Tag: Worldbuilding

The Puppet Masters (#4 Magic & Sanderson’s Laws)

The-Well-of-AscensionBrandon Sanderson has been bunkered down on the frontlines of the contemporary fantasy and science fiction industry over a decade now.  Between his acclaimed Mistborn and Stormlight Archives series, as well as being selected to complete the late Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, Sanderson has consistently proven his ability to create powerful tales of magic and wonder. While Sanderson has been teaching university-level courses on writing contemplative fiction for years now (at BYU, his alma mater), there is one facet of his process which he talks about more than most else.  It is his forte, both self-proclaimed and evidenced by the opinions of fans and critics alike: magic systems.

Sanderson’s ability to build a world is superb, and his utilitarian approach to magic is redefining crowd expectations for the fantasy genre. I should clarify before we continue, ‘magic system’ is a universally accepted, catch-all term for nearly any supernatural or super-scientific element within a story.  A ‘magic system’ is not exclusively about ‘magic.’ Advanced technology, superpowers, and various other forms of otherworldly abilities can all fall under ‘magic’ in this sense, as they are things which transcend natural human power.

Please keep that in mind as we continue.  In addition, many of Sanderson’s lectures can be viewed online. Here is a link to the one which contains most of what we will be discussing.

(Note: Brandon is aware that the names of these laws sound pretentious. They were originally for his own reference and when people started asking him about his rules for making magic, the names just kind of stuck.  It’s kind of an ongoing joke now.)

Sanderson’s First Law:

“Your ability to solve problems with magic in a satisfying way is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.”

Foreshadowing is always important.  Regarding the first law, even more so. If you are going to have a harder magic system (which is to say, one with more rules and limitations), it is important you help the reader understand the parameters of the magic before you start doing crazy things with it. Those crazy things need to be explainable within the context of your magic’s boundaries. If a character has the superhuman ability to lift a maximum of one-thousand pounds and no more, you can’t have them stop a bullet train when it’s about to hit somebody.  The momentum generated by a bullet train would be too great for that limitation to deal with. That breaks the rules of your own magic system and is thus an unsatisfying answer to the problem.

That word ‘satisfying’ is important.  Not only must you be consistent with the science and boundaries of your magic, but you should always strive to be imaginative, too.  There is rarely only one way to solve any given problem.  Be mindful of how your magic can interact with the environment and other characters involved, if any.

Sanderson’s Second Law:

“Flaws are more interesting than powers.”

We aren’t talking about character flaws, but flaws in the magic system itself.  Rather, the specifics of the boundaries and limitations.  Do you have a character who can summon an ancient fire beast to fight at their side?  That’s cool…but what’s the catch?  The catch is usually the best part.  A simple and common answer is that it drains the summoner of energy or vitality, but there are others with more unique answers.

Ask: what is the cost?  Is it economic? Moral? Emotional? Mental?

The author Brent Weeks has a specific element in one of his magic systems which allows for characters to gain immortality. However, and the main character learns this tidbit of information a little too late, but every time you die, your resurrection costs the life of one of the people you love the most.  Or in the Japanese manga, Naruto, the main character has access to a tremendous well of inner power that allows him to conquer most obtacles…but at the cost of going into a berserker-state, breaking down his mind, tearing apart his body, and risking harm to anyone nearby regardless of whether they’re friend or foe.  Such a power as that is not one you want to throw around without immense consideration.

Is the magic needed for travel? Is it needed to keep society moving? If possible, try to make the magic imperative to life in more ways than as a means to destruction.  Far too many series are victim to that tendency.

Also, these boundaries are obviously under your complete jurisdiction, but unless you are going for a certain tone, it’s wise not to go too far off the deep end.  Teleportation is cool, but it’s kind of weird if you can only teleport when standing on one foot.  You can turn into an animal only when you have a marble in your mouth? Saying Hitler’s name three times allows you to turn invisible?

Please don’t be too weird.  Stuff like that is funny for only a brief time and quickly grows old.

Sanderson’s Third Law

“Go deeper into magic, instead of wider.”

Here’s a problem many superhero stories such as X-men fall into.  There are so many powers that none of them get any particular attention, at least not in a timely manner.  Hollywood and amateur writers alike think it is more interesting to have this grandiose arsenal of neat abilities in the cast of characters, but they keep the utility of all these abilities at surface-level.  They have fallen into the misconception that more means better.

But if Sanderson’s success stands for anything, it’s that more certainly does not always mean better.

Sanderson’s 0th Law

“Always err on the side of awesome.”

The name of this one is kind of a trade joke, but the premise is quite simple.  Sure, the boundaries and rules can allow for creativity in your writing and story-crafting, but in the end this is science-fiction and fantasy.  The granddaddy of all laws is that whatever you do, make it cool.  We are operating within a field of writing that has greater access to the manipulation of the universe than any other genre.  If you have an awesome idea and can build your system around that idea to make it feasible, then by all means, make it work.  Don’t force something that isn’t there, but if it’s possible, do your best to bring that awesomeness to life on the page.  You’ll love it, and the readers will probably be just as awed as you were when the idea first crossed your mind.

