The Final Sundering follows unlikely allies whose separate quests collide as ancient weapons, hidden civilizations, and the truth behind the Sundering threaten their freedom. What do you hope readers take away from the characters getting to choose what kind of lives and communities they want to build?

One of the reasons I like very real characters is that I have a secret hope that people will see the world around them and maybe believe that they, as just a regular person, can make a change. We don’t have to wait for heroes. We can be that hero. Struggle is as real as dreams; contending with one can bring the other, and I believe anyone can do it.

Bear, T’az, Thervan, and the other characters often deal with ordinary concerns alongside enormous fantasy events. How important was it to keep the dialogue and relationships grounded and conversational?

It is critical to me that the huge events are almost secondary. These people have lives, friends, and families. The events define the story and the reason these characters exist, but to survive, they have to ground themselves. I’ve been on patrols in the jungle and had the oddest conversations about life and the universe with the soldiers around me.  One night, a storm caused the bank we were walking on to fail, and we all ended up sitting chest-deep in a muddy stream by a field. Lightning crashed around us. Someone started singing I Wish It Would Rain Down, by Phil Collins. There you sit.  Just soaked, tired, and almost overcome, carrying a machine gun and six hundred rounds of ammunition, but singing and laughing at just how silly it all is. Maybe it’s weird, but all these characters were sitting with me in that stream.

The novel gradually reveals that much of the accepted history of the world is incomplete or false. How did you decide when to reveal those larger truths without giving away too much too early?​

Easiest question. They have no answers. They live in subsistence farming societies where the aristocracy and the priesthood have all the money and power. I asked myself that question: when would you know? In a way, as the author, I’m sitting in Mirsha’s position. I know, and I want them to know. Dumping it on them too early could cause overwhelm and failure. What if a soldier on the field of Trenton, Gettysburg, or Waterloo suddenly knew everything about the universe, aliens, and space wars? Would they do anything? Would it change anything? Or would they freeze and do nothing? The last one has been my experience. You can’t just lead a horse to water and force them to drink. Mirsha points them at things. The Tablets of Marikinet, Valereth, Onterach, and lands across the desert and seas, in an effort to get them to go voluntarily into change.

Mirsha wants a new world. Could she just snap her fingers and change it? Maybe. But wouldn’t they be more likely to just put her on the pedestal and bow to her? What if people made the change? What if they led themselves to freedom and victory? 

That’s what Mirsha wants.

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