Kaymyth

I have edited a correction into my original post per your orders.

I could see the back 5 of Stormlight starting out as a Stormlight 6: the Search for Dalinar type adventure that gets significantly derailed. Plenty of opportunity to have Dalinar poking around and struggling with his newfound power while his stubborn-chull kids try to track him down. Or...maybe he doesn't leave the system completely at first. Maybe he tries to exile himself to Braize, and there's a lot of interaction as his kids try to convince him to drop the dang Shard somewhere safe while he insists that nowhere is safe. There's a thousand possible branch points from the first arc ending. One thing I'm sure of: Brandon is smarter than all of us and knows exactly what he's doing. This theory is just me trying to predict an upcoming twist in the man's devious brain.

The fact that he doesn't often do it makes it more likely that he will in this case, according to my completely unreasonable brain. It's a technique he doesn't typically employ? Well, then that's the perfect thing to blindside us with just when we've been lulled into complacency! We don't know much about the back 5. We know there's a time jump in between the two arcs and that's about it. I kind of think we're going to see more worldhopping in that second arc, and that at least 50% of the action will be offworld. That's completely wild speculation on my part, of course. Edited To Add: And no, I don't think Dalinar will be the villain of the back 5. I think he's more likely to come up as a villain (or Power of Questionable Allegiance) in Mistborn Era 4 alongside Autonomy.

Thread locked, because it's starting to push the boundaries of good taste. If Eric wants to reply, he still has the ability to. But I wouldn't hold your breath.

Okay, so it seems that I'm not the only person who's come up with a version of this idea (hi, @Truthless of Shinovar!), but I presented the theory at JordanCon during the Cosmere Speculation panel, and it seems as though I should codify it in some sort of organized fashion so that all my crazy details can be seen. And also so I can go on record with this thing so when it actually happens you can all hate me. We all know Brandon has been moving the plot forward faster on Stormlight than most of us expected. So I think that Stormlight 5 is going to be the Knights Radiant vs. Rayse, final round. Rayse has freed himself from his entrapment on Braize and is ready to wreak some havoc on Roshar to make sure nobody there can challenge him (and root out Cultivation in the process). Ultimately, he will be defeated. I think he won't be re-trapped, though; I think he'll be killed. However, there is one important detail when it comes to killing Shardholders: Dropped Shards will Splinter naturally if not picked up. (Correction here: It's not an automatic given that a Shard will Splinter when dropped. There is a WoB (https://wob.coppermind.net/events/132/#e1877) that states a voluntarily dropped Shard could Splinter, or become self-aware, or any number of other things. None of them if applied to Odium are going to create Super Happy Fun Time for Roshar.) Imagine the chaos that would inflict upon Roshar's entire Investiture biome. That much Hatred Investiture (and no, I do not believe Rayse's nonsense about Passion) spreading out throughout the planet, loose, leaking into everything? It'd be a disaster. Cultivation has more than enough knowledge to be aware of this; certainly the Stormfather, Nightwatcher, and the Sibling are as well. I'd bet money that most, if not all, of the Radiant spren have a pretty good idea of it. So it's reasonable to expect that the KR will be aware of this danger when they take on Odium. They may even have a plan in place to try to re-trap him, but I expect that ultimately to fail. They'll have to kill him. There will be no other choice. What then happens when the Shard of Odium drops, ready to Splinter into a million pieces of Hatred and leak into the planet's Investiture irrevocably? Or become a self-aware monster spren? Or get absorbed by one or more of the Unmade? Or any number of other potentially apocalyptic results? Dalinar picks it up. He doesn't do it to gain power. He does it to protect his friends and family. He does it for Honor (though his decision may involve his bond with the Stormfather being broken) - because humans brought Odium to Roshar; it's only proper for a human to fix that mistake. Most of all, because he has managed to deny Odium's power before, he does it because he believes he's the best person to do so. He believes that he can resist the Shard's intent better than any other person on Roshar. He might even be right. So he picks up Odium, rips every last shred of power that Rayse Invested into Roshar, and leaves. There are several reasons why I think Brandon will take this route: 1. It's an interesting full circle to take for the character. He starts out life as the perfect scion of Odium, though he doesn't know it at the time. He's ruthless. He's violent. It's through a huge amount of experience and development that he learns to control and reject that side of him. He becomes a better man. Then as a result of becoming that better man, he takes on the embodiment of what warped his past in an attempt to shield others from the evil that tainted him. That's some serious heroic tragedy. 2. Brandon likes to hurt us. 3. So far, our experience of the "negative" Shardholders has been pretty after-the-fact. We never saw Ati before he picked up Ruin; likewise we don't know exactly how awful Rayse was before he picked up Odium. We've seen Harmony, yes, but he's been pretty Light Side so far. It will be much, much more interesting to take a character that the readers have a strong emotional investment in and have him take up an "evil" Shard. The impact of seeing our hero Dalinar slowly corrupted by Odium's influence as he becomes an overall Cosmere Big Bad will cause internal reader conflict, and that's a good way to tell a story.

