Brandon Sanderson (ENTP)
Brandon Sanderson
Type:Â ENTP
 Profession: Author
Born:Â 1975 (age 41)
Generation:Â Gen X
Nationality:Â American





Interviews
Interviews are useful for familiarizing yourself with the visual and temperamental aspects of different types. Â Notice Brandon’s facial expressions, eye movements, posture, mannerisms, speech patterns, and responses to others. Â Over time, you will recognize similar patterns in other ENTPs.
Work
Although not as immediately apparent as in interviews, a person’s type shines through in the work they create as well. Â Notice the aesthetic, themes, and approach Brandon uses in his writing. Â What light can this shed on the mind of ENTPs in general?

I consider myself to be a man of principle. But, what man does not? Even the cutthroat, I have noticed, considers his actions âmoralâ after a fashion.
Perhaps another person, reading of my life, would name me a religious tyrant. He could call me arrogant. What is to make that manâs opinion any less valid than my own?
I guess it all comes down to one fact: In the end, Iâm the one with the armies.
Ash fell from the sky.
Vin watched the downy flakes drift through the air. Leisurely. Careless. Free. The puffs of soot fell like black snowflakes, descending upon the dark city of Luthadel. They drifted in corners, blowing in the breeze and curling in tiny whirlwinds over the cobblestones. They seemed so uncaring. What would that be like?
Vin sat quietly in one of the crewâs watch-holesâa hidden alcove built into the bricks on the side of the safehouse. From within it, a crewmember could watch the street for signs of danger. Vin wasnât on dutyâthe watch-hole was simply one of the few places where she could find solitude.
And Vin liked solitude. When youâre alone, no one can betray you. Reenâs words. Her brother had taught her so many things, then had reinforced them by doing what heâd always promised he wouldâby betraying her himself. Itâs the only way youâll learn. Anyone will betray you, Vin. Anyone.
The ash continued to fall. Sometimes, Vin imagined she was like the ash, or the wind, or the mist itself. A thing without thought, capable of simply being, not thinking, caring, or hurting. Then she could be . . . free.
She heard a shuffling a short distance away, then the trap door at the back of the small chamber snapped open.
âVin!â Ulef said, sticking his head into the room. âThere you are! Camonâs been searching for you for a half hour.â
Thatâs kind of why I hid in the first place.
âYou should get going,â Ulef said. âThe jobâs almost ready to begin.â
Ulef was a gangly boy. Nice, after his own fashionânaive, if one who had grown up in the underworld could ever really be called ânaive.â Of course, that didnât mean he wouldnât betray her. Betrayal had nothing to do with friendshipâit was a simple fact of survival. Life was harsh on the streets, and if a skaa thief wanted to keep from being caught and executed, he had to be practical.
And ruthlessness was the very most practical of emotions. Another of Reenâs sayings.
âWell?â Ulef asked. âYou should go. Camonâs mad.â
When is he not? However, Vin nodded, scrambling out of the crampedâyet comfortingâconfines of the watch-hole. She brushed past Ulef and hopped out of the trap door, moving into a run-down pantry. The room was one of many at the back of the store that served as a front for the safehouse. The crewâs lair itself was hidden in a tunneled stone cavern beneath the building.
She left the building through a back door, Ulef trailing behind her. The job would happen a few blocks away, in a richer section of town. It was an intricate jobâone of the most complex Vin had ever seen. Assuming Camon wasnât caught, the payoff would be great indeed. If he was caught. . . . Well, scamming noblemen and obligators was a very dangerous professionâbut it certainly beat working in the forges or the textile mills.
Vin exited the alleyway, moving out onto a dark, tenement-lined street in one of the cityâs many skaa slums. Skaa too sick to work lay huddled in corners and gutters, soot drifting around them. Vin kept her head down and pulled up her cloakâs hood against the still-falling flakes.
Free. No, Iâll never be free. Reen made certain of that when he left.



   “Kalak rounded a rocky stone ridge and stumbled to a stop before the body of a dying thunderclast. The enormous stone beast lay on its side, riblike protrusions from its chest broken and cracked. The monstrosity was vaguely skeletal in shape, with unnaturally long limbs that sprouted from granite shoulders. The eyes were deep red spots on the arrowhead face, as if created by a fire burning deep within the stone. They faded.”
  “The Shaod, it was called. The Transformation. It struck randomlyâusually at night, during the mysterious hours when life slowed to rest. The Shaod could take beggar, craftsÂman, nobleman, or warrior. When it came, the fortunate personâs life ended and began anew; he would discard his old, mundane existence, and move to Elantris. Elantris, where he could live in bliss, rule in wisdom, and be worshipped for eternity.”
  “Iâd spent most of the last decade among people like them, working at a place we simply called the Factory. Part orphanage, part school, it was mostly a way to exploit children for free labor. At least the Factory had given me a room and food for the better part of ten years. That had been way better than living on the street, and I hadnât minded for one moment working for my food. Child labor laws were relics of a time when people could care about such things.”
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