I hadn't planned on staying up so late.
It just sort of... happened?
In the years since I've been sober, I think I may have stayed up until such an ungodly hour only one other time. There's been plenty of instances where I wake up and can't fall back to sleep, but this was definitely not that. What's really bewildering is that I got into bed at a normal hour. And, like I do every night, I grabbed my book and started reading. Where things took a turn, though, was when I just... kept going, and going.
I glanced up at the clock, told myself "just a few more minutes", and dove back in. Things were getting good... a bit further and I'd finally have some answers. After a while, I glanced at the clock again and was floored to see how much time had past.
How... how did he do that?
I was invested in the story, sure. But now, I was also in awe of Brandon Sanderson's craftsmanship. How many beats had I just covered? He and his team had laid them out—across multiple, interconnected storylines—in such a way that it was physically hard for me to pull myself away from the book.
...um...what?
The pace was spectacular. It rose and fell in just the right amounts. It didn't feel rushed, but it was so intentionally drawn out justtt enough that someone like me would keep sticking around for the payoff.
With my jaw hanging open, I forced the book closed and shut off the light. All I could think about was the storytelling mastery required to pull something like that off.
I've been thinking about it all day today, too.
When's the last time you watched someone subtly perform their craft at such a high level?
onward.
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