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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN . . . : MLP Fan Fiction

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IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN . . .

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1612 words

Writing begun 10/06/16

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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It should have been a dark and stormy night! Just to be perverse, it was calm, clear and well lit by a nearly full, waning gibbous moon.

Rory was laying in wait! Nightmare Night was his favorite! He was lurking in the brush, not far from the cemetery wall. His costume totally hid his head and cutie mark, making it all the more fun to jump out at the passing foals.

When he waived that old scythe at them they ran like rabbits! Dropped their loot bags, as often as not! Fun all around! For him.

Pity that he swung wrong, that one time. Grazed one of the escort ponies. Nothing serious, but you know, if he got caught the authorities would be like it was the crime of the century!

It added spice to the game!

The slightly wounded mare ran straight for Twilight Sparkle's Golden Oak Library! Breathless, she panted, “Twilight! We have to do something! Look at my neck! There is a big earth pony jumping out of the brush to scare foals into dropping their loot bags! He waves this big scythe! He hit me!”

Twilight paused in handing out small books and candies to her Nightmare Night visitors. Turning, she saw Spike at the ready, quill and parchment in hand.

“Take a note, Spike! Dear Princesses Celestia and Luna: We have a problem here in Ponyville.” In a few words, she described the unpleasant situation. Spike breathed fire on the note and the smoke streaked away!

Celestia and Luna were presiding over a masquerade dance party of nobles. It was about as boring as a Nightmare Night celebration could be. Luna had just observed, “Trust the nobility to make something so fun into a soporific!”

Celestia was giggling agreement when the wisp of smoke sailed in and became a note. She scanned it and promptly magicked it over to Luna.

“I think that this one is for you, Luna! Have the fun I am not going to have!”

Reading, Luna began to grin. Fangs showed. Ghastly pustules appeared in her magic, in lieu of stars. Her forehooves became claws. From her normal dark blue, she became utterly black. She answered Celestia, “I will! I have not spoken to Swift Feather in a long time.”

Dryly Celestia observed, “Being dead for 3000 years does tend to cut off the conversation!”

Luna said in a soft voice, “There is a loophole in that. I rule the Dream. The Dream can cross time.” She stalked out of the hall. Her condition upon leaving was noted by the Herald.

“Your Highness, what has so upset Princess Luna on this festive night in her honor?”

“It was not this festivity, however boring it may be. We had word of an evil thing in Ponyville. She is going to take care of it. She will return soon, I am reasonably sure.”

~~ ~~

Swift Feather lay in her sleeping stall in Fortress Canterlot. She hated garrison duty. She wanted to FLY. To carry out the good orders of her Princesses, so recently crowned.

Sleep came at last. With it came a dream. She saw her Princess Luna. She looked the same as the Princess that she knew except that somehow she seemed older, more experienced.

In her Dream, her Princess gave her the most welcome of orders. “Kit up, Swift Feather. Full battle gear. We have a wrong to put to rights.”

With the speed of dream, Swift Feather was ready. “Where are we going? What is it that we need to do, my Princess?”

The Dark Princess replied, “Follow me. It is not far by dream, though the distance is greater than mere leagues.

“Your wise leadership has secured us a great and mostly peaceful kingdom. We are going to stop one who would spoil the simple fun of many foals.”

Their wings spread, they flew through the mighty stone walls of the Fortress of Canterlot. Swift Feather saw in wonder, the very land beneath their wings change. The flying years beneath them saw forests grow and die. Fields planted and harvested in the blink of an eye, the stroke of a wing.

A town grew suddenly beneath them and Luna spiraled down, Swift Feather following. Luna pointed silently to a small herd of foals in outlandish costumes. They gathered at the door of a home and sang, “Nightmare Night! What a fright! Give us something sweet to bite!”

The smiling householder, also in costume, hoofed around a bowl of treats. The young ones eagerly took some, placing them into bags.

