Peter V. Brett

Ok, I know that for many of you it’s not a big deal. But it was for me. I am talking about me getting to know Peter V. Brett. There are people that admire someone else’s voice, or beauty, or—political, physical, etc.—power. I don’t. I admire people with great creativity, people able to control your mind for indeterminate number of hours while you surrender to their will and read what they write, people who write without letting themselves be biased by someone else’s ideas (It is harder than it sounds). Indeed I mostly admire storytellers, and one of them is Peter V. Brett. And yep, this post’s humble writer got to talk to him.

It’s curious how everything becomes of second importance when you really desire something. Let me be clearer. I was in Paris (YEAH IN FUCK’N AWESOME PARIS!!!) and I could have spent the whole Sunday with my brothers whom I get to see around 2 weeks per year, yet I decided to go to the middle of eastern France (Épinal to be precise) to be able to cross some sentences with Peat (yep I’m using his to-friends-only vocative).

But there’s more. Hung-over and all, there I was on the 8.20 TGV to Nancy to have some time in the fantasy writer’s convention Les Imaginales. It was mother’s day in France, and some human being—for god knows what reasons—decided that the best gift to his ma was to end his/her existence by throwing him/herself against the 300+ km/h-travelling train. I’ve got to admit that I was to quick to be angry at that poor bastard soul and suggest to every suicide-committer to buy 3 bottles of Valium and do it quietly at home, but my opinions have by now somehow changed. I don’t want to extend here the motives about suicide because exceeds the scope of the post and because I’ve already talked about it with storyteller Peat and translator Hélène ;-) The point here is that due to that Accident de personne I was delayed for 3 hours.

Thus my time in Les Imaginales was notably shrunk. At 15.00 I was close to the turning point. With still 4 hours to my work place and 5 to my succor place in Zürich I had the decision of staying for the night in Épinal or continue my way home and NOT meet Peter. Since I really wanted to at least chat with him I decided do it Arlen’s way (i.e. Forward, always forward). Let me summarize the consequences. I had to wake up the next morning at 4.30 and not to mention the opportunity cost of letting Paris behind, but with those consequences I can live; what people want to hear are the costs in Pesos or in this case in Euros.

The original way-back ticket was 54€ was non-refundable and therefore by now lost.

The new ticket (that assassin TGV) was the last-minute abusive fare of 108€

The book I wanted him to sign was 15€ (the books I read are by now lent to some friend) but those do not count because and the edition of L’Or de Brayan it’s fantastic and because… well… it’s a Peter V. Brett book.

The hotel night was 57€. That makes an extra 165€ of my original weekend in Paris.

But let me tell you something. It was worth every centime, I would gladly pay it again to meet an author as Mr. Brett.

So what’s my impression of him? He’s just awesome. I dunno... I was half-expecting someone more conceited, someone who would brag about his accomplishments, a show-off. But luckily he’s the opposite of that, he’s self aware, down-to-earth, polite, and I could get a glimpse of how a loving father he is. He has become indeed a puissant influence and role-model.

Oh! I forgot to mention cool, he has a kick-ass tattoo in his arm, if you didn’t know already I want to get one as well, of course not a sword like his (I admire the guy but c’mon there are limits) but I found appropriate the reasons he gave for his tattoo; in my opinion motivations not strong enough for inking your skin but valid nevertheless.

On the contrary, I believe his impression of me was not at all what I wanted to project. That happens to me a lot because of my personality (which I will discuss some other time), especially while addressing people my subconscious considers as hierarchically superior. Anyway It’s not like we will become buddies anytime soon so I’ll just convince myself that I didn’t make a fool of myself those couple of times (like raising my hand à la Hermione to ask about his sword tatoo, among other may-be-dumb things). But just to wrap everything up I ended up having a really pleasant afternoon.

And I got to chat with Peat and you didn’t, ha ha!

Ps. Brandon Sanderson was as well in the convention, and though I also admire him, I also believe his writing to be a little biased by Bandon’s own religion life experience; and consequently I did not make a great effort to talk to him.