I presented a variation on this theory at JordanCon this year on panels. I should probably do full write-up on it so people know exactly how whackadoodle I am.

Memorial Day weekend was ConQuesT here in Kansas City; our local sci-fi/fantasy literature con. I...was the convention Chair. And I didn't break the con! It went about as smoothly as these things really can go; there were a few bumps, but nothing catastrophic. Now that I have that con-running experience, I have a much better idea of the things that need to be codified and hammered out for the longevity and health of the con. But even as things stand, I think I have accomplished that most important job of a convention Chair; I am ending my tenure in that position with the con in better shape than it was when I started. Now I get to go back to just running my Guest Liaisons department, at least for a while, instead of being that poor idiot whose desk is constantly piled with stopped bucks.

Yeah, seriously, don't. The first mention was plenty.

He's generally pretty busy, but it's hardly unheard of for him to respond to posts. He's not some mysterious, silent overlord. He's a dude who teaches university calculus and keeps the site running.

Ahh. I hadn't caught that it was a double (stuck on mobile as my computer has somewhat crashed; harder to see everything). Personally, I would prefer if people did not edit their accidental doubles like that; just report then and tell us why in the report. That help us avoid any unearned scoldings.

Okay, guys, I just hid a post that was nothing but a period. This game kind of pushes the limit of good taste when it comes to artificially inflating post counts, so I'm gonna come down and say that if you're going to play, play by the rules and make sure your posts have some actual content to them. I'm not overly fond of the weird quasi-ASCII spam posts, either. Consider this a gentle warning.

Plus he's absolutely obsessed with the concept of proving that his way was right. He wants to reassure himself that if only his people had followed his advice, they'd have survived. He's looking for validation, and he can't get it if he doesn't go through with killing half of everyone. And the obsession has built up over the centuries into a full-on god complex. He can dress it up in his fake compassion all he wants, but underneath it all his true motivations are entirely selfish.

Well, that was just a fiery hot mess with a side of burnt citizens. From what I hear, he's not any happier with this stuff than the rest of us. He gave them a set of major plot points to work with, trusted them to handle them properly, and then they proceeded to fart out this half-cheeked disaster. (Remember, also, that they basically made up their version of the Night King out of whole cloth. That entire subplot with "let's have Arya kill the evil undead lord!" won't even exist in the books because the evil undead lord wasn't even supposed to exist.) Honestly, I think he's been annoyed with them ever since they cut the Lady Stoneheart subplot. I get the feeling that he has some Important Crap (tm) planned with her, and their removal of her derailed some of the plotlines he could have given to them. And think, then, about how much other stuff they cut or dovetailed; they may have been snipping threads that unraveled half the plot-sweater near the end and thus we have this rushed mess. But also, they made terrible choices with what they DID have. The man can only hand-hold them so much at this point, especially since they're not really required to take much direction from him. I'm not going to blame GRRM for the fact that two supposed professionals who do this for a living completely failed to write their way out of a wet paper bag.

I am extremely annoyed with Rhaegal's fate. There's no way those ballistae could have possibly been that accurate from that distance against a moving target to hit him even once, let alone the three bolts that brought him down. And that's before you even consider the fact that they were mounted on constantly-in-motion ships, not good, solid ground.

A very belated point of correction here: Dr. Bouman is not a graduate student, she has a full doctorate. A lot of folks have gotten misinformed because apparently certain media outlets don't know the difference between a grad student and a postdoc. So credit where credit is due, she's a doctor. But she's not THE Doctor. Probably.

Because I am a shameless wretch, have a link to my costume contest entry - the Mistcorn! It's every bit as terrible and amazing as the title makes it look. I won a Judge's Choice award. There's an outside chance I actually deserved it. https://www.facebook.com/rosemary.williams.33449/posts/1014614785409184?notif_id=1556842180211681&notif_t=feedback_reaction_generic (Note this does lead you to my Facebook. Few of my posts are public like this one is. I must know you pretty well to accept a friend request, and I will not accept such requests at all from minors.)

