It’s a reply to this article, a Profile of bestselling Fantasy author Brandon Sanderson. If you read fantasy novels regularly, you know his name. Mistborn, Stormlight, Cosmere, some Wheel of Time, Skyward, Kelsier (from Fortnite, definitely not anywhere else), yada yada.
If you’re mad I reached out to a writer about their work, cope. People used to send reaction letters all the time to editorials. I had no interest in cussing this man out or insulting him, so I didn’t. You ever see a piece of writing and go, “Wow, I gotta get Ursula Le Guin into this person’s hands?” That’s what happened. And then I had some other stuff on my mind. I kinda like the points I made, and I’m posting while the topic is still hot in hopes that people will read it. If he actually, somehow, responds, then uhhhhh.
That being said, I don’t think you should email him unless you have something thoughtful to say. And I don’t think you should tag him on social media, period. I’m sure he’s dealing with a lot and I don’t think anyone deserves a social media dogpile. I’ve been there. It sucks ass. Unfortunately, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to have any sort of critical conversation about art or writing without wading the dangerous waters of Twitter, and we must do what we must to survive.
Hi Jason,
I’m here to talk about that Brandon Sanderson article. I’m guessing you’ve been getting a lot of backlash (I have logged onto Twitter. I suggest you don’t.), but I’m not sure if it’s hit your inbox yet. If it has, well, I’m not here to add to that. I just want to have a conversation, because you brought up questions that I have puzzled over as well.
Someone smarter than both of us (my queen, Ursula K Le Guin) touches on some of the points that you do in this blog post. In it, she gets into what the gift of storytelling is, what it means, and reflects on how subpar craft rarely gets in the way of the success of a good story. It’s a little more introspective than how you chose to end your article.
That blog post may have satiated your wondering, or maybe it has sparked a new question for you, or maybe, worst of all, it did neither. Which, if your article was any indication of your normal approach to a question, I fear that the last option is most likely. I believe that all great writers are curious, and the problem with your article was not that you were condescending or rude or jealous. It’s that you were stubborn. You were incurious. You admitted that you didn’t have much of an article and that you didn’t understand people’s obsession, but I think do. Or, at least, I’m closer.
You see, I am not a fan of Brandon Sanderson’s prose. I’m probably going to show my age here a little bit, and if I lose some ethos with you, that’s fine. As a recent grad at the beginning of the pandemic college, I was a fawn on new legs trying to get back into reading. I’d just received a STEM degree, and though I’d been a lifelong bookworm, I found it difficult to make the time for non-assigned readings. The problem with never picking up a book during a great period of transformational growth is that you’re not quite sure how your tastes have matured.
So, Mistborn fell into my lap. I read the first book. I liked it a lot. 5/5. I tried the second Mistborn book. It wasn’t clicking the same way. I put it back down and did not pick it up for another year. And in that year, I learned a lot. First of all, I started writing myself. Which, despite your skill level, fundamentally changes the way you interact with literature. And when you self-learn how to write, it involves reading books on craft and watching Brandon Sanderson’s BYU Lectures. So by the time I picked up The Well of Ascension, I was a much different reader and was very very interested in why I didn’t like it.
I have multiple reasons why I don’t like The Well of Ascension. You’re probably thinking that the biggest reason is that I had finally grown up and realized how undercooked Sanderson’s prose was. And I’ll be honest, I thought the same thing. I was the only person lukewarm on Sanderson in my group of friends and I wasn’t very happy about this development. But, I picked up that third Mistborn book and actually enjoyed the last two-thirds. It’s not like he experienced this magical jump in craftsmanship or anything of the sort. It’s not like I had reverted back to my old habits as a reader. Instead, I realized I could get past Sanderson’s prose if his story charmed me. The Well of Ascension was a darker book, more of a drag, and so that’s when Sanderson’s prose became a huge barrier for me. (You see how this connects to the Le Guin blog post?)
In Sanderson’s lectures, he tells us to learn from Marvel movies. He tells us to learn from Star Wars. He tells us to learn from what we find engaging, entertaining, and fun. That’s what he writes, and that’s what he aims to write. Stories that compel him, and by extension, compel other people. Time and time again, he brings up how to get people to turn the next page. That’s what storytelling is to him and that’s what it is to his readers. There’s a reason he doesn’t teach lectures on craft, but instead focuses on worldbuilding, pacing, and characters. It’s because it’s what he’s good at. Or at least, that’s the sauce that brings the flavor to his final dish. If it isn’t to your taste, then c’est comme ca. But the first rule of art is that it’s subjective.
Now, your article. You needed to put yourself in the shoes of someone who liked Brandon Sanderson’s cooking. You sat there, listening to him talk, and thought he was lame and realized you didn’t have an article. Zat was your first mistake, dear sir. When realizing you didn’t find anything compelling in his words, it was time to try and put yourself in the shoes of someone who would. It was time to write a new article. You may have tried, but if you succeeded, that article would’ve come out a lot differently. Because, man, if I was at Dragonsteel Con, if I had the chance to stay at Brandon Sanderson’s house and ask him questions and profile him, I wouldn’t return to his subpar prose like a broken record. Writing a profile/article isn’t a matter of fighting the current to prove a hypothesis, it’s riding it to see where the river takes you. And if you can’t do that, it was time to realize that wasn’t the article for you to write.
I will admit, if anything, I found your article to be funny. It reminded me of an episode of Ted Lasso or SpongeBob where the main character is so inhumanly nice that it slowly erodes the cynic’s sanity. (To be fair, if someone tried to get me to watch The Greatest Showman, I would start crying as well). Insightfulness presents itself in different ways, and there was plenty to find in his kindness and overall Mormonness, just not the sort you were looking for. I’m not going to pretend to know everything you two talked about during your stay with him. I only know what made it into the article, and I saw kernels of interesting thought snuffed out by a dismissive cynicism. His Kickstarter made waves, what’s changed since then? His publishing company makes waves, where are they heading? No one may know who he is, but his brand is undeniably strong, is he planning to expand it into the mainstream? His faith obviously paints his work, and he’s introspective enough to comment on it, and hopefully, its politics too. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see much of that. I think there’s an interesting article underneath the one you wrote, and if you ever find it, I’d like to read it.
One of those nerdy farewells honestly just take your pick,
Bea
existing ironically 