“Hymni’s Broken Gift” – An Exercise in Myth-Crafting

Not in the beginning, but very soon after, when the gods set to discover their place in our scheme of lights, one was burdened with shouldering the color black.  Hymni would have settled for nearly any color.  He would not have complained about blue, which Usiris had requested in a hurry.  Green was not his favorite, but he would have taken it if Qitom had not already.  Perhaps red was a little rough, but it was passionate.  He would have liked red.

But more than any of these, Hymni had hoped to be the god of white.  Instead, that privilege went to the gentle-hearted Ririka.  Hymni did not hate Ririka, but he hated that she was gifted white, and he was not.

Yet, the Greatest of Them saw fit for Hymni to be the herald of black.  What might he do with such a bitter color, he thought?  In time, he figured he could find his way around the dilemma.

Because of Hymni, we now have a color for infection.  We have something strong and evident for scripting.  We have any of several hard minerals, stones, and metals with which to build our societies.  Desperately, Hymni found more ways to use his color for beauty.  The core of our eyes, the endless adventures of the wandering night sky.  He tried, but did not meet satisfaction.

White shine filled the eyes of men, glowing with love and admiration. White stars burned through his blanket of night.  Ririka meant nothing cruel of it, she just knew the best ways to find beauty in her color.  Hymni’s black helped accentuate her wonders.

That was all well and good, but Hymni wanted more.

So for decades, we had the weeping ash fall of Hymni’s tears.  The whole world gone black in the depths of Hymni’s jealousy and sorrow.  Of course, we know that black can be just as beautiful as any other color, but Hymni did not think as such.  To him, it was a color for evil, a color meant to be overcome by its vibrant kindred of red, gold, blue, silver, white.  But if mankind had not detested the color before, it had begun to now.  Black killed our plants, coated the land in waves and mounts so thick we could hardly travel from one place to another.  It blotted out the sun, it drove away the light.  It made us hate Hymni, and so reflected the way he’d come to see himself.

Hymni had never felt a craving for violence before, but there it was, piece by piece, swelling inside of his heart.  A strange tumbling captured his gut, curled his fingers, clenched his chest.  He did not long to live the rest of his immortality as the dreadful spring from which all blackness sprang.  He did not wish to live in sorrow, a subject to the hatred of others.

Gods, it seemed, were not immune to the treacherous whims of anger.  In his hour of wrath, Hymni sought out Ririka and struck her down, thinking somehow he might be able steal her white.  Perhaps then he would be loved like Ririka was loved.  She was fragile and broke easily.  He learned there was red inside of her, which he found odd.  Was there red inside of him, too?

But Ririka, she died slowly.  What’s more, and Hymni found this hauntingly curious, she wore the greatest of tender smiles on her lips, even as red pooled at her side where he rent her open.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped.  “I am sorry, Hymni.”

Words scattered from Hymni’s tongue, leaving him dry and abandoned.  He watched the girl, observed her slipping away.

“I’m sorry you have not felt loved for so long.”  She coughed, and the red came out from there, too.

“I,” Hymni said, “I only wanted your color.  It’s beautiful.  It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Her nod was a whisper of the body, hardly existing, hardly perceived.  “You may have my color, Hymni.  I hope you find happiness with it.”

At this, the darling goddess passed into a realm unknown and uncertain even to their kind.  Only now, with the trace remaining light banished from her body, did Hymni realize what he had done, and with the understanding came a new sort of sorrow.

As he’d wished, the color we call white fell into his hands.  But somehow, it did not make him feel any more loved.  The joy he’d anticipated, the sense of peace, they did not come.  No, in their stead, he was met only with grief.  He had brought about the end of one of his own, and she had gone so far as to apologize for his actions?

Hymni could not hold himself upright.  He came crashing to his knees before Ririka’s soul-empty shape, smile still against her cheeks.  Taking her body into his arms, Hymni wailed every misery old and young.  He did not care for the red stains against his body.  He did not care for black, nor white, both now under his dominion.  He cared only for the girl, taken unjustly.  Taken by his selfishness.

Angry in a new way, Hymni expelled the undying ash-storms from the sky.  He pushed the ash into corners and pockets of the world where it belonged, places where fire churned in the air.  Then, the world began to fill with tears of white.  Hymni’s despair took on such great lengths that it superseded his world and made its way into our own.  First it started slowly, then it began to build.  One flake became two, which with time became thousands, and then millions and billions.

Infinite white came down all across the world, some sort of request of forgiveness or atonement to a girl who was no longer there.  Where black ash had brought difficulty and strife to men, this new ash, something we’d later come to understand was not ash at all, had brought comfort and beauty.  In time, we’d call it snow, and it would identify entire seasons of our world.

Now, it stands as the penance of a lonely god who continues to grieve for the foolishness of one mistake.  It is a promise, I think, that Hymni would try his best to care for us in Ririka’s place.  It is a statement of hope, that we all have an opportunity to forgive ourselves.

I do hope Hymni begins to love himself the way we love him for giving us this snow, this most perfect of gifts.  For it is the opinion of no man, that one who can create something so beautiful, could possess a heart worth hating.

I do hope Hymni finds the peace he so longed to find, as all of us do.