Theoryland of the Wheel of Time

The next thing we did was went to the Thai House to drink. Or at least, Darkelf and I drank, with a little bit of sipping done by Eric and Chris. However, Darkelf and I got married (Work that in, K-J) and consummated the marriage with a pitcher of Stout beer (Thanks, oh Dimly Lit Sprite). I taunted Noell with the thought that Cal would beat UCLA until with four seconds left in the game, I relented and admitted that, in fact, Cal would probably not be coming back.

After that, things really get fuzzy. We went to Amber, an Indian Restaurant, and had food, and talked. Rick Moen, Rajiv, Phetsy, Paul Ward, and "Justin" showed up. Other people showed up, but they were sitting at the other table and I don't remember all their names. (Someone else is really going to have to help me out here...anyone make a total list?) Mansur Ward made a cameo.

I had Chicken Vindaloo, that was supposed to be spicier than it was, according to Chris Mullins, but since I was already full of beer I couldn't taste much anyway.

Somewhere in there my ex-fiancée showed up(1), and I mentally checked out for the evening. I remember going to Brian's apartment complex for the rec room there, more beer, lots of pool, then a jaunt to Bill and Hawks for an hour or so. At that point I had been up for somewhere near forty hours, and had drank sufficiently enough in my sleep depraved condition to make thinking straight a tricky situation.

I'm not sure how it ended. Badly, one would assume, but you'll have to get that part of the story from someone who A) was there, and B) was *there*, if you know what I mean.

1) Don't ask. Weird situation. I'm sure most everyone at the Social is/will be thoroughly confused(2) to find out that she's my ex.

2) About what? Well, that's what you get for not attending.

School was very strange. The teachers finally discovered what was wrong when I was in the third grade, and tried to move me ahead three levels into the sixth grade. My parents said no.

By and large I found school boring. Most of the time I could do a solid B, B+, perhaps an A, without studying. And since I was an athlete, that was considered sterling! Shot and discus, track and field, American football, basketball, baseball—I was good at everything.

As for writing, I thought again about doing that, at 10 and 16 and 20. I said, 'It would be a useless exercise. What am I supposed to write about? I haven't seen enough of life, so anything I write is going to be empty.'

I went to university and discovered that trying to carry a very heavy load in academic subjects and play football, I needed to know how to study. And that was something I had never learned how to do, so I floundered quite badly. At the end of a year at university I went into the army and went to Vietnam.

I've always been a military history buff. But when I was in Vietnam I wasn't thinking history or strategy: I was thinking staying alive, and occasionally taking an R&R to Australia where I'd go to the beach and drink a lot of beer and try to meet a schoolteacher on vacation.

I sort of knew in a way what to expect because military service has always been a family tradition. All my brothers, my father and my uncles, my grandfather and my great uncles went into the military—'some enlisted, most as officers, some made careers, some did not. But you did your basic service and if there was any shooting going on, you went where the guns were.

Audience

Robert Jordan

Audience

Robert Jordan

Audience

Robert Jordan

Audience

Robert Jordan

It's a strong matter of belief. If you believe something like that will happen to you, then it can and does.

Bradley Staples

[I wonder why Moghedien believed that though, if she one of the best of the (Forsaken) in Tel'aran'rhiod]

Question

Also, what about wounds and pain? Causing pains/wounds though an intermediate source—such as stabbing one with a dagger made in Tel'aran'rhiod—causes lasting pain. Yet if one were to simply cause the other to feel that pain directly, it fades upon reaching the waking world.

Robert Jordan

No it doesn't. If you feel pain in the World of Dreams, in Tel'aran'rhiod, then you have that pain in the waking world. Tel'aran'rhiod IS real in that respect.

Bradley Staples

[More along the same, I forget wording. But I wonder why pain would stay, if Egwene's healing didn't? Belief again?]

Jason Denzel

Robert Jordan

Jason Denzel

Okay, so I hopped on Theoryland chat right before I left for DragonCon, on Friday around noon. Frenzy said, "Call SP 'Kitten', okay?" I was scared to, so I didn't. The trip to Atlanta was uneventful. I live two hours away, so I just drove there, screaming Garth Brooks songs at the top of my lungs. Yes, you read that correctly, Garth Brooks. I finally got there and found a parking place and began walking towards the hotel. I arrive at the Hyatt lobby to see people dressed up in the craziest costumes: Batman, Super Mario, Waldo, Boba Fett, and Storm Troopers beyond count. I phone SP.

Camel: "I'm at what appears to be the lobby of the Hyatt."
SP: "Oh, you're in the lobby? Okay, we're at the airport."
Camel: "I've got to register."
SP: "Oh, okay, go register and all that and then call us again and we'll meet up."
Camel: "Okay. See you in a little bit!" (hah!)
Camel: "I'm at what appears to be the lobby of the Hyatt."
SP: "Oh, you're in the lobby? Okay, we're at the airport."
Camel: "I've got to register."
SP: "Oh, okay, go register and all that and then call us again and we'll meet up."
Camel: "Okay. See you in a little bit!" (hah!)

So I go to a Dragoncon volunteer and ask where the registration is, and they inform me that it has been moved down to the Hilton. So I stroll down there and see a sign that says "On-site registration" So I follow the sign, fill out a form, and I can't tell where to go next. "Hey Mr. Volunteer person, where do I go next?" "What do you have there?" "On-site registration." "Oh, it's over there, see that line over there?" "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Ho hum, I stand in line (incidentally, I was one row in the line away from WSB, but I didn't know that at the time). Finally, after about an hour's wait, I get to the end. I stroll up to the desk, and the guy looks at my form.

Guy: "Did you pay yet?"
Camel: "Uhh, I don't pay here?"
Guy: "No, sir, you pay over in that line over there."
Camel: "Thanks."