I totally read this wrong the first time and missed the "not" and found myself thinking, "Well, there are lots of ways. Most of them I don't recommend." But no, you are much more sensible than my tired brain was registering. xD

No! None of you have lost! You're just scoring more points! GO FORTH UNTO THE INTERNET AND WREAK CALVINBALL HAVOC

It's from the cartoon strip Calvin & Hobbes. It's a ball game whose major hallmark is you make the rules up as you go. I would also like to point out that every time someone tries to tell you they've lost The Game, you automatically score 15 indelible points. I'm Slytherclaw, so I can get behind this message, too.

Alas no TBH though I can't even find any book signings on PCC's online schedule.

Y'all are behind the times. Almost two years ago, I declared that The Game shall henceforth be Calvinball. *beans @Ink with a nerf football* "Home run! 5,000 points for me, and 10 points to Slytherin!"

The last several months in review: We lost Leia in July. Many of you may remember the occasional pictures I would post of my sweet little dachshund. Cutting for potentially upsetting details: I did write a thing afterwards to help me work through my grief. It's bittersweet and full of feels, and you can read it here: We are not a house that can remain dogless for terribly long, though. In September we rescued a bonded pair from a local dachshund rescue. Bozley - a chiweenie (dachshund/chihuahua mix) who is equal parts adorable and nervous. He enjoys snuggling, warbling in anticipation of breakfast/dinner, and eating chocolate. (That last one earned him an overnight stay at the ER vet.) No word yet on whether he's secretly coaching a trio of female superspies, but we're keeping our eyes open. Cooper - a long-haired dachshund. Super chill about just about everything, though we're not sure how much of that is his base personality and how much is the medication he's on for his epilepsy. Snores. Demands attention at inopportune times. Is Bozley's emotional support dog. In non-dog related news: I am no longer employed by Redacted, Inc. I know you are all so disappointed. But here's the basics: In October, my grandboss was "let go" along with a few other people close to retirement. They all got sweet severance packages, and by all accounts they're all doing fine. We who remained behind...not so much. Grandboss was replaced by a human who will henceforth be known as Professor Umbridge. I do not give this moniker lightly. She swept in, turned our entire service center upside down, and took my team (who specializes in, say, UFO services) and put them primarily on general cryptid duties. Not that anyone else could handle the UFOs, of course, they just got neglected like crazy for several months. Guys, I busted my tail trying to help my team keep up, but it was like bailing out the Titanic with a sieve. I was stressed as rust. My team was stressed as rust. My boss was stressed as rust. We were all stressed, frustrated, and generally miserable. And I was getting criticized for my team's "bad attitude" and basically treated as though being stressed was some sort of personal problem, and got corporate buzzwords tossed at us with a cheery, condescending tone that made me want to toss Umbridge to the nearest chupacabra. I was not happy. Then they announced a big management reorganization. They redesigned the entire command structure, sweeping out all of the existing positions and replacing them with all new ones. That anyone who wanted to stay around had to then apply for. But no, we weren't having to re-apply for our jobs, no, of course not, perish the thought! I declined to re-apply for my job. The upshot is: I have severance and a paycheck up through the end of May. I am job-searching and thoroughly enjoying the time I have at home right now. The dogs are delighted. James and I are going on vacation next week. I'm working on my She-Ra costume. In the week I have been off of work, I have felt my creative spark starting to come back. I think I'm ready to start writing again. ...you know, just as soon as convention season is over, because I'm chairing a convention that happens in two months and I still have SO MUCH TO DO.

