The Isochronism

"Why do we tell stories?" You are all readers, so you've all undoubtedly read countless books in your lifetime. Books that you enjoyed, books that you loved, and... books that you've forgotten. I wish those groups never overlapped, but when I was looking back on my reading history the other day I ran into tons of books that I remember enjoying, but are doomed to forever be forgotten. And yet every once in a while a story comes along that changes you. A story that means so much, something so incredibly personal, that it just won't let you go. Those are the stories we remember. Five days ago, I finished reading the ebook files for Yumi and the Nightmare Painter. I've never forgotten a book in five days, so it may not mean that much when I tell you that Yumi and the Nightmare Painter is a story I remember, so I'll say this instead: Yumi and the Nightmare Painter was one of the most satisfying journeys Brandon Sanderson has ever taken me on. It's not just a book I liked reading, it's a book I want to think about. It's beautiful. Every part of that story had me hanging on the interactions between those two main characters, Yumi and Painter. Every quiet moment, every conversation, had me loving these two characters. But though this book was a masterpiece of character development, and a study on how to write a romance that feels believable, there was something more to the book, something that made me want to remember it forever. To figure out what it is, I think we should start with the ending. (So if you haven't read it I honestly don't know what you're doing here...) I know there are people on the Shard and otherwise on the internet who will say that the ending of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter is unrealistic, and would have wanted it to end with Yumi's death. I know your type, those people who hate happiness and just want an ending that proves that stories are sometimes sad, and an ending that goes against the normal "happy ending" cliche. (I'm talking to you, Wit. And obviously Dan Wells, but that goes without saying.) There will be others among you that dislike the ending because it's too much of a fake out, making some people (but definitely not me, because I never feel emotions, so don't be ridiculous) burst into tears, just to burst into tears again when it turns out that Yumi is actually alive. (Again, not me.) So my question is: What's the point? Why did Brandon decide on this fake-out ending? Was it a simple "Gotcha, you thought she was dead, but turns out you're wrong!" Or was there more to it? I've always thought that the last line of a book should be twice as significant as the first. The first line, for all intents and purposes, is just clickbait. Make people intrigued, make them want to know more, etc. But the last line is what readers remember. The final tone. That last line, be it dialogue or narration, decides if the ending is happy or sad. I think it's no coincidence that the last thing Yumi says in the book is a plea to Painter. "Remember me." Those two words killed me. They broke my heart, right along with Painter's. And then I wanted to throw the book across the room when the next chapter was an epilogue. And the only question I could ask myself is: "What was the point?" My thoughts aligned perfectly with Wit's question in the epilogue. The same question I began this essay with. "Why do we tell stories?" I have finished five complete stories and started many others, but recently I've been feeling more burned out then I ever have before. I just finished writing my greatest book yet, and before revising it I decided to dive into the sequel. I've never had to write a sequel before, and suffice it to say it's the hardest book I've ever written. I wonder daily: "Will I ever finish this book? Or will it all go to waste. Am I supposed to be a writer? Because a writer could write a sequel..." And it goes on and on. The pressure feels incredible, because now for the first time in my life there are people counting on me. And so I keep asking myself the same question. What is the point? Why am I wasting hours upon hours writing stories, when I don't know if I'm a good enough writer for those stories to ever be seen? Why do these stories mean so much to me? I'm not writing for the money, and I hope I'm not writing in pursuit of fame, so why do I tell stories? Why do I spend hours writing essays that are probably only ever going to mean something to me? It wasn't until I read Yumi and the Nightmare Painter that I discovered the answer to this question. I write stories to remember, and just as importantly I write stories to be remembered. That may be equally selfish as writing for the purpose of becoming famous, but I want to be clear, it's not the same. I don't write stories to be known, I write stories to be remembered. It's not about having a crowd of admirers, it's a plea as simple and intimate as Yumi's plea to Painter. Remember me. And so perhaps Wit's question in the epilogue of the book could be restated, as "Why do we remember?" And that's a question which is much more complex, and much more interesting to me as a reader, and a writer. That's the question that I feel like the book is asking. What is the point of memories? "There's an old joke that mentions lost items always being in the last place you look for them. It doesn't say anything about memories though. Those, once lost, are the sort of things you don't even know to look for." As a society I fear we are often told to forget. Some people discourage the teaching of parts of history, because of the terrible things people did in the past. Governments cover past sins, because they don't want people to remember their mistakes. The same is true for the lies families tell about their ancestors. And perhaps the biggest and most crushing lie that I've heard people tell is the concept of "moving on." To many people all you have to do to move on is forget the past. Whether it be tragedy or bliss, no good comes from "dwelling on it" now. And... this is a lie that is so easy to believe that for years I told it to myself. I lost someone I loved, and for the longest time the easiest path was to pretend I'd never loved her in the first place. I couldn't remember her because it was too painful, so I told myself that I'd "moved on." In reality, I had forgotten. Why do we remember, when all memory brings, is pain? Maybe we all fondly remember brighter days, days when we were happy. And now we only wish our life could compare. What is the point? I suspect that Brandon Sanderson knew exactly what he was doing with the ending of Yumi and the Nightmare painter, because it's right where the story is at its most heartbreaking that he asks the most important question. And this entire beautiful book is the answer. It's not about the plot. Stories were never about events, they're about people. That's what separates a story I'll remember from one I'll never think about again. People are worth remembering. It was the characters that made Brandon Sanderson's third secret project memorable. It was Yumi, and her plea to remember. It was Painter, not giving up on her. But for him, it's more than remembering her. When bringing her back he tells her "I know you." I don't think a lot of people realize what "moving on" really is. It's not about forgetting the past, it's about remembering it. Knowing it. Not in the way you remember a painful event, but in the way you remember a great story. Once again in the words of our narrator wit, “Memory is often our only connection to who we used to be. Memories are fossils, the bones left by dead versions of ourselves. [...] Enjoy memories, yes, but don’t be a slave to who you wish you once had been. Those memories aren’t alive. You are.” Yumi thought she wanted to be remembered, but in reality she wanted to be known. That's what brought her back, not someone who remembered her but someone who knew her. Memories are snapshots, fossils, images of people we'll never really know. But stories? Those are something so much greater. They're somehow alive, even if the people inside them never will be. We all have our own story to tell. Every human on earth has a story. This essay is my last plea to you, remember. It's not about remembering me, who is nothing more than a profile picture to most of you, it's about remembering your own story. And that my friends is the answer to Wit's question. That's why we tell stories. Because every story is about a person who deserves to be known. And when I remember a masterpiece like Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, perhaps I'm really remembering my own story. And that's why it means so much to me. We don't tell stories for the endings, happy or sad, we don't tell stories for the plot, we tell them because that's how we remember, in a way that can actually change us. Even when the story was at its most heartbreaking, Yumi's story was worth telling. And even when it's at its weakest, your story is too. Thank you all, for taking the time to read the ramblings of a tired author, if you have any thoughts I'd love to hear them. I know it's unusual for people to post topics like this, but I've always been fascinated by themes, and it's rare that that aspect of a book is discussed. I love you guys, I hope you all have a great life.