I walked over to where pointed, and there was another line that was a good 30 minutes long. So I finally paid my $85 for my 4-day pass, and walk BACK over to the on-site registration. An hour later, I'm back up front at the same guy.

Guy: "Didn't you come through here already?"
Camel: "Yes, but I hadn't paid, remember?"
Guy: "Ohh, right. Hey, Jacksonville. Isn't that in Florida?"
Camel: "I live in the one in Alabama."
Guy: "Ohh, ohh, I see. That's interesting."
Camel: "How so?"
Guy: "I just see 'Jacksonville' and I think 'Florida.'"
Camel: "..........fascinating, sir."
Guy: "Yeah, I thought so too."

Finally he shuts up and enters my information. I wait about 5 minutes for them to print out the badge, I triumpantly take it from the desk clerk person, and haul @#%$ out of the room. I called SP:

Camel: "All right, I'm done with registration."
SP: "Great! We're standing out in front of the Marriot Marquis."
Camel: "Okay, great, I'll see you soon."

So I'm walkin and I'm walkin, and finally I get to where the Marquis is. I'd decided that I'm looking for a very specific, very cute, five foot tall girl with a foreign accent. Can't go wrong there. I'm looking, and I'm looking, and alluva sudden there's this guy basically jutting his chest into my face. I recover from the shock and read the badge. "Strange Package." He had a questioning look on his face, like a gorilla who thinks he's about to get a banana. I said "Hey, yeah, I'm Camel." and he goes "I FOUND HIM!" and alluva sudden there's like 30 people! (okay, 7) surrounding me. I immediately recognize Zaela, Hopper, and Isabel. Tamyrlin and WSB kept running their mouths at me like we had been in some sort of conversation that got interrupted. I'm not quite sure what they said, but it must've been interesting. I was too busy adjusting to the shock of the company of 7 people I knew, but had never met. If that makes any sense at all.

So then SP takes control of the situation (scary, I think) and leads us all back to the hotel, which was a Travelodge about a block away from the Hilton and Marriott. We packed into Zaela's room, and discussed where we were going to go next, and what the sleeping arrangements would be. I wasn't really paying attention there, either. I was focusing on trying to get used to not hearing a southern accent, which is harder than it seems. Finally, we start walking towards a bar that SP had recommended, called Max Lager.

Half a block away from the hotel, I notice my badge is no longer clipped onto my shorts. So I stop and look for a few minutes, because Tam had made a motion like something had dropped a few dozen feet back, so I went back there to see if that's what had dropped. No dice. My badge was gone. I figured I'd go replace it later, since I had my photo ID and all my information was in the computer systems anyway. So we continued upon our way.

Tam walked beside me on the way there and asked a lot of questions, like where I'm from and what I'm doing in school and stuff. It was nice to talk about something I knew (myself) and not have to focus on figuring out what the hell is going on (which is 95% of the time). So, thanks Tam.

We got to the Max Lager, and we had this goofy looking, funny as hell waiter that was awesome. He was great. We got some sort of sampler platter. I tried very patiently to wait for everyone to get a couple peices of whatever, and once everyone seemed satisfied with whatever they had gotten, I grabbed the rest. What? I was hungry, okay? SP noticed this with great amusement.

I also got a video clip of Zaela downing whatever drink she had. It was kinda funny.

Then we headed over to the Steak and Ale, where we had tickets for a dinner with Robert Jordan. We got there early, so we sat around and waited for people to arrive. Hard of hearing that I am, I was still struggling at this point to figure out what was going on. I got the general gist of a lot of things, but sometimes I was completely confused. But it's against my nature to bring these things up. Heh. Would make things easier, wouldn't it?

Anyway, at one point two lurkers who are originally from Dragonmount (I think) walked in and sat down with us. They were both from Texas, I believe. And we told them that we were from Theoryland, and the girl says "Oh! I've been there a couple of times. I just have one question... ?" and everyone busts out laughing. I laughed, cause everyone else was, and I didn't wanna look like an idiot. Oh well, I tried. Suddenly, SP stands up and says "You need to ask her yourself! I'm calling her now!" and dials the phone and hands it to the Lurker #1. Lurker #1 is laughing hysterically, so I didn't understand her when she was on the phone with whoever, either. Then the phone was passed around to various people, and then back to SP. Then SP says, "Camel? Yeah, he's right here!" A sense of dread entered my soul. Kinda like when a Myrddraal stares at you. I guess. I've never seen a Myrddraal. And they can't see anyway. Or something. SP handed the phone to me.

Camel: "...hi..?"
Woman: "Hey, Camel!"
Camel: "...hi..?"
Woman: "How are you?"
Camel: "...fine...?"
Woman: "Good. How's Zaela's rack?" (I think this is what she asked)
Camel: "...okay...?"
Woman: "Sounds like you need to do more research."
Camel: "...okay...?"
Woman: "Okay, let me talk to Strange Package again."

So I handed the phone back. And wondered who the hell I was talking to. It was about this time that a bunch more people showed up, and we moved to our proper table. At about 7:30 or 8:00, Robert Jordan and Darrell K. Sweet and their wives entered the room. Sweet sat with us. I think I cracked a couple of jokes to WSB. Anyway, dinner was served and SP must've talked the entire time without shutting up. At some point, I realized that Sweet had said he'd only had 3-4 pages to work with when drawing the covers for books 4-11. I was like, "what?" Anyway.. it was an interesting dinner, and this is when I finally felt comfortable enough to start talking. I feel obligated to point out at this time that I had just realized, also, that Isabel is even cuter than the pics I had seen suggested. Anyway!

