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/lit/ - Literature

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22705775 No.22705775 [Reply] [Original]

Thoughts?

>> No.22705781

no

>> No.22705809

>>22705775
He is on deck to finish another fantasy series due to primary author death would be my guess.

>> No.22705908

>>22705775
Looks like he has down’s

>> No.22705909

>>22705908
Thought I was gonna be the only one that thought this

>> No.22705917

>>22705908
He's a mormon. He basically does

>> No.22705928

Kaladin and Dalinar are great. Moashe is EmoKino. Excited for Stormlight but as someone who started BS's work with Way of Kings Mistborn is OVERHYPED stormlight> it by a mile.

>> No.22705935

When I sat down at my lecture today I spotted a very fat and ugly lad quickly put a book in his bag. His teeth were gnarly—yellow, misshapen, with wide gaps. His tiny framed glasses were greasy and unclean. Just from his physiognomy I deduced what he was reading and engaged him with glee.
>What book are you reading?
He hesitated with worry, as if to plea.
>’Tis a fantasy book, I swear to thee!
>What’s the title, you putrid swine?
>Mistborn.
>Ah, Brandon Sanderson!
Before I could flurry him with insults and berate him for his poor taste his beady eyes widened with disbelief. A smile formed on his porky face and his cheeks went red with joy… The simpleton had mistaken me for a fellow fan! I hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth. Now, when I pass him by, he nods his head as a sign of respect.

>> No.22705970

>>22705775
Always good to see fellow Sandersonians on /lit/!
Tis' in fact a magical thing methinks.

>> No.22706084

>>22705775
Never read him. His fans are annoying and make me think he's bad.

>> No.22706096

I like his books

>> No.22706114

The star was particularly bright when the nightmare painter started his rounds.

The star. Singular. No, not a sun. Just one star. A bullet hole in the midnight sky, bleeding pale light.

The nightmare painter lingered outside his apartment building, locking his eyes on the star. He’d always found it strange, that sentry in the sky. Still, he was fond of it. Many nights it was his sole companion. Unless you counted the nightmares.

After losing his staring match, the nightmare painter strolled along the street, which was silent save for the hum of the hion lines. Ever present, those soared through the air—twin bands of pure energy, thick as a person’s wrist, about twenty feet up. Imagine them like very large versions of the filaments in the center of a light bulb—motionless, glowing, unsupported.

One line was an indecisive blue-green. You might have called it aqua—or perhaps teal. But if so, it was an electric variety. Turquoise’s pale cousin, who stayed in listening to music and never got enough sun.

The other was a vibrant fuchsia. If you could ascribe a personality to a cord of light, this one was perky, boisterous, blatant. It was a color you’d wear only if you wanted every eye in the room to follow you. A titch too purple for hot pink, it was at the very least a comfortably lukewarm pink.

The residents of the city of Kilahito might have found my explanation unnecessary. Why put such effort into describing something everyone knows? It would be like describing the sun to you. Yet you need this context, for—cold and warm—the hion lines were the colors of Kilahito. Needing no pole or wire to hold them aloft, they ran down every street, reflected in every window, lit every denizen. Wire-thin strings of both colors split off the main cords, running to each structure and powering modern life. They were the arteries and veins of the city.

Just as necessary to life in the city was the young man walking beneath them, although his role was quite different. He’d originally been named Nikaro by his parents—but by tradition, many nightmare painters went by their title to anyone but their fellows. Few internalized it as he had. So we shall call him as he called himself. Simply, Painter.

>> No.22706358

>>22705775
He hacked his brain to turn it into a fiction generating large language model before those were widely available.

>> No.22706429

>>22705775
Imagine that you only ate cold, day-old McDonald's cheeseburgers. Now imagine some generous soul bought you a fresh one--imagine what you'd think, how you'd feel.

Sanderson is the latter to Fantasy, and writing in general.

>> No.22706435

>>22705775
Amazing author

>> No.22706512

>>22705809
It'll be funny watching a Mormon finish aSoIaF. FINISH THE DIARRHEA ARC, SANDO

>> No.22706523

>>22705775
Accessible fantasy that feels good to read, and chews up time. Faggots don't like it because it's not flowery and faggoty enough for them, so they accuse it of poor 'prose'

>> No.22706687

>>22705775
I've never read his work, but I do respect the fuck out of him for standing up to publishers and Amazon.

>> No.22706991

Bakker is King.

>> No.22707045

>>22706523
This is the gayest excuse for poor writing ever