Just wanted to say, I go taught a very specific lesson this week by God. It's not too late. It's never too late. It's not too late to bear your testimony, even if everyone else has already spoken. It's not too late to feel the spirit or experience repentance. It's not too late to repair broken barriers, and it's not too late to start again. It's never too late. Try one more time. Hope one more time. You still have a chance to change your life, and you still have a chance to change the world. You can start again. Because of Him. You're not too far gone. It's not too late.

I think this may be the most enjoyable Brandon book I've ever read. Not the best mind you, but the most enjoyable. For me personally. I love this book. Maybe sometime I'll have time to write my full thoughts.

Oh I remember that!

Thank you so much, it really feels good to hear that it was worth writing. I also love what you said about Paul getting what he wants in the end. Due to the length of the essay, I didn't include another of my favorite quotes, which says at the end "We say that Maud'Dib has gone to walk in a land without footprints." In fremen culture, footprints are a guide to the future. If you want to find other fremen, or water, or anything else, you follow the footprints of those that came before you. In this "land without footprints" paul gets the thing that Alia could never have. He gets to be forgotten. He gets to walk without leaving behind an image that nobody can fully understand. I think it's interesting that in today's world we're more interested in "footprints" then we are in stories. We want to see this image of people, good or bad, what they did for the world, what they left behind, but so commonly we forget that we know nothing about who they truly are. We see irredeemable villains instead of people, and infalible heros instead of mortals. We condemn our ancestors for things they did without even knowing they were wrong, and someday we will be condemned too for the footprints we leave behind. There are times when I wish we could all have the luxury of walking in a land without footprints.

Wøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøøw this isn't silly at all!

That was the hope, thank you for taking the time to read that!

I am a forescout apparently, whatever that is.