After dinner was finished, RJ and Sweet moved up to the front for picture taking and stuff. When it was our turn, we got behind him and everyone handed their cameras to various Dragonmount members and waiters and servers and stuff. I put bunny ears on Isabel in my picture, and on WSB's camera was a picture of me putting bunny ears on Jordan. I think Harriet noticed. Anyway!

Then we left and in front of the Hyatt, we split up, with me, SP, Zaela, and Tamyrlin going out to drink, and the rest of them (Hopper, Isa, Dapple, and WSB) went back to the hotel. We wound up at a pub called Gibleys, where SP and Zaela proceeded to get drunk as fish. Tam and I sat back and laughed. There was a lot of talk about stuff I don't care to get into on here, but I didn't talk much, cause I felt I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Besides, it was late, and I was exhausted.

SP was drinking a grey goose and tonic, and he finished that. I must've had like forty-seven glasses of water. Then SP went to get another grey goose and tonic, and then proudly announced his intentions to go to the restroom. Zaela followed. I understand there was a mishap back there, but that's a different story. Anyway, Zaela came back first, and I proceeded to fill up SP's empty grey goose glass with water, and put the full (real) grey-goose glass behind a stand-up menu thing. Then SP returned from the Call of Nature(tm). I kept trying to toast him with my glasses of water, but he was too drunk to realize I was toasting him. Before he could drink the fake drink, Zaela goes, "Hey! What's this?" and pulls out the real one.

THANKS ALOT, ZAELA, FOR RUINING MY PRANK!!!!

Fortunately, the look on SP's face when he thought he had two of them was priceless. Priceless.

Around 2am, we went back to the apartment, where I went to sleep. I understand they went back out for another hour or two.

For John Lynch and a number of posters at Dragonmount, what Moiraine made the woman drink in New Spring was not poison. The woman intended to drug Moiraine in order to rob her, including of her clothes. And, of course, leave her to the nonexistent mercies of the patrons. Instead, Moiraine made her drink the drugged drink herself. And left her to the nonexistent mercies of her own patrons.

A running commentary on the Mayo Clinic. I had intended to post before this, but it didn't work out. This began life as bits and pieces and notes I intended to use. It turned into something a little different. Sorry about that. I hope it's coherent.

The first week has been interesting. If you find needles interesting. There have been other sorts of tests—X-rays literally of every bone in my body; a pulmonary function test with me coughing all over the place and the tech sighing and saying "Well, let's try again then;" vast collections of urine—but mainly it has been the needles. I've been pursued by people with needles from dawn until sunset at the least. Sometimes they don't hold to those limits. At one point I was sent back to a particular station because the phlebotomist had drawn only a quart and not the quart and a half that had been in the orders. God's truth. I swear. Still, they say I seem to be healthy. For somebody in my condition, anyway.

I've gotten two bits of outstanding news. As of two months ago, my heart wall had thickened to 17mm rather than the normal 10-13 mm. On one side that has now shrunk to 14 mm. This is unheard of and has evoked murmurs of measuring errors, which I don't see Mayo making. The other bit isn't open to any arguments. The ejection fraction is the percentage of the blood in the heart which is ejected each time the heart contracts. Normal is 50%-65%. Two months ago mine was 48%. It is now 67%!

Second week began with getting an Ash Split shunt put in my chest. I wanted to avoid this, but the nurse-coordinator convinced me that it's going to be necessary come time for chemo and re-implanting the stem cells, so I decided to go ahead and get something that will do not only for those things but for blood samples, the necessary transfusions and so forth. I now have a couple of tubes dangling from my chest on the upper right side, with the far end going directly into my jugular vein. I've been telling people at home that I have a tap on the side of my neck leading straight to my jugular, and that this is attracting a great deal of attention from the Goths on staff, not to mention the vampire wannabes. The tap may be a joke, but the Goths and vampires, now.... You can tell from the way they lick their lips when they look at your neck.

The unit I'm working with really does have vampires. Witness all that blood gathering. And they always want to start it before the sun is up, meaning they're safely indoors come sunrise. They call themselves BMT, for Bone Marrow Transplant, but I have deduced the real name. Bacon, Marrow and Tomato. They're good people, very conscientious, but be careful if you have lunch with them. Very careful.

From then on it's been a matter of getting injections of growth factor twice a day to stimulate growth of bone marrow stem cells, and in between spending five hours a day hooked up to an a-pharesis machine for harvesting stem cells. The area isn't too bad, really. WiFi is available, plus small TVs with first run movies. Harriet can sit by my bed so we can talk, or read. My plan is to stick to books, mainly, and maybe get off a blog entry to you guys.

The Ash Split didn't go in so smoothly as I hoped. I woke up about midnight Monday night, the first, and found a damp patch of blood on my bedsheet about the size of a dinner plate with another on my pajama top. (For Deadsy, this is being worn only to protect the shunt; I don't wear pajamas. That ought to settle her down for a week or so. Or maybe get her hyperventillating?) Needless to say, with the end of the tubes in my jugular, I was a little concerned. We went over to Rochester Methodist, the hospital attached to the clinic, where I had the dressing changed. Three times before we got the bleeding quieted down. It's never simple with me. Harriet likes to point that out from time to time. But then, I told her if she married me, it would never be boring.

That meant no sleep to speak of before heading into my first day of collection. I slept instead of messing with the computer or reading. Slept after I got back to the hotel. Collapsed after dinner and went to sleep at about 8:30. A few more bleeding problems on day two, plus I slept again. That begins to get on your nerves after a bit.

Got some explanation from the collection staff about why I've been so tired. For one thing, the effects of the growth factor, over-stimulating the bone marrow's production of stem cells, is extremely tiring in itself. On top of that, the machine pulls all of the blood out of your body roughly three times and pumps it back in. During this five hour process your cardiovascular system tries to maintain a steady blood pressure. It can't because all of the values are shifting constantly, but it keeps trying. The result is that each day is the equivalent of running a marathon. Two marathons down in two days, and we'll see how many to come. I can't really think of much besides when I can go back to sleep. Have to get my head straight. Can't let it go on like this. Straighten up and soldier, soldier.