Luna directed, “Go and join them. Take with you this bag for your sweets. I promise that your skills will be needed soon.”

Puzzled, Swift Feather did as asked by her Princess. Settling her weapons properly for parade, she stepped out of the darkness and joined the foals.

They looked at her light aerial battle armor, with its bracers protecting her legs and wing joints. Her chanfron battle helmet, chain armor for her guts and steel for her flight muscles, spine and back.

One of them, in a sort of goblin costume, asked in wonder, “Wow! You look like a warrior from Fortress Canterlot! Who are you dressed as?”

Catching the mood, Swift Feather replied, “Good guess! I am Swift Feather, Flight Leader and Wing Commander to the Princesses Celestia and Luna of Fortress Canterlot!”

A little witch costumed filly commented, “Your outfit looks like real armor and weapons! Could I look at your shield and spear?”

Swift Feather nodded indulgently and held out her small targe and carefully unslung her air combat spear with its fins to guide its fall if it was used against a ground target.

Emboldened, the foals crowded about to examine her war gear. One bold colt tapped her breastplate. Awed, he said, “That is real steel. My dad is a smith. This is a totally awesome costume! It would be right at home in a museum!”

As Swift Feather replaced her spear and and small targe-sheild she understood what Princess Luna meant by a distance of more than mere leagues. Remembering the rest of her instruction, she thoughtfully settled her weapons for instant use.

She joined the happy chant of the foals and was given her fair share of the treats as well as many compliments on her costume.

Soon the group started up a street with brush and a stone wall on one side.

Remembering that she was to right a wrong and that there was one who would try to spoil the foal's fun, she cautioned, “Let me lead you. This place does not look safe to me. It could be an ambush.”

The foals, thinking it a game, did fall in behind her.

Rory lunged out, swinging his scythe! The foals screamed and fell back.

Swift Feather's targe caught Rory's deadly blade and deflected it up past her head! She dove in close, using her spear shaft to block Rory from pulling his scythe back!

Enraged at the failure of his trick, Rory tried to spin about so that he could continue what was now a real attack! When the vicious swing was just starting, Swift Feather stabbed! The combination of his spin and her thrust drove the spear deep into his shoulder!

The scythe clattered safely away across the cobbles! Shocked, Rory screamed his agony! He was down and kicking frantically!

The astounded foals watched the combat in utter amazement! Not one dropped a loot bag! Swift Feather pulled back, her targe at the ready, a short, pointed stabbing sword at the guard in her skilled hoof.

Assured that the enemy was down and safe, she directed in her best military manner, “One of you get a constable! The rest search those bushes! He has stolen other foal's treats! We must see if they can be returned to their proper foals!”

The youngsters, responding to her air of total authority, sprang to follow her orders! The smith's colt sprinted up the street for help! The others found the loot bags in Rory's hidden ambush place.

The situation now under control, Swift Feather heard the voice of Dream, of Princess Luna, speaking in mind, “You have done very well, this night, Swift Feather! Fly back with me across the ages to your well earned rest.”

She took off in a thunder of wings. A watching filly said admiringly, “Look how well she can fly with all of that armor!”

Together, Swift Feather and Luna flew across ages back to Fortress Canterlot and through its stout stone walls. Swift Feather saw her sleeping self and faded into her body. Lips curled into a smile for her good dream of righting a wrong.

When she awoke, she found a bag with treats in it under her pillow.

~~ ~~

In Ponyville, the Constable Crager was trying to make sense of the scene. The foals were the only witnesses and they would not budge from their story. “It was Flight Leader Swift Feather from Fortress Canterlot! She said so herself!”

Looking at the antique design of the aerial battle spear in Rory's shoulder and then at the big scythe laying in the street, Constable Crager could almost believe it. The Ambulance Ponies were getting Rory stabilized for removal to Ponyville General Horspital.

One commented, “We are going to have to get that spear out of his shoulder to get him into the ambulance!”