"We have eternity, beloved." I've heard so many people talk about the two kinds of writers, that my instinct is to instantly tune them out once they begin to do so, so I'm going to ask you all to stick with me for a second regardless. There are discovery writers, (like Dan Wells) and outliners (like Brandon Sanderson.) The discovery writers write books about unique and realistic characters, each of which boldly forges their own story. Outliners write beautifully structured stories with strong themes and epic endings. Both styles of writing have merit, but the point of this isn't to talk about writing. The interesting thing about these two categories, is that they don't just belong to writers. In fact, they belong to all of us. Let's back up. I recently finished one of the greatest books I've ever read. It was the second part of a two part epic, and if nothing else I hope I can convince you by the end of this to pick up that book. The book is "Dune: Messiah." It was a masterpiece. I enjoyed reading it, and I enjoyed the exploration of the characters and the intricate plot, but since I finished that book I haven't been able to get it out of my head. Its deep themes and explorations of layered characters astounded me in a way nothing has for a very long time. And yet... my opinion is not the most common one. Dune will always be one of the most influential books in science fiction history. An epic that has been cited multiple times as the best selling Science Fiction novel, and a novel called by many as the greatest book of all time. Unfortunately, its sequel, Dune: Messiah will never be as widely loved. In the Forward to Dune: Messiah, Brian Herbert recounts the story of the book’s early failure. Before being published, it ran in installments in the science fiction magazine Galaxy. Dune Messiah was named “disappointment of the year,” and was rejected by multiple publishers who said their readers wanted stories about heroes accomplishing great feats, he said, not stories of protagonists with “clay feet.” I've spent the last weeks wondering why this book left such a big effect on me, while failing to impress so many others. Perhaps it's because Dune: Messiah is a tragedy, about a hero's fall into corruption. Perhaps it's because the role model everyone wanted to admire was proven to be just as human as the rest of us. Perhaps those early readers just couldn't identify with the character in this book. But I think my enjoyment all comes down to one quote, which I will remember forever. This quote, one of the last things ever said by the hero of the book, Paul Maud'Dib begins: "There are some things no man can bear." He doesn't just say these words, he knows them. He knows them because he's lost everything. Everything short of himself. But it's more than the loss that haunts him, it's the fact that he could have prevented all of it. He's an oracle, who can see the future and who knows what of the many possible timelines is most dangerous. He's seen his own fall, and he's watched everything he loves crumble. And then he spends the entire book trying to find another way, only to realize how far he would have to fall to preserve the things he loves. The emperor he replaced, a man he hated, is more like Paul than Paul ever wanted him to be. He knows the things that no man can bear. "There are some things no man can bear. I meddled in every possible future I could create, until finally, they created me." -Paul At first glance, Dune and its sequel are about the rise and fall of a god. A messiah who ascends to a throne he could never hope to bear, and is corrupted by the power he chose to take. But what if this story was never about an immortal god? What if it's not about proving that heroes don't exist, and that anyone can be corrupted? What if, instead, it's the story of a man. A mortal who makes imperfect choices when trying to create his own future. A man who could never live up to the image people made for him. A human, who fails again, and again, and again. There are two types of writers, outliners, and discovery writers, but like all stereotypes, nobody perfectly fits in to either. Every outliner has moments where they change the story on a whim, and every discovery writer has plans and ideas about the direction of the story. That's doubly true in life. Some of us are more outliners, planning our lives and thinking about our futures, while some of us lean toward discovery writing, where we live life one day at a time. I've always been an outliner, committed to making sure every detail of my books makes sense before I ever start to write them. But I'm not just an outliner in writing, I'm also an outliner in life. There was a time when I had my whole life planned out for me. I knew the person I was in love with, I knew the career I would pursue, I knew the college I would attend, and I knew that the outline for my life was flawless. At least... that's what I thought at first. But I had to believe my outline was perfect, because it was the only thing in the world that made my life worth living. And my greatest fear? "What if I'm wrong? What if my plan isn't enough? What will I have left?" And so when I faced my first heartbreak, my outline was shattered forever. I was rejected by the girl I loved. My perfect novella, submitted to a prestigious writing contest, was rejected. My college application was rejected. And I was left feeling more lost, and more lonely than I ever have before. And I knew exactly what Paul Atreides meant when he said "There are some things no man can bear." And... I'm not the only one. There are many writers in this community, so I suspect many of you know how much time and effort it takes to write a book. I've found that very few writers see hypothetical wealth and fame as a good enough incentive to actually write a book. The amount of time and effort you are forced to pour into a novel you're trying to create is astounding. And so I've never been able to write a book unless there's something deep and powerful, intimately personal, that the book means to me. I suspect that Dune: Messiah meant something just as deep to Frank Herbert, the author. Perhaps Dune was never the story of a God, but the story of a man. Not an immortal hero that could never exist, but a man that was very real. A man named Frank Herbert. Someone who made imperfect choices when trying to create his own future. A man who could never live up to the image people made for him. A human, who fails again, and again, and again. I think Frank Herbert's desperation can be summed up with another quote from Dune: Messiah, this one spoken by Paul's sister, a girl named Alia. "I didn’t want to be different," she says. "I wanted to be able to laugh, But I’m sister to an emperor that is worshiped as a God. I don't want to be part of history, I just want to be loved . . . and to love." The forward to Dune says: "After the Dune series became wildly popular, many fans began to consider Frank Herbert in a light that he had not sought and which he did not appreciate. In one description of him, he was referred to as “a guru of science fiction.” Others depicted him in heroic terms. To counter this, in remarks that were consistent with his Paul Atreides characterization, Frank Herbert told interviewers that he did not want to be considered a hero, and he sometimes said to them, with disarming humility, “I’m nobody.”" And that is the tragedy of Dune: Messiah. It's a tragedy of mortality. We all want there to be someone out there who knows what's going on. Some immortal guru who knows what to do, who we can look up to. A man like Paul Maud'Dib, or even Frank Herbert. And there is something crushing about finding out that they're just as human as we are. But Messiah's message is also a hopeful one, and it's that hope that so many people miss when reading that book. We will never be able to create a perfect future for ourselves, but the future, whatever it is, will create us. Success is more than a trophy or an award. It's more than a college admission letter. It's a process, to becoming someone you can respect. There was a time when I asked myself "What if I'm wrong? What if my perfect outline shatters? What will remain? I was wrong. I watched my perfect outline shatter, and all that remained was me. It was those failures that made me who I am today. Not someone perfect, who never questions themselves, or makes imperfect choices, but a human who I can respect. I began this essay with something Paul says to the woman he loves, telling her before her death that they have eternity. Her response, is strikingly similar to what I would have said. "You may have eternity. I have only now." Paul's response is simple. "But this is eternity." In that sense, we are all immortals. In another, we are all humans with imperfect outlines for our lives. And that is the point of Dune: Messiah. That is why this book had such a huge impact on me, and why I wanted to write this lengthy essay about the story. I know most of you won't have the time or interest to read this, but if you do I want to hear your thoughts too. I know it's rare and weird for people to post topics like this one, but I felt like I needed to write this. Dune: Messiah is the perfect example of a story done right, and I hope that that amazing book will mean something to you if you read it. And I hope that this essay of my compiled thoughts on Dune: Messiah means something to you as well, whether you've read the book or not. But even if not, I loved writing this, and if you guys are interested maybe I'll write more of these for other stories. And thank you so much for any of you who took the time to read the ramblings of a bored author. Thank you for creating a community I feel like I can talk to without being shot down. I love you guys.

