other, perpetuating the same misinformation, and it’s hard to cross-check.

Having read a good deal recently of fan fiction based on Friendship Is Magic, I’ve seen the whole gamut of ability. Recently, though, I’ve found my tolerance for it has declined, as my knowledge of background information about the show, its setting, and its characters has increased. (In truth there also seems to be a decline in the types of stories that interest me.)

There are a couple of tropes and ideas in particular that push my buttons, because they are so easily avoidable—with a little research.

Ponies don’t have fur. Like cattle, deer, and certain other related animals, ponies and horses have hides of hair rather than pelts of fur. Furred skin grows at least two different kinds of hairs. Awn hairs are short and frizzy, and are thickly distributed, to insulate an animal against cold. Guard hairs are longer, straighter, and sturdier, to protect the awn hairs from damage. Hide, on the other hand, sacrifices awn hairs in favor of sweat glands, which help cool down an animal after exercise—which usually means running away from predators. The ponies in the show sometimes are shown to sweat, and occasionally mention it in dialog, which means they probably have hides.

Equestria doesn’t have electricity. Lauren Faust herself mentioned that, albeit in a rather obscure comment on her Deviantart account—though it was publicized on some fan sites. As a rule of thumb, that pretty much limits pony technology to the 1880s and earlier. The show’s anachronisms are efforts to accommodate younger members of the audience who don't have the background knowledge to appreciate historical accuracy, or simply are due to writers running roughshod over the world-building to accommodate plot points.

If a fan story does include electricity, electrical devices, or especially electronics, it really should be an over-the-top comedy or aimed at a very young audience, like the show itself. If you as a fan writer want to write dramatic stories for adults, well . . .

Do your homework.

So many who sneer at Apple’s so-called “walled garden” forget one essential flaw in their metaphor. Traditionally, walls throughout history nearly always have been built to keep bad things out, not to keep good things in. NB: Hadrian’s Wall, the Great Wall of China, any fort, castle, or fortress one cares to name . . . being a student of history, and particularly military history, I can keep listing examples for as long as anyone has the patience to listen.

Indeed, it’s quite an accurate analogy. What those who sneer fail to comprehend, and what infuriates them, is that the general public understands what it really means—but the nuance utterly passes over their heads.

. . . Comes to us from  baroncoon—

“Dear Princess Celestia: Today I learned that, in addition to grains and fruits, ponies eat bandwidth.”

A giant of our times has died, at a painfully early age.

Steve Jobs succumbed to cancer at fifty-six. Young as he was, though, he left behind an enviable legacy. I only could wish to create one a thousandth as great. His relentless focus on making computers, and electronic devices in general, as easy to use as kitchen appliances has touched every one of us—even those who hate Apple and its products with every fiber of their being, and indeed is a major reason why they do so.

I had hoped he would live long enough to see the ambitious new Apple company headquarters constructed and operating. In retrospect, though, it is plain he knew his time was fast running out: his resignation letter hints at it, and the little-known Apple University clearly is his effort to ensure the company he built and rebuilt would survive and thrive into the future by following the formula for success he evolved laboriously over the decades of his professional life.

The last time we saw titans of industry like him, Bill Gates, Larry Ellison, and their contemporaries was in the nineteenth-century rail barons and industrialists, and I do not believe this is coincidental. Then, it was all about a cornucopia of new mechanical devices and the hugely expanding rail networks moving people and goods long distances. Today, it’s all about a cornucopia of new electronic devices and the hugely expanding digital networks moving information and media long distances.

Addendum: Another lesser-known giant also has died—Dennis Ritchie, creator of the programming language C and co-creator of the operating system Unix. It’s impossible to overstate the impact those two creations have had on modern computer science. Where Jobs will be a household name for generations and possibly for centuries, Ritchie will be one of those names unknown to the public but revered in their fields effectively forever.

. . . Okay. When people start outlining character ideas to me, I know I’ve been given a mandate! So I plan to run a Pony Tales game for some local friends, including  baroncoon,  smudge, and  dustykat.

Aside from the show itself, and comments from the staff, principal inspirations for tone and storytelling will be Phil and Kaja Foglio’s Girl Genius, Hayao Miyazaki's animated movies, and Lois McMaster Bujold’s witty sense of narrative as exemplified in her Vorkosigan novels. The basic approach will be light adventure, situational and character-driven comedy, and relatively short, episodic plotlines.