The blacksmith's colt pointed to the spear and said, “No you don't. Look, Swift Feather is taking it back to Fortress Canterlot!”

The solid seeming spear lodged in Rory's shoulder quietly faded away like a dream upon awakening. The wound that it left behind, however, failed to fade at all.

~THE END~

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#IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN . . .#MLP Fan Fiction #Tales to read AFTER the Lights are OUT #Written by De Writer

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sugah-stixx · 7 years ago

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Amy Meets the Egos Chapter 2

Amy and Mark are staying at Markiplier Manor for the weekend, and it’s the first dinner they’ve have with everyone! (Chapter 1) “I’m SO happy to have my favourite people here with us tonight, for such a delightful meal as this must be shared with the ones you love…” Wilford spoke out, giving Amy a wink. Amyplier Fluff, Ego Shenanigans

Mark and Amy started to slowly walk down the long hallway to the dining area.

“Okay, so everyone is going to be there, except maybe Dark, thankfully.” Mark breathed a sigh of relief.

“So everything should be okay, even though it’s more than likely going to be a shit show.”

“You always anticipate the worst with them, why can’t you just be confident that everything’s going to be fine?” Amy asked.

“Because it’s all of my insane Alter Egos in one place, one of which just tried to kill the other one for no god damn reason, within 10 minutes of us getting here.” Mark ranted.

Amy stifled a laugh.

“I can’t imagine dinner going well on any day of the week.”

“Fair enough, but lets just not bring any negative energy going in there, ok?” Amy tried to lighten Mark’s mood as they turned into the dining room.

Suddenly, a plate of mashed potatoes flew past Mark and Amy’s faces as they entered.

“You want to fight, you fucking baka?!” Yandereiplier screamed at Bim from across the dinner table.

“I never insinuated I wanted to fight you, Yan. I just stated that your Senpai would be, how should I say, smart to stay away from a psychopath, such as yourself.” Bim stated, crossing his arms.

“Urusai, you fucking hypocrite. Why don’t you just go turn more celebrities into burgers? Like you’re any good at it, bet they tasted like shit.” Yan yelled, clearly missing the point of the argument.

“Ha! My Sexbang-Burgers are to die for, better than any of this slop being served to us tonight.” Bim mocked.

“Excuse me?! You want to say that again?” Chef stepped out of the kitchen, throwing his ladle around like it was a weapon.

King was sitting at the dinner table, covering his ears with his hands, repeating, “Stop it! Stop it, Stop it!” as everyone was fighting around him.

“ENOUGH!” Mark screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Why are you even here, Yan? You don’t live here, you have your own place.” He yelled loudly, pointing to the red-haired lunatic.

“I needed to get my katana back from the Doctor, the aho needed it to dissect something, I don’t know.” Yan huffed out.

“He is upstairs. Please get it from him, and leave.” Mark tried to ask politely.

Yan stomped away, muttering angrily in Japanese.

“Bim, why in God’s name did you even try to talk about Yan’s Senpai?” Mark looked over to Bim in disbelief.

“I don’t know. It was getting boring around here.” Bim sat down, putting a napkin on his lap.

“I don’t…. I can’t…” Marks eyes looked like they were going to match Wilford’s for a second. Amy quickly spoke up.

“H-Hey guys! Nice to see everyone again! I’m excited to hear all about the plans we have for the channel.” Amy happily announced to the Egos that were present, while patting Mark on the back as he put his face in his hands.

“Hi, Amy.” Bim muttered out, looking at his phone.

“Hello, again!” King said wiping a tear from his eye.

“Mmm…” The chef went back into the kitchen.

“Good Evening, Amy.”

Amy and Mark quickly jumped from the voice coming from behind them.

“Oh, God. Uh…Hello, Host! How are you doing?”

“I am fine, thank you.” The Host replied and walked to his side of the table, crossing his arms and sitting down.