Okay, so this is a thing that I wrote over the summer while I was coping with the loss of a beloved pet. I had this dog for almost the entirety of her sixteen years of life; losing her hit me and my husband hard. If you read this, expect to have feels. You can't say I didn't warn you. ____________________________________________________________ The rapping of a knock on the door disturbed her reading. She didn’t often get visitors in her little house in the Suburb of the Dead. Lots of letters, though, sometimes delivered in delightfully odd ways. Slipped in through the windows, delivered by woodland animals. One day a stack had just appeared in her breadbox. She wasn’t even sure why she had a breadbox, but it had opened up that morning and letters had spilled out. Everyone knew she was here, and nobody wanted to bother her, but they couldn’t resist the opportunity for correspondence. She answered each of them, of course. There was no lack of time to do so. Many people occupied the City of the Dead. It was a place of waiting; few people stayed here forever. There was something beyond this, she knew, but like the rest she wasn’t ready to move on just yet. There were people back home she was waiting for, of both the two- and four-legged variety. Still, breadboxes and letters in the afterlife. Who would have expected? The knocking rang out again, polite and patient. She set her book aside and rose, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of the Rainbow Bridge out the huge plate window through the back of her house. That wouldn’t be Gary at the door, would it? He wasn’t that old yet. No...no, of course not. He’d have come running straight over the bridge and stuck his nose and tongue on the window until she let him in, assuming she hadn’t gotten a note letting her know he was coming. Her home was near the bridge by design; some parts of the City where tightly packed, but her neighborhood was quieter, more spread out. She’d almost immediately started calling it the Suburb of the Dead. It amused her. She shook her head and glided (literally; physics didn’t matter in the afterlife) smoothly over to the door, swinging it open. The man on the other side she recognized as one of the caretakers of the Rainbow Bridge denizens; pets who were waiting for their people to arrive. He was of medium build and bronze skin, and so far as she knew was one of the few who had been in the City for centuries, possibly longer. But what was notable about him today was that in his arms was a fluffy red dachshund with black-tipped ears. “Well, good afternoon, Sheneh. What brings you here?” She glanced down at the creature in his arms. It gazed up at her with clear brown eyes that burrowed into her soul. Then for a moment those eyes clouded with cataracts, red muzzle became dotted with white, before abruptly snapping back to youth again. “My small charge, I’m afraid,” he said with a sad little smile. “She seems to be having some trouble adjusting.” She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize that ever happened. The dogs always seem to have the best time, running and playing all over the hills near the bridge.” Sheneh sighed. “She’s been here for over two weeks now. Poor little thing has been doing nothing but lying next to the bridge, watching and waiting. She vastly prefers the company of humans to that of other dogs. She’s friendly enough to them, but even the dogs and cat she knows well, she won’t stay with.” He cast her an apologetic look. “It happens sometimes. Some animals are just too closely bonded to their humans; they’d lie there and pine until the day their people came for them if we let them. But it’s not good for them, and her people are still young enough we’re not likely to see them for decades yet. In situations like this, they do better if we can place them with a human soul until their people arrive.” “Like pet fostering back on Earth.” “On a somewhat longer scale, yes.” Curious, she stretched a hand out to the little dog. She was rewarded with a tentative sniff and a polite lick, but it didn’t seem as if the dog’s heart was in it. There was another time flash, a sudden appearance of advanced canine age, then back. “What is…?” “She hasn’t let go of being alive quite yet. The effects will wear off eventually, but it’s a side effect of not wanting to leave her people.” “I see.” He shifted the weight of the dog in his arms. “So I thought perhaps I’d ask if you would be willing to foster her.” That was interesting. “Why me?” “Well…you’ve registered as intending to stay at least until your daughter arrives, so you’re going to be around quite long enough. And your cottage is near the Rainbow Bridge, so she can see it and reassure herself that she won’t miss when they finally do arrive. Once she’s risen out of her funk, I think you’ll find that she’s quite the feisty, independent little girl. I believe you’ll get along famously.” He bent down to set the dog down on the doorstep. She kneeled down as well, offering her hand once again. This time she was rewarded with a slight tail wag with the lick. The little dog’s fur was amazingly soft under her fingers. “What’s the catch?” He chuckled. “No catch. Though you should play her music now and then. I’m given to understand that she’s exceptionally fond of the piano. Oh...” His eyes twinkled. “And there’s one more thing you should know: her name. It’s Leia.” A full-throated laugh bubbled up out of Carrie’s throat. She stood up to her full height and looked him in the eye. “You sneaky bastard.” “It seemed appropriate, no?” The dachshund – Leia – appeared to decide all on her own that she had been invited in to stay. She trotted past Carrie’s ankles and into the house, hopping up onto the couch as if she belonged there. Her ears perked forward and she tilted her head slightly. “All right, all right you can stay.” Carrie shook her head and fixed Sheneh with a calculating look. “Mom put you up to this, didn’t she?” He shrugged. “It was my idea; she merely encouraged me. I really do appreciate it, though, Ms. Fisher. I think she’ll be much happier waiting here than alone. But I won’t take up any more of your time.” With another nodding bow, he took his leave. Carrie clicked the door shut, turning to look at the fluffy creature now royally lounged on her couch. “Well, I guess it’s you and me now, kid, for a while at least. Let’s see if I can graduate you from princess to general.” She glanced over at the coffee table and blinked. “Where did that remote control helicopter come from?”

I know, I know. I swear, getting promoted to management was the worst thing ever for my writing; it's hard to make myself sit down at write when I get home when I'm just emotionally exhausted from being all supervisory all day. But! That is also at an end! I should...probably catch up with Random Stuff and give y'all an update post, because boy howdy have things gone crazy the last 6 months.

The OTHER thing I want to do this spring/summer - finally finish the final revision draft of my dang Era II fanfic. >.>