This is getting a little jumbled together as I go back and make additions or corrections. I'm not sure I can keep the time line straight myself. Sorry about that. In Australia a while back I was mad enough to sign up for a hike to the Valley of the Winds, not far from Uluru. We made it in and out in a little over two hours, each of us with a liter of water, and only then did I see the sign which cautioned hikers to allow a minimum of two hours for the hike EACH way and drink a minimum of one liter of water per hour. Before heading in, the guide told us that she sometimes forgot that the people she was leading weren't as fit as she was. "So do try to keep up," she said. I'd get the time line straight if I could, guys, if I had time, but in the meanwhile, do try to keep up.

For the basic transplant, they want 4 million stem cells. Using 8 million or 12 doesn't do any better. They will go with as little as 2, but they don't really like it. I asked what the top one day collection was and was told that, very rarely, somebody produced over 20 million. That was my first day goal, but I missed it badly. 4.17 million. My doctor, Suzanne Hayman, has signed off for a collection of 8 million, but I'm arguing. Not for 20, now, but for 12-16 million. That would give me a full transplant with two or even three in the freezer just in case. They very seldom do a second transplant for amyloidosis, and have never done a third, but given the rapidity with which the treatments change, I want to be ready for anything.

Doctor Hayman signed off for 12 million. She says she's happy to go with 3 million for a base transplant. We're on track and running hot and true.

Got my second day collection report. Barely 2 million. I'm going to have to pick up the pace. Dr. Hayman won't approve an increase in the growth factor. I understand even if I don't like it. It does have its side effects. They'll only listen to me so far as to what risks I'm willing to take.

Third day collection reports in. Only a little over 1 million. Looks as if I'm definitely on the downhill slope of production. There's still a chance, though. Production can fluctuate. Additional bad news. I put on ten pounds yesterday. That's fluid retention, one of the side effects of growth factor. I've been fighting that with lasix, keeping the weight under control pretty much. Until now.

Trouble breathing on the night of the third collection day. Couldn't get to sleep. The fluid presses on the diaphragm, so the lungs can't work properly. Harriet got me across the street to the hospital where they put me on oxygen for the night. Tomorrow (fourth day; today, actually), will be the key. Can I pull up my production numbers?

Fourth day production numbers in. I'm down to 700,000 plus. Time to face facts. The number will continue to drop. In a day or two they'll tell me the tests show I won't make the minimum number for harvesting. I'm not going to make 12 million, much less 16. And they're giving me extra lasix to help control the weight, though so far it just seems to be helping me hold my own. The growth factor could very easily put me into congestive heart failure with the fluid retention. Been there, did that, didn't like it. Time to pull the plug, says I.

They don't let you know anything discouraging before they have to around this place. God bless them. Turns out my 8.6-8.7 million wasn't so bad after all. Turns out that a lot of amyloidosis patients can barely make 4 total. Turns out a lot of them can barely make 2. Seems I didn't do too badly after all. Hey, the kid can always pull it out when he needs to. Bring it on, Jack. Bring it on.

The weekend is mine, except for a few blood tests and some fragmin (blood thinner) shots. I don't think I'm up to Easter services—plus, I have to get some blood tests done during the hours of services—but I've made reservations to take Harriet to Easter brunch. And Will. Our son has flown out to visit for a week. God, it's good to see him.

Monday I have interviews with various doctors and others. The reason, I think, is to give me a final thumbs up for the chemo, to begin on Tuesday. Knock wood.

Looking around me here, I see a lot I'd like to think I would have noticed before, but I'm not sure I would have. I remember Harriet exclaiming in horror at Feng Du, in China, when the tide of crippled beggars came flopping toward the boat landing like a tide of Medieval horror. I barely blinked. They weren't the first crippled beggars I'd seen. But day or so ago I saw a young woman pushing an older woman in a wheelchair while leading a younger woman (her sister? Her daughter?) by the hand. It was painfully obvious that the youngest woman, the girl, was mentally challenged. Some people just get handed loads that can't be called fair in any sense of the word. But both older women were smiling. I've talked a lot about fighting, but I'm not the only one by a long country mile. You can pick them out, sometimes. The elderly man with a few wisps of white hair shuffling along behind his IV tree, mask in place and eyes fixed on something ahead. The little girl huddled in her wheelchair clutching her stuffed bear as she is pushed from one appointment to the next. And her eyes are so big. As big as half her face. She ain't here to get a hangnail clipped, Jack. This place is chock full of fighters. I'm proud to be in their company.

Had a letter from the Mayo forwarded to me. Seems some of you have given money on the name of James Rigney. I'd like to thank Mr. Chris Mardle, Mr. Matthew Longland, Mr. T.J.Rowe, Mr. Fredrik Trobo, Mr. Dennis Clark, Ms Krista Baker, Mr. Phillip Johnston, Mr. Kenneth Spores, and Mr. Thane Hecox. Thanks to you all very much, truly from the bottom of my heart.

Had my interviews with the doctors. I'm good to go. Tomorrow morning, 9 am. Let's boogey. Let's boogey.

RJ

For several people, a LONG way back, regarding my statements about good versus evil. I wasn't claiming a total monopoly for fantasy. Andrew Vachs certainly writes about a good vs evil environment, for example, yet Burke, his main character, blurs many of the distinctions. For Burke there is one real evil above all others—the abuse, especially the sexual abuse, of a child. And so say all of us. Anyone I'm willing to drink with, anyway. But remember Wesley, Burke's compadre, that stone killer who finally killed himself, if he actually did die, by blowing himself up along with a school full of children. Burke himself has stepped over any other moral lines often enough that only that one remains for him. Well, I think he would balk at rape, and loyalty to his self-adopted family is paramount to him. But nothing else would faze him in the slightest. That blurring, that acceptance of blurring, is widespread.