“I’m SO happy to have my favourite people here with us tonight, for such a delightful meal as this must be shared with the ones you love…” Wilford spoke out as he walked up behind Mark and Amy, pushing himself in between the two and putting his arms around them. “Wouldn’t you agree, Amy, my little cupcake?” he gave Amy a wink.

“Uhh, y-yea?” Amy hesitantly replied.

“FAN-TASTIC!” Wilford stood up straight, clapped his hands and walked happily to the dinner table. Amy could feel the rage in Mark start to build up and she patted him on the shoulder.

“He’s just playing around, don’t take it too personally.” Amy whispered.

“You don’t know Wilford like I do…” Mark replied.

Slowly the rest of the Egos started to come into the dining area, to their respected seats. The Doctor was following Bing around (taking notes for some reason), and the Jims were talking amongst themselves. Google’s face had already been completely fixed, but he was still angry with Wilford, who had forgotten about the whole thing. Google knew this, so he tried not to let it bother him too much.

“Alright, everyone,” Wilford stood up.

“This is our first evening having the gorgeous Amy stay with us, so let’s try to be on our best behaviour! Though we all know how hard that’ll be, won’t we boys?” Wilford let out his trademark chuckle and clinked Bim’s glass as Bim rolled his eyes.

Amy let out a nervous laugh, “Well thanks, Wil! It’s nice to see you all here, will Dark not be joining us?”

“Nah, he’s being a party pooper staying in his office all night,… I could bring ya to meet him this evening if you’d like, ma’m…” Wilford’s voice started waving into suspicious territory.

“No, no, no. That’s quite all right, thank you Wil…” Mark interrupted, giving Wilford a dirty look.

“Actually, I needed to talk to Dark about someth—”

“Yea, yea, yea, just gimmie a minute, ol’ chap” Wilford waved his hand in front of Google’s face as he interrupted him.

“And why, pray tell, is Amy not allowed to meet Dark, Mr. Markiplier?” Wilford gave a smirk down at Mark from across the table.

“She is… just-… just not right now. Not yet.” Mark looked directly back at Wilford.

“I think Amy should speak for herself, Mark. You can’t do all the talking!” King piped up.

Amy looked up, a mouth full of mashed potatoes, “Whgha?”

Mark was surprised to hear the King backtalk him like that, he’s never said anything about the way Mark has done things before.

“I wasn’t trying to, King. Amy doesn’t know what… kind of things Dark can do, is all.” Mark said reluctantly.

“Dark isn’t the best person, but he’s still the owner of the household which supports us all. I think Amy should have a least some contact with him.” Google pointed out.

“I know that, I’m not—”

“Dark’s like the other side of the pillow bruh, chill as fuuuuuuuuck.” Bing interrupted.

“He’s only nice to you because he thinks you have brain damage.” Bim added subtly.

“Darkiplier is a manipulator. He is a demon. You fools, this is only the beginning. The beginning of his disgusting twisted fantasy of creating a world where humans think they are safe. Darkiplier will dismember every last drop of hope they had in this world, everything they hold close to them, he will take it all. Everything he craves will fall into his grasp at the end, no matter how many lives, or souls are lost in the process. He will win, he will succeed. He cannot be stopped. Darkiplier will rein his unending torment upon every last soul until he has what he needs to satisfy himself. He will never stop until everyone has perished. There is no ending the hellish firestorm this house has created. Darkiplier will be the end of us all.” The Host chanted out horrifically.

The table was silent.

King dropped his fork in awe.

“Hey Doc you wanna pass me the gravy? My taters are getting dry.” Amy asked with a mouthful.

“Amy can I talk with you in the hall for a moment?!” Mark shot up, and screamed through clenched teeth.

Mark grabbed a confused Amy’s wrist and dragged her into the hall.

Mark wasn’t actually speaking any coherent words, but Amy could clearly tell by his gestures that he was feeling… a lot of emotions.

“…What?” Amy managed to ask between all the arm flailing.

