It's Not Imitating Anything; It Has Become

What Wasdat, Sir? What Wazzat Sir? What Wassat, Sir?” “wayne, What Are You Babbling About?” Waxillium Asked. “practicing My Pretzel Guy,” Wayne Said. “he Had A Great Accent...” Waxillium Glanced At Him. "that Hat Looks Ridiculous.” “fortunately, I Can Change Hats,” Wayne Said In The Pretzel-guy Accent, “while You, Sir, Are Stuck With That Face.

Men Had Always Told Kaladin That He Fought Like Nobody Else. He’d Felt It On The First Day He’d Picked Up A Quarterstaff, Though Tukks’s Advice Had Helped Him Refine And Channel What He Could Do. Kaladin Had Cared When He Fought. He’d Never Fought Empty Or Cold. He Fought To Keep His Men Alive

So, There I Was, Tied To An Altar Made From Outdated Encyclopedias, About To Get Sacrificed To The Dark Powers By A Cult Of Evil Librarians.

It's A Mystery," Vin Said, Narrowing Her Eyes And Smiling. "we Mistborn Are Incredibly Mysterious." Elend Paused." Um...i'm Mistborn Too, Vin. That Doesn't Make Any Sense." "we Mistborn Need Not Make Sense," Vin Said." It's Beneath Us. Come On-the Sun's Already Down. We Need To Get Moving.

Start Writing The Things That You Are Reading Or That You Want To Be Published Doing.