Personally I just use my hover scooter (which can carry all 3) then bring the chicken back anyway cause it annoys me, and continue on my way. But you're welcome to go about it however you wish!

You don't have the votes

To tell you the truth, I stole this from someone at Dragonsteel, but it'll always be my favorite. How does Veil walk into a bar? Non-Shallan-ly.

So in bands of mourning there's a statue, and it's a guy with a spike through one eye. (They think it's the lord ruler statue, cause it's outside of the temple thing.) Do we have WoB confirmation that this is Kelsier? Are there any in-depth theories about what's going on here, beyond the obvious?

And that's how the thread died. The end. 99999999999

I love the enthusiasm, I totally agree.

I'll wholeheartedly second the whole thing. This didn't feel to me like half a movie, because you're not left wondering what's going to happen (think Loki.) This felt more like Dune part 1 (which a lot of people also call half a movie, but nobody really says it ends on a cliffhanger.) It felt complete in it's incompleteness. We end with knowing Miles is going to break out, and Gwen is gonna show up eventually, and so on and so forth. Everything is paid off in my humble opinion. That doesn't mean I'm any less anxious for number 3 though.

Cop: "You know you have the right to remain silent..."

Elend

I bet y'all are just being circumloquacious.

1711 Would you rather be left off on a terrible cliffhanger or

1. You can chose between a sandwich with twice as much sauce as you usually use, and a sandwich without sauce. Which do you eat assuming you're very hungry? 2. You have to get your fox, your chicken, and your bag of grain across a river, how do you go about it? 3. What's something you'd tell yourself if you went 24 hours back in time? 4. What's your go to milkshake flavor? 5. Have you ever considered transforming into a butterfly? If not, why not?