“DID YOU?! What?! …Are you serious?! The Host just served it to us on a shiny silver platter! Dark is EVIL!” Mark sputtered out.

“Your point?” Amy asked with a confused smile, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t want you to be here in the first place, and now knowing that Dark is lurking around the corner, waiting to, to… to do something I can’t even think of! I’m not Dark! I’m Mark! I can’t think the way he thinks!! That’s the whole point!” Mark was still flailing his arms around.

Amy took a moment to look at her boyfriend. Her cool demeanour was enough to calm Mark down from his state of panic. She grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes.

“I am not afraid of Dark. I will never be afraid of him, knowing that he is still partly you. I know how loving you are, and how even your evil alter ego wouldn’t do a thing to hurt me. Okay? But you have to trust me, please. I can take care of myself.” Amy’s words were full of passion.

Mark looked back into Amy’s eyes and felt the guilt rush over him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like a child… I know you’re strong. You’re right, you’re right. Ugh… I feel like shit now.” Mark huffed out.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We all get caught up in the moment, and what the Host said was pretty scary. I wonder how the other Egos are taking it…”

Amy said as they both turned their heads to subtly look back in the dining room to see The Jims doing some sort of rain dance, Wilford was practicing the art of throat-singing, and Bing was recording the scene on this phone, camera pointed at him.

They both turned back at each other, Mark pinched his temple with his fingers and let out a sigh. Amy bit her lip trying not to start laughing. They gave each other a warm hug and walked back into the dining room to finish of dinner.

#my writing #amyplier #fanfiction #markiplier manor #fluff

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itsfinancethings · 4 years ago

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New story in Politics from Time: Balloon Drops? Out. Roaring Crowds? Gone. But, Says NBC’s Lester Holt, There’s Still A Convention to Cover

This article is part of the The DC Brief, TIME’s politics newsletter. Sign up here to get stories like this sent to your inbox every weekday.

We’re only a few hours away from the first virtual political convention from gaveling into session and it’s already clear things are going to be very, very different.

For one, the journalists who normally crowd the convention hall for the big moments are going to be dialed in from their kitchen counters and living room couches like other Americans still stuck at home in the middle of the pandemic. There won’t be rogue delegates to interview or random chants from the floor to cause embarrassing, off-brand moments. There may still be surprises, but they’re likely to be the kind that have been scripted and executed by the conventions’ producers.

For veterans of past conventions, the all-remote set-up is just the latest hiccup in this year’s election season as the world grapples with coronavirus. Both parties have almost entirely switched to streaming schedules and cut way back on the hours of floor programming. The Democrats’ convention starts tonight, followed by Republicans’ show this time next week. News organizations will still treat the evenings as the political ground zero that they are, but there’s just a lot less sizzle in the offing as the very campaign trail has turned into a very long Facetime. There may be some upside to cutting back on the hours and hours of speeches: a quicker and less inefficient night of political preening.

Ahead of the conventions’ start, I caught up with NBC News’ Lester Holt, the first Black man to be a U.S. network newscast’s solo anchor. He will be leading the network’s coverage of the conventions during 10 p.m. hour. With ratings up for flagship news broadcasts across the networks, we talked about how he’s been framing the colliding stories of a pandemic, racial justice, and a presidential campaign that politicizes everything, including masks. For the next two weeks, Holt will be reporting from NBC’s Midtown Manhattan studios — a spot he’s only seen a handful of times since March. Our conversation has been edited for concision and clarity.

You’re about to anchor a global event while not there. What is that like?

Well, it’s particularly strange for me, because one of the hallmarks at Nightly News is that I like to take viewers to the story. I want to talk to people. I want to bring a personal connection to the story. And, of course, we have lost that ability on a lot of the things we cover. Part of conventions are the conversations in the hallway, it’s the people you run into. You pick up little nuggets along the way. This is going to be very different watching in a studio people who may be giving speeches from their living rooms or their kitchens.

This is kind of terrible on a personal level, isn’t it?

