Unless you’re a fantasy fan, you likely haven’t heard of Brandon Sanderson — which is odd, because the man has written more words and sold more books than just about any living genre author not named King or Rowling. Even so, you’ll enjoy this curveball of a profile, in which Wired‘s Jason Kehe tries to distinguish between the man and his wor(l)ds.
This story has an ending, I promise, and I’m sprinting toward it, as if to a vacation. Like the best of Sanderson’s endings, my ending should surprise you. Because, you see, Sanderson actually did say one thing to me, one miraculous thing, that stuck, that I remember, these five months later, with perfect clarity. Just seven words, but true ones. You’re not ready for them just yet. You need more story first. For now, there is only Sanderson, both wordful and wordless, the best-selling writer no writer writes about because writers only know how to talk about words. Sanderson’s readers—loving, legion—care about something else.
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