It will be centered on the Valley of Heart’s Delight, a moderately long and moderately narrow river valley cradled by rugged hills and bounded at the end by the sea. The river is large and navigable, and has over the millennia deposited fertile soil across the valley floor. It is an ideal sheltered land for orchards and other crops; vinyards and ranches climb the facing slopes. Yes, the Apple clan is represented among the valley’s farmers.

The valley’s sole (medium-size) city, Gallopston, is at the mouth of the river; it is a good river port and a mediocre seaport. (Thanks to McClaw for the name.) The valley’s only rail corridor, recently expanded to two lines, follows the river through the hills to the head of the valley, steers wider of it to avoid floodwaters, runs through the city, and continues along the coast, skirting the hills to run back into Equestria.

The economy revolves mostly around agriculture, husbandry, and a little fishing, although there are some processing industries connected to all three. The valley exports some of the resulting raw and processed foodstuffs, textiles, and other products, but must import most raw materials and industrial goods other than what the modest local cottage industries can produce. There are wineries, breweries, cider mills, and distilleries; most are of at least decent quality, but best-known and most celebrated are some of the wineries and cider mills.

Towns and villages dot the valley, connected by a handful of Roman-style highways and a network of surprisingly good macadam roads. Canals stretch out from some small creeks as well as the main river. Not far from the head of the valley, a rocky promontory among the straggling foothills forces the river to bend around it. Atop the promontory is . . . a castle. It’s not very big, and it’s rather timeworn, but it’s still occupied by the lord of the march, the borders of which run along the ridge-tops a hill or two into the ranges surrounding the valley.

The current marquess—also as yet unnamed—is an earth stallion in late middle age. He’s fairly competent at running his fief, but he’s, um, rather eccentric, being fascinated with gadgets and artifacts of all sorts, both ancient and modern. (Christian IV of Denmark, a contemporary of Gustavus Adolphus, is a loose model for this mild obsession.) The march’s inhabitants regard him with a sort of affectionate exasperation, and accept his vagaries the way farmers in the real world deal with the weather: it does what it does, and there ain’t much to do about it. His wife is long-suffering, but genuinely seems to love him. His progeny are mostly grown and find any excuse to be anywhere else.

What distinguishes a march from a county is that it is on a country’s border, while the latter is in a country’s interior. Beyond one range of hills is more of Equestria—but beyond the other are wild lands. Here there be dragons. And griffons. And Celestia alone knows what else.

Ideas for content are welcome! This includes places, characters, names, and cutie marks.

Yes, that’s right. I’ve been hammering on rules for the last two or three months, and I desperately wanted to finish them before the seventeenth. I submitted an announcement to Equestria Daily; I hope they post it in a timely fashion, because I know beyond doubt that once the new season starts everything else will be drowned out!

(Addendum: The announcement finally went up the evening of 1 October—just hours after I sent a follow-up message a couple of week after the initial inquiry.)

Here’s the announcement I submitted. . . .

Pony Tales: A Role-Playing Game for Ages Twelve and Older

Pony Tales is a role-playing game for ages twelve and older based loosely on the Open D6 open-source rules set. Rewritten from the ground up in a straightforward conversational style, the rules have been streamlined for ease of play and heavily customized for a better fit to the unique characters and setting.

A chief feature of the game is its differentiation between “literal” games, which take the show’s anachronisms and inconsistencies at face value, and “figurative” games, which assume those elements are exaggerations or simplifications for effect. Where possible the rules make allowances for both kinds of games, offering suggestions and alternatives to suit the different styles of play.

A section of the rulebook contains background information and educated guesses to suggest ways of filling in certain blanks. It explores pony physiology, useful historical parallels from the real world, and possible technological and societal connections that might not be obvious.

Pony Tales is available as a free PDF file for download in two sizes, US letter and A4.

An eight-panel narrator’s (game-master’s) screen of quick-reference tables also is available. Designed to be printed on or glued to four sheets of card stock, it can be assembled into a foldable screen to shield the narrator’s notes and story-spoilers from the view of the players. It too is a free PDF file for download in two sizes, US letter and A4.

Materials may be revised periodically as rules are updated or new information becomes available. All files now are available for download on Deviantart.