I certainly did not maintain that my characters always have proceeded, or will always proceed, from the perceived correct action according even to their own beliefs of right and wrong, good and evil. People have a tendency to make excuses for themselves in what they see as special circumstances. It happens.

The "realism" that I mock—and I will mock it—is that of writers who, in the final result, say, for example that there is no moral difference between the men who flew their airplanes into the Twin Towers and the men who hunt down terrorists. For those who think there are none such, I direct you to comments concerning the Spielberg movie "Munich." I have not seen the film myself and cannot comment on it, but both reviewers who seem to love the film and those who seem to hate it speak of the "equivalence" that Spielberg established between the men who carried out the murders of Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics and the Israeli agents who later hunted them down and killed them. They are all supposed to be the same. Like hell, they are!

I'd better get off this topic. Next I'll be going after fool college professors who call the dead in the Towers "little Eichmanns" and the fool professors and actors who seem to think September 11 was all a plot of the US government. Does Charlie Sheen have ANY brain cells?

So, from what I've heard, Rand won the Suvudu cage match.

This leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, I am pleased and proud. On the other hand, George R. R. Martin's write-up of how he thought things would go was simply epic. In his version, the fight went as it should have in many ways, particularly near the end. Rand and Jamie, sword to sword, man to man. A win without a kill, respect given on both sides.

Robert Jordan is smiling somewhere, Mr. Martin.

If we take an infinite multiverse view of things (as is suggested in the Wheel of Time world) then what Mr. Martin wrote did indeed happen. And it didn't. And everything in between happened as well.

However, in the version imagined by Brandon Sanderson, here's how the fight goes down.

Mr. Martin's narrative is more or less dead on until the end. Rand and Jamie struggle and fight, and it comes down to man against man. However, neither man can gain advantage over the other.

Then something flickers in Rand's vision. Perhaps it's a trick of the light. Perhaps it's an assassin's bolt, dipped in the poison of an asp and fired toward Rand in a moment of weakness. Perhaps it's Rand's madness asserting itself. Regardless of the cause, he thinks he's being attacked by someone other than Jamie and his allies. Treachery, a violation of the trial of seven.

It may be real. It may not be.

Rand, in desperation, somehow forms weaves of Power. Reckless weaves, fueled by anger, perhaps delusion (or perhaps when the One Power pool surrounding King's Landing was used up, some started trickling in from surrounding areas through One Power drainage ditches and has just come close enough for Rand to tap). He creates a gateway through which to escape, but also lets loose a brilliant bolt of balefire, firing it at shadows moving on the other side of that gateway.

A column of liquid light springs forth, passes through the gateway, and hits Suvudu itself.

Now, it's hard to say what effect this should have. Balefire, for those unaware, has the power to burn threads from the pattern and rework time itself. Kill someone with balefire, and things they did prior to being killed will be reversed.

Perhaps this should mean that the battle never happened. Perhaps it should wipe the entire experience from our minds. But balefire is an odd thing, as is a contest such as this one. And so, Rand's actions remove the previous fights from existence, but don't change what is happening between him and Jamie.

Through accident, Rand's balefire brings back each and every fighter who participated in this tournament. Everyone appears on the battlefield at once.

Rand and Jamie stare in wonder at the chaos that follows.

Aragorn, Garet, and Hiro have a conversation about who is really the greatest swordsman in the world. It involves much stabbing, some pizza, and very little coding.

Kahlan exclaims that she was never part of a "fantasy" novel in the first place, and so disappears in a puff of hypocrisy.

Arthur Dent says, "Oh no, not again."

Dumbledore tries to send Lyra on a quest to find some random magical object that is going to save the world, really, and is terribly important. So important that he can't go himself. Honestly.

Roland ponders for twenty-two years before telling you what he does.

Harry Dresden decides this is really all too much work, and wanders off to get himself something to drink. He gets beaten up seventeen times on his way, but saves two orphanages.

Ender writes a poem about the Shrike, entitled "It Might Be a Demonic, Sadistic, Terrible Monster Made of Blades, Thorns, and Terror—but It's Really Just Misunderstood."

Kvothe flies in, riding Temeraire, Hermione at his side, and—(I've written the second two thirds of this sentence, but I'm not giving them to you yet.)

The Wee Free Men start chatting about this interesting fellow they met WHO SPEAKS IN ALL CAPS and wonders if this is all going to create a great big paradoxical mess he will have to fix.

Edward broods.

Ged, Vlad, and Conan give Eragon a wedgie.

Polgara throws something breakable at somebody, then goes to find Belgarath, who is most likely drinking with Mat, Tyrion, and Harry at this point.

Haplo and Raistlin get into an argument about how to pronounce Drizzt's name.

Elric tries to decide just who among these people he likes the most, so that he can be forced to feed them to Stormbringer at a terribly dramatic moment, causing much personal angst.

Anita takes out Edward for good measure.

Gandalf and Aslan eye everyone mysteriously, then have a discussion over tea about whose resurrection was more meaningful.

Locke steals Gandalf's staff and sells it on eBay as an authentic prop from the film trilogy. He then does the same thing with Hermione's wand.

And at that point, the great Cthulhu himself awakens, and his terrible, alien nature drives everyone irrevocably insane.

Rand wins by default, since he was already insane, and Cthulhu showing up doesn't really change him at all.

Ladies and gentlemen, we just got Cthulhu'd.

