Bon Bon stared apathetically at her computer. Her judging gaze looked at the foreign device critically, looking over every facet and detail with the appraising eye of a trained master. She stared at it, waiting for that one flaw, that one mistake with which she could find a reason to bring divine retribution burning down from the heavens above.

It was a trivial thing, writing. Anypony who had bother to take the time to study in school new the basics, and there was no reason not to endeavor further studies in that field if it was the path your cutie mark chose for you. Writing was simply a jumble of words, thoughts, and perspiration as the author threw together a hodge-podge compilation of language to elicit a reaction out of the reader.

Writing was so simple. An inept country bumbkin could compose a legible novel in the matter of mere months if they put in even the slight bit of effort. Bon Bon saw no reason that she, a capable mare of her stature, should be any different than the ponies around her in that regard.

Prose was a simple, prosaic form of writing. Ideas were easily created and even more easily executed; she'd known this since she was a filly. Father always wanted her to be the best at what she could be, to enter the world with a skill that few could rival. Being the best made life that much easier, of course.

Writing was a trivial, mundane, and utterly pointless endeavor. Its sole use to a pragmatic mare like Bon Bon was to work as a suplement to her already substantial salary. Anything beyond that was left to her readers to try and piece together, seeking meaning out of the random garbage that she threw their way. Writing was cheap, effortless work.

So why couldn't she find the will to write?

It had been nearly three weeks since the pale beige mare had managed to drag herself away from her shop, sit down, and take the time to draft even the simplest piece of literature. Business was running low at that time of year, and that horrid fiend called Writers' Block dared to stand against her sole source of additional income.

"How could you?" she asked the computer, glaring at the empty screen with an expression that would kill lesser beings. Fortunately for the monitor, being an inanimate object came with its perks.

"Why do you do this to me?" Bon Bon inquired the device. "In what way have any of my actions been unsatisfactory? I've worked to my fullest to maintain you, to keep you well groomed and ready for use. So how is it that you choose now of all times to suppress my creative spark?"

The computer screen remained impassive, neither caring for nor even beginning to consider Bon Bon's plight.

"I have a marefriend, a house, and a business that all need to be maintained! There is hardly enough income in a small town like this for me to keep my business afloat, and you know that."

Despite her observation, the abrasive mare was answered only in silence.

"Please, Computer, I need your help. I-I'd be lost without your wonderful attitude and inexhaustive work ethic. We've worked so well together in the past, and in all that time you haven't once betrayed me. Why now, Computer?"

If Computer heard her, it certainly didn't respond. Computer was just a computer, after all.

"I'll give you an upgrade! I know that your meager dual-core processor isn't quite up to snuff in these times. Your processing capabilities are dearly lacking in a time where being able to render even the most basic of modern programs require a much stronger approach. I'll buy you a hexcore for Hearth's Warming Day, how does that sound?"

Despite Bon Bon's attempts to placate her machine, Computer remained as impassive and resiliant as ever.

"I-I'll unplug you! Y-yes, that's it! I'll tear out your power cord and throw your monitor out this very window. A two story drop onto solid concrete should be more than sufficient to deliver lethal trauma to your circuits!" Bon Bon screamed.

Even after her pleading, her reasoning, and her desperate threats, the computer ignored her.

"Oh blast it all!" she cried out in frustration. The fault wasn't her computer's in the first place, and she knew it. The only reason she was sitting there, scolding a piece of innanimate technology was to distract for the real problem with her writing; herself.

"Oh Bon Bon, you foal!" she berated herself. "If we don't get this done soon, we'll have nothing to eat! They'll foreclose on this house when the money doesn't come in and we'll be lost!"

Waiting for an answer, Bon Bon soon realized that she was only speaking to herself and therefore the burden of response was hers as well.

"Oh quit your whining, Bonnie!" she scolded. "The more time you spend arguing with me, the less you'll spend dealing with the issue at hoof!"

"You're right, Bon Bon! What should I do, though?"

"What we always do, Bonnie. We write."

"But how?! I have a bad case of Writers' Block!"

"The beauty of a first draft is that it's your 'first' of several such iterations. As long as you write it, editing your own drivel isn't nearly so complicated." Bon Bon chuckled. "You might even make this easy for once."

"Alright! I'll just disregard any semblance of concern for the content of my prose until the manuscript is completed and then I'll work from there!"

"That's the spirit!"

After nearly half a minute of consecutive self-monologue, Bon Bon shifted her attention back to her computer. She stared at it for a moment, dispelling all of her fears, hopes, and concerns with the flick of her now impassive embrow. She had finally reached the truely harmonious state of Meh.

"Meh."

All of Bon Bon's mehness poured out of her mouth, spraying all over her computer. It seeped into her keyboard, the slimy substance oozing its way ever deeper between the circuits and electronic components of the device. It played with the computer's parts, shifting forms to inhabit its newest host.

After waiting a few moments for the Meh inside of her to configure everything, Bon Bon took a moment to peruse the first draft of what would assuredly be her next novel.

"Well, Bon Bon," she stated to nopony in particular. "It seems that this novel will need quite a bit of editing, but at least we're off to a good start."

"Just remember, Bonnie, ever piece of good writing starts as a bad first draft. As long as you're willing and able to cut through the detritus for the sake of the goods within, you'll do fine."

"Well gee, thanks!" the cream mare chirped. "I've never really thought of it that way."

"Of course you have, silly! You're me!"

"Oh, right." Bon Bon laughed.

"Don't you have something to edit now?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Then snap to it, me!"