Oh, sure. It is. It’s just one thing that we took for granted that’s been taken from us. From a personal level, I had a lot of expectations this summer. I was going to be covering the Olympics. I was going to be covering these two conventions, traveling to wherever the debates are. None of those things are happening, but the process of electing a President goes on. Like so many Americans and so many businesses, we’re figuring it out as we go along.

This year has been a rough one for our business. You mentioned the Olympics, which is an NBC institution. That’s off the table for the moment. We’ve got no conventions, no campaign road warriors. How do we as an industry make it through this while also continuing to do exceptional journalism?

The candidates simply aren’t traveling. I mean, the President has been traveling some and within the White House bubble. We’ve had some access in Delaware to Joe Biden, but you’re right. We’re not able to cover things the way we used to. Thank God for Zoom and some of the other technologies we’ve been able to employ. But I’m not going to lie: It’s hard to replace that one-on-one contact, that ability to cultivate sources and just listen to people and voters and decision-makers about what’s happening.

Your audience is used to a visual medium. We’re going from balloon drops and pandemonium to what is basically a Zoom happy hour. How do you get your audience ready for that?

The speeches will be the speeches. But at least with the Democrats, you’re not going to hear a crowd roaring its approval or reacting in any way. I guess in this aspect, we’re going to be really focused on the words themselves, because the performance art that is part of conventions, that part is going to be missing. The imagery is so different. You mentioned a hall with balloons dropping. We’re going to see somebody’s toaster in the background.

Might we actually be getting to a point where we’re looking at the ideas instead of pageantry?

I think so. Look at the four years ago. “Lock her up” became a mantra for some of candidate Trump’s supporters of that time. Those moments, we probably won’t see. And so we’re going to be forced to focus on the messages, the timing, the words as opposed to how the crowd reacts or those surprise moments in the crowd or the demonstrations. I would argue that we’re not going to have as many distractions that we might otherwise have.

If this whole thing is scripted from the start, why bother with it?

They bother because they know that they’re going to get the television coverage. You and I are old enough to remember the days when it was wall-to-wall convention coverage on the networks. That’s not happening anymore. But it’s still valuable real estate on network television. So I can’t imagine either candidate even considering for a moment not doing a televised convention. It’s still part of the process.

Where will you be physically sitting during this?

I’ll be in Studio 1A, The Today Show studio, with Savannah Guthrie. Of course, we’ll be physically distanced. Andrea Mitchell and Chuck Todd will be in a studio in Washington, D.C., so four of us will navigate through the evenings.

On the personal side, being able to go to the studio, and sit next to Savannah is a huge upgrade. I’ve been sitting in a spare bedroom for the last several months doing Nightly News by myself every night. It’s been a lonely existence. I’m not complaining. Obviously, there are a lot of people going through tough times. But the ability to come back to 30 Rock and sit in the studio is something that I’m personally excited about.

Have you embraced what the rest of us have during this: a suit, tie and athleisure below the desk?

I’ll be honest. I’m usually wearing jeans, but I gladly put on that jacket and shirt and tie. Now, having said that, I have gone out to do interviews for Nightly News pieces and Dateline. So I’m not inside all the time. But in terms of anchoring, it’s primarily been from a home.

We’re in the middle of three major stories converging at once, and the story on race has been one where you’ve been pretty frank. Do you have a platform that perhaps Norah O’Donnell and David Muir don’t?

People look at me. They expect me to have an opinion or to be affected by these things. That doesn’t necessarily show a bias but it’s a recognition of who I am as a person. People come to this broadcast presumably because they trust me and they respect me. If I didn’t say anything, I think it would be disappointing. Now, I choose my words carefully. But I don’t think it’s a bias to want this country to live up to its ideals, that it’s a bias for this country to be fair, that it’s a bias for people to want their police to function in service of people.

This might be the biggest story of our career. The whole mantra is journalism is a first draft of history. You have a say in what goes in the history book. What makes the cut?