Best,

Brandon

Thursday

So first of all, La Guardia Airport blows large goats and I hate them. And that should pretty much tell you what getting to Atlanta on Thursday was like, and why I almost did not make it to the hotel in time for the pre-con dinner thingy, which would have been cause for killin' in my opinion. Also, my shuttle driver was a 45-year-old aspiring rapper who was apparently incapable of going faster than 50 mph on the freeway, and who informed me that he had moved to Atlanta because in many communities there is a 29:1 female to male population ratio, and "he likes it when the ladies have to buy him a drink." I bet you do, honey.

Fortunately I was amused enough by this (like, did he actually do the math himself?) to be almost completely non-homicidal by the time I got to the hotel, so that's good. I was immediately greeted at the front desk by none other than Jennifer Liang, the organizer and head guru of JordanCon and all-around lovely human, who told me rather distractedly that the Atlanta airport had somehow misplaced one Brandon Sanderson, so he was going to be late for dinner. Or something to that effect, I'm not really sure what happened. So I guess it's not just La Guardia that sucks, eh?

Afterwards I went back to my room to recuperate (and stash The Wig), and then met up with the awesome and fearsomely efficient Dot Lin to do a short interview taping for the JordanCon mini-doc she's doing (and this is all the detail I have on that, presumably someone somewhere will let us all know what becomes of it). Hopefully they can edit out all the "ums" and "likes" in my portion. I was right after Jennifer Liang, which was cool because I got to hear about how JordanCon actually came about, and the crazy amount of work that's actually involved in getting one of these things off the ground. Y'all give all due and/or mad props to Jennifer and her team, ya heard me?

I had totally meant to go to the poker tournament that evening, because I adore Texas Hold 'Em, and the proceeds were going to amyloidosis research, but Jason Denzel had made the mistake of introducing me to his friend Jason Ryan, who as I mentioned earlier played Rhuarc in the skit, and sells swords and all manner of medieval weaponry. Jason R. had assisted Jason D. in the fantasy film project he's working on (and played Evil Bandit #2), which is how they knew each other. He had a booth (or table, technically) at the con, and as soon as I saw it I proceeded to grill him for like two hours about swordfighting techniques and swordmaking techniques and why there are no good forges in the U.S. and whether it was really possible for a girl with comparatively little upper body strength to take on a muscley guy in a swordfight and win. (Jason R., by the way, says yes, if she's skilled and quick enough, and as a lifelong Military Guy (Air Force) and someone who teaches swordfighting professionally, he should know. This makes me happy.)

This eventually led to me, Jason, Jason, and Trisha going out to eat, and then going out drinking. Because We Could. That Jason D. lives in California and yet manages to know a bartender who will give us free drinks in Atlanta is terribly impressive. It is possible that I am easily impressed. But hey, free booze, you know?

(The bartender, Cooper (aka Evil Bandit #3), gave me blue drinks. I asked him what it was, and he told me, "I call that 'Blue Drink'". Thanks, Coop. I'm probably better off not knowing. In retribution I stole his drumsticks, and no, I do not mean that euphemistically. The man really had drumsticks behind the bar. You dirty, dirty people.)

So, no poker for me. On balance this is probably a good thing, as just because I like poker does not mean I am actually any good at poker. I'm sure it was a very good time for those who attended, though.

After the signing a small group of us,not wanting to end this magical day went to Grendel's Den and had dinner. Thank you Alric, it was a perfect place to talk, eat, have a drink and re-hash the events of the day.

I would like to end this report by mentioning the dedication of the Towers of Midnight. What a tribute!

I offer my sincere Thanks to Brandon, Harriet and all of you who work behind the scenes. This was a great signing because of all your hard work and dedication and the Troopers and I thank you so much for this opportunity.

May your Memory Be Eternal Creator!
respectfully submitted on behalf of the Boston Tower Guards
by Helane Hilwa Katir
Sister of the Red Ajah

[The next piece of conversation was between RJ and a guy from Russia. He started off asking how he liked Russia (since RJ went there before), and this whooooole thing got rolling. For the first part, I’ll just say that RJ has met some rather dangerous Russian mafia types (heh). Robert Jordan, a white-knuckled translator ready to wet himself, and a Godfather-type guy. “How do you know what you know?” Interesting picture there.

Second part: What everyone wants to know: RJ’s drinking habits.
When he was in Russia, he was surprised by the drinking there. Everyone says that Russians can and do drink a lot, he said, but he was amused that people kept telling HIM to slow down and eat before drinking. The man can handle a good deal. I mean, ****, he said vodka was like mother’s milk.

“When I was young, when I really used to drink”—Imagine if you will, the Creator himself, sitting at a table with a bunch of drunken buddies. There’s $4700 dollars on the table. Yes, this is a drinking game. At any point, someone can say ‘stand’. The drinkers have to stand up, hold their hands above their heads, spin around three times, and sit back down. If you become unable to do that, you lose. After TWO QUARTS of Russian vodka, everyone else is floored, and our man wins. Not only that, but he drags his drunken friend back to their room. He mentioned that he didn’t get undressed for bed that night (as if admitting some weakness from the alcohol).

He used to know all of 7 words of useful Russian, most of them curses (he repeated two of them, to the amusement of the guy he was talking to).]

How do you pronounce the Mistborn Planet? [Scadrial]

Sca (as in Scab) dri (as in drink) al (sounds like ul).

MEMBER OF AUDIENCE

Okay. I always said Sca (as in Skate) dri (as in drink) al (as in Albert)

BRANDON SANDERSON

That’s perfectly fine. This can launch me into my little thing on pronunciation. As readers, you get the say, you’re the director. I wrote the script. The director can always change things. If you want a character to look differently in your head, that’s okay. If you want to pronounce things however you want, that’s okay too. Because a book does not exist until it has a reader. It really doesn’t live. It exists, but it doesn’t live until you read it and give it life. So however you feel like doing it, go ahead. And remember, I’ve said this numerous times before, I don’t pronounce all the names right. I’m American, so I pronounce things with an American accent. The best example I give is Kelsier, because I do say Kel (as in bell) si (as in see) er (as in air), but they say Kel (as in bell) si (as in see) er (as in hey) in-world (it sounds very French). I say E (as in the letter e) lan (as in lawn) tris (as in hiss), they say E (as in the letter e) Lan (as in lane) tris (as in hiss) in-world. So there are linguistic fundamentals of these because I do have some linguistic background, but I don’t always say them right. I like saying Sa (like suh) rene (like Reen), instead of Sa (like suh) rene (like meany), which is how they say it. Which Suh-reany sounds kind of dumb in English. And in their language, it’s a beautiful woman’s name, but here you wouldn’t call someone Suh-reany, you’d call them Suh-rean.

Actually, no. This one was finished off back before I knew anything of A Memory of Light or before I'd read Name of the Wind. Hopefully, the smoothing is a result of me trying to work out kinks in my storytelling ability. I'm learning to distance out my climax chapters, for instance. (I think I've I'd have written this book years ago, I'd have tried to overlay Spook's climactic sequence with the ending ones, for instance, which would have been a mistake.)

Also, of the three books, I worked the hardest on this one. Choosing that ending—even though I'd planned it for some time—was very difficult. I knew that it would anger some readers. I also knew that it was the right ending for the series.

I'm glad it worked for you.

FLINN

I have to admit, I am one of those angered. I will be so glad when this cliché of killing off the heroes will finally pass. I escape to fantasy for the happy ending. If I wanted to be depressed I'd grab a 3-dollar bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 and drink it all and contemplate my mundane life. I can't spend much time reflecting on the book because of the mental picture of Vin and Elend dead in a field keeps popping up instead. They didn't even get a chance to reproduce.

Now outside of the horrible ending (which wasn't surprising in the least because it is so common to kill the heroes) I enjoyed them. I absolutely cannot wait to read your books written 10 years from now. You can definitely pick up the improvement in transitions and character development in each book I've read from you. I'm quite often reminded of David Eddings although I'm sure plenty would disagree. And while Eddings isn't one of my favorite writers to be at his level (to me) so early in your career leads me to believe great things will be coming.

I would like to ask you one thing to consider when writing endings. Fantasy is an escape, please don't ruin it with such depressing endings. When you have had the opportunity to look upon your dead wife in her coffin, reading about others dying isn't fun at all. It is absolutely terrible. Happily ever after.

BRANDON SANDERSON (17 OCTOBER)

I understand your anger. I wrote the ending that felt most appropriate to me for this book and series. I didn't find it depressing at all, personally. But people have reacted this way about every ending I've written.

I won't always do it, I promise. But I have to trust my instincts and write the stories the way they feel right to me. I didn't 'kill off' Vin and Elend in my mind. I simply let them take risks and make the sacrifices they needed to. It wasn't done to avoid cliché or to be part of a cliché, or to be shocking or surprising, or to be interesting or poetic—it was done because that was the story as I saw it.

I will keep this in mind, though. I know it's not what a lot of people want to read. Know that I didn't do it to try to shock you or prove anything. And because of that, if a more traditionally happy ending is something that a story requires, I'll do that—even if it means the people on the other side of the fence from you will point fingers at me for being clichéd in that regard as well.

If it helps, realize that one of the reasons I added the lines in Sazed's note was to let the characters live on for those who wanted them to live on. I ALMOST didn't have Spook even discover the bodies, leaving it more ambiguous.

Yes, all this time Hrathen was under the effects of the potion. It was a little bit contrived not to tell the reader that Hrathen had asked for the effects to be temporary, but I figured the drama was worth it. You should have been able to figure it out anyway—it was the only logical reason Hrathen would drink the potion.

Of all the politickings, maneuverings, and plannings in this book, I think this is the best one. In a single brilliant gamble, Hrathen managed to make himself into a saint who is seen to have power over Elantris. He out-witted Sarene and Dilaf at the same time, gaining back everything he'd lost during his arguments and self-questioning. This isn't really a 'twist,' in my mind—it's something better. It's something that makes logical sense, something that carries the plot forward without having to trick the reader, yet still earning wonder and appreciation.

In my mind, this sort of plot twist is superior to gimmick surprises. I don't often pull it off, but there's something. . .majestic about a plotting device that is obvious, rational, yet still surprising.

After the signing, we stood outside of Gamescape, and held a vote. I motioned for beer, Drew seconded, and after a quick stop in Gamescape (where I impulse purchased a copy of "Family Business") we were off to:

(from Drew Gillmore's report): The next thing we did was went to the Thai House to drink. Or at least, Darkelf and I drank, with a little bit of sipping done by Eric and Chris. However, Darkelf and I got married (Work that in, K-J) and consummated the marriage with a pitcher of Stout beer (Thanks, oh Dimly Lit Sprite). I taunted Noell with the thought that Cal would beat UCLA until with four seconds left in the game, I relented and admitted that, in fact, Cal would probably not be coming back.

Let us not forget also the most excellent Oktoberfest that they had as well.

(from Drew Gillmore's report): After that, things *really* get fuzzy. We went to Amber, an Indian Restaurant, and had food, and talked. Rick Moen, Rajiv, Phetsy, Paul Ward, and "Justin" showed up. Other people showed up, but they were sitting at the other table and I don't remember all their names. (Someone else is *really* going to have to help me out here...anyone make a total list?) Mansur Ward made a cameo.

Ken Kaufman was there as well, along with a couple of others, but like Drew said, they were at the other table.

(from Drew Gillmore's report): I had Chicken Vindaloo, that was supposed to be spicier than it was, according to Chris Mullins, but since I was already full of beer I couldn't taste much anyway.