I wrote the intro to the broadcast last night. We’d just come off another weekend of huge crowds of people, openly defying local and the state regulations. This didn’t air, but it was something to the effect that when the history is written of why this country failed in dealing with this pandemic, volumes will be spent on our inability to do the simple things like wearing a mask and socially distancing. That’s a paraphrase, but it’s pretty close. I think it’s appropriate sometimes to call it like it is.

This is an important time for journalism. This is an important story. And when it landed at our doorstep, I thought, ‘Alright, you know, we’ve taken three and a half years of a beating, of people trying to discredit us, but this is a story that everyone has to pay attention to, that people will recognize the importance of a free press.’ That happened, but then the politics creeped back into it. I guess I was a little naïve. I didn’t expect that.

I thought that this could be seen for what it was: a health threat that we all shared. Instead, suddenly it became seen through the lens of blue and red again. That was crushingly disappointing. It worries me about our future that even something like this has been marred by politics.

Can we purge the politics from it, or is it too late?

I think it’s too late. Most people get what it takes to fight this disease. They understand masks and social distancing. This has become almost the new global warming. The planet is getting warmer. That’s not a political statement, but it is for some people. COVID is spreading because too many people are crowding together. It’s not a political statement, but some people will see it as such.

How dare you embrace science and fact?

The thing is as journalists, we obviously have to report the body of science on this, which is huge in the direction of social distancing and get that mask wearing. We don’t want to be caught up in a political debate. I don’t want people to think I’m being political when I say we should all be wearing masks. Unfortunately, that’s what the environment has kind of led us down the road to.

Make sense of what matters in Washington. Sign up for the daily D.C. Brief newsletter.

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cutsliceddiced · 4 years ago

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New top story from Time: Balloon Drops? Out. Roaring Crowds? Gone. But, Says NBC’s Lester Holt, There’s Still A Convention to Cover

This article is part of the The DC Brief, TIME’s politics newsletter. Sign up here to get stories like this sent to your inbox every weekday.

We’re only a few hours away from the first virtual political convention from gaveling into session and it’s already clear things are going to be very, very different.

You’re about to anchor a global event while not there. What is that like?

This is kind of terrible on a personal level, isn’t it?

Your audience is used to a visual medium. We’re going from balloon drops and pandemonium to what is basically a Zoom happy hour. How do you get your audience ready for that?

Might we actually be getting to a point where we’re looking at the ideas instead of pageantry?

If this whole thing is scripted from the start, why bother with it?

Where will you be physically sitting during this?

Have you embraced what the rest of us have during this: a suit, tie and athleisure below the desk?

This might be the biggest story of our career. The whole mantra is journalism is a first draft of history. You have a say in what goes in the history book. What makes the cut?

Can we purge the politics from it, or is it too late?

How dare you embrace science and fact?

Make sense of what matters in Washington. Sign up for the daily D.C. Brief newsletter.

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

#Time #top stories #IFTTT #news

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itsfinancethings · 4 years ago

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This article is part of the The DC Brief, TIME’s politics newsletter. Sign up here to get stories like this sent to your inbox every weekday.

We’re only a few hours away from the first virtual political convention from gaveling into session and it’s already clear things are going to be very, very different.

You’re about to anchor a global event while not there. What is that like?

This is kind of terrible on a personal level, isn’t it?

Your audience is used to a visual medium. We’re going from balloon drops and pandemonium to what is basically a Zoom happy hour. How do you get your audience ready for that?

Might we actually be getting to a point where we’re looking at the ideas instead of pageantry?

If this whole thing is scripted from the start, why bother with it?

Where will you be physically sitting during this?

Have you embraced what the rest of us have during this: a suit, tie and athleisure below the desk?

This might be the biggest story of our career. The whole mantra is journalism is a first draft of history. You have a say in what goes in the history book. What makes the cut?

Can we purge the politics from it, or is it too late?

How dare you embrace science and fact?

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