'Twas good Indian food—the Chicken Tikka Masala was, indeed, made extra hot and spicy, like I had requested.

After stuffing our faces, when it came time to divvy up the bill Rick suddenly had the need to "powder his nose", and was thus absent when we were collecting the cash. Of course, Rick's also a noted Linux weenie, and since he can't afford a real OS anyways, this is slightly more excusable in that light.

(from Drew Gillmore's report): Somewhere in there my ex-fiancée showed up, and I mentally checked out for the evening. I remember going to Brian's apartment complex for the rec room there, more beer, lots of pool, then a jaunt to Bill and Hawks for an hour or so. At that point I had been up for somewhere near forty hours, and had drank sufficiently enough in my sleep depraved condition to make thinking straight a tricky situation.

After the pool, it was back to Chez Bill'n'Hawk, at which point I also tended to zone in and out of things. I think Lawn Order was played, after we all sang along to a couple of selected tunes from the Doctor Demento discs that Rick so thoughtfully provided. I think I slept, at the time.

(from Drew Gillmore's report): I'm not sure how it ended. Badly, one would assume, but you'll have to get that part of the story from someone who A) was there, and B) was there, if you know what I mean.

Yeah. I know what you mean. There are rumors of other depraved activities, but thankfully I wasn't among the (conscious) participants....

What did you find most interesting about working within the Infinity Blade universe?

I was really interested by something that may be surprising to you, and that is the constraints that I had. I find that good creativity commonly comes from having really interesting limitations. I often say this about magic—the best magic comes from what the magic can't do—and the best characters are the ones who have really interesting limitations. In the same way, a lot of times the best stories come when you have some really interesting constraints. You can't have too many—but let me give an example.

I saw that they have healing magic in this world, and it works like standard video game healing—boom, you just drink a potion or cast a spell and you've been healed. If you look at that from a real-life perspective, that is way too easy to be interesting narratively, and it also has all kinds of wacky ramifications for the way society works. So I took this and said, "How can I make this work in the actual framework of a story, in a way that's interesting, different, that people haven't seen before, that does not contradict the video game, and yet also doesn't break the economy of this world?" So I built things so that drinking a potion or using a magic spell heals you but it also accelerates your metabolism and ages you for as long as it would have taken you to heal naturally from that injury. So what we've got here is something that doesn't really affect the video game at all, but if you look at it world-wise, yes we've still changed the world somewhat, but now there's an enormous cost. You don't want to heal every time you get a little cut, because you're taking weeks off your life. Taking the chance to heal yourself is only going to be something you're really going to do if it's life or death for you.

All right, thank you all very much. As always, please remember: drink responsibly, read recklessly. Good night.

It was something that you or I would probably not want to eat in our world, but that Wit got some benefit from eating...

DefiantBurrito

Something we've seen in the Mistborn books, perhaps?

Brandon Sanderson

(sounding pleased) Yes, perhaps like something you've seen in Mistborn.

… In the real world, all of these different voices are represented, and it's about trying to write a story where the real world is, where the real world breathes and if I were to take one group and erase them from the fiction, that would be untrue. That would be violating a fundamental thing I believe in, and that is that we shouldn't be trying to erase people. That's a major evil that can happen in the world.

And so when I put in characters who are LGBTQ, I do have to be really aware that I am likely a person to get that experience wrong. If you're going to find somebody who is going to get that wrong, I am at the top of the list. So … I go to my friends who are gay and ask, "OK, guys, how am I screwing up here?"

… It's kind of interesting, in some ways, writing those characters are easier than writing other characters I have no experience with. For instance, there is a scene in Oathbringer (with a character) who has not been around strong drink very much, goes out drinking, and has all kinds of preconceptions about what'll happen and then gets drunk, and my first write of that was terrible.

I gave it to some people and they were like "Oh man, Brandon, you have no idea what it's like to have this happen." You're right, I don't, I have no idea whatsoever.

Granted, I cannot ever accurately replicate the experience of being gay or transgendered. But feeling like an outsider, growing up as the only Mormon kid in a school, at least I can know what it's like to be an outsider, to feel like I can't talk about certain things about myself without being subjected to ridicule. There are certain things I can approach, so I can get it a little bit right and then go to people who have that life experience and they can give me some pointers.

There is a character in this book that is a drug addict. Now, we're making the book sound like something it's not. The book isn't about drug addiction; it's not about living as a gay person; it's not about any of these things. But it is about people who feel real, and I want to approach all of their experiences accurately. If I'm going to put them in the book, I want them to be right. I went to a person who was incarcerated — who also was a fan — for heroin addiction. I said, "will you let me interview you? Will you read these scenes and point me in the right direction?"

Part of what makes writing a Stormlight book so difficult is I do try to approach all of these different walks of life. People might ask "why are you putting this in a fantasy book? Why is this here?" My answer is all great fiction is a reflection of our lives and trying to say something about it or the people that we meet or the experience of being human.

That's what this is about. That's why we write.

And I do it through the form of really fun, action adventure fantasy novels. But at the end of the day, it's still this art trying to reflect the world around me and say interesting things about it. The reason it's there — I think the core concept as created by J.R.R. Tolkien, who was really the father of this medium — is to create a really immersive experience. … That's how we achieve what we do in the stories is by looking at realism first, looking at a sense of immersion is what we call it. I often say that the difference between science fiction and fantasy is that science fiction tries to take what we have now and extrapolate plausible futures from it, whereas fantasy takes something completely impossible and tries to make it feel plausible while you're reading the story. We both use this for the device of "we're going to try to say something about the world." … I don't sit down and say, "what's the moral of this story," but I sit down and say "OK, what am I interested in right now, how is this a reflection of who I am?" This is all there for immersion.