Which Brandon Sanderson Novella Takes Place Before Mistborn Era 2?

If you want to read 'The Hedge Knight' online, I usually point people to a few legit and easy places that respect the author and the publishers. The most straightforward route is to buy the novella as part of the official collection 'A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms'—it's sold as an ebook on major platforms like Kindle, Kobo, Apple Books, and Barnes & Noble. Buying that edition gets you all three Dunk and Egg tales in one tidy package, and the ebook versions often go on sale, so it's a friendly way to support the work without breaking the bank. Beyond purchases, I lean heavily on library options. My local library app (Libby/OverDrive) has saved me more than once when I wanted to reread 'The Hedge Knight' without spending money. Hoopla is another library-linked service that sometimes carries the audiobook or ebook. If your library is part of those networks, you can borrow the digital edition for free—just check your library card and regional availability. Libraries also do interlibrary loans, so asking a librarian politely can sometimes snag a copy in either digital or physical form. I also recommend the audiobook route if you like to listen while doing chores or commuting. Audible and other audiobook shops usually have 'A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms' or standalone performances of 'The Hedge Knight.' Subscriptions or credit sales make it easy to grab a copy. For fans of different formats, there are graphic-novel adaptations and collected print editions at bookstores and comic shops; those are great if you like visuals. Lastly, keep an eye on George R.R. Martin's official pages and the publisher's site for any authorized free promotions or reissues. Supporting legitimate channels keeps these stories available, and personally I love revisiting the tale of Dunk and Egg when I need a little medieval comfort, so I try to buy or borrow properly whenever I can.

Watching the movie made me grin and groan in equal measure because it turns the quiet, existential scope of Liu Cixin's novella 'The Wandering Earth' into big, breathless blockbuster moments. In the novella the project is portrayed as this almost mythic, centuries-long collective effort—more about the staggering scale of human engineering, social reorganization, and philosophical reflection on survival than about one or two heroic faces. The tone is contemplative and occasionally bleak; people adapt to life underground, entire societies shift, and the narrative lingers on implications rather than nonstop action. The film, directed by Frant Gwo, compresses time, packs in personal drama, and invents cinematic crises and rescue sequences to give viewers emotional anchors. Characters are more defined and melodramatic; family bonds and visible sacrifices pull you through the plot. Scientifically, the novella dives into long-term consequences and technical thought experiments, while the movie simplifies or tweaks some hard-science bits to prioritize spectacle—giant set pieces, engine failures, ice avalanches, that sort of thing. Both hit powerful notes, but one is a slow, intellectual rumble and the other is a stadium-sized roar.

There’s a cozy logic to publishing leftover chapters as a novella that I find oddly satisfying. Often those chapters don’t fit the rhythm of the main book — maybe they dig into a side character, experiment with voice, or dwell on worldbuilding beats that would slow down the central plot. By carving them out, the author protects pacing and keeps the main arc lean while still preserving the material for readers who want deeper immersion. I bought a small paperback once that compiled those shoehorned scenes and it felt like opening a secret drawer: the tone shifted, the stakes softened, and I got to linger over a place the author loved but couldn’t keep in the original. Sometimes it’s pragmatic too — contractual limits, word counts imposed by publishers, or editorial feedback saying a chapter works better standalone. So a novella becomes both a gift and a gallery: fans get extra texture, the main work retains its shape, and the author gets to show different facets without breaking the novel’s momentum. I usually treat those novellas like bonus tracks on a favorite album, and happily pull them out when I want more of that world.

Honestly, I fell into Brandon Turner’s 'Book on...' rabbit hole a few years back and it stuck — the core series most people point to is essentially three titles. The trio that fans and investors usually mean are 'The Book on Rental Property Investing', 'The Book on Managing Rental Property', and 'The Book on Investing in Real Estate with No (and Low) Money Down'. Those three form the practical backbone: one covers the why and how of finding and buying rentals, another dives into day-to-day property management and systems, and the third tackles creative financing and getting deals without massive capital. I picked them up across paperback and audiobook, and reading them back-to-back felt like building a small course in my living room. Beyond the main three, there are a few related volumes, updated editions, and companion materials that sometimes get tacked onto the family — workbooks, revised printings, or collaborative titles published under the same BiggerPockets umbrella. That’s worth keeping in mind because depending on where you look (publisher page, Amazon, library catalog), that extended list might inflate the count. I’ve owned a first edition that later got a revised release with an extra chapter, and a friend grabbed a workbook-style supplement that was labeled as part of the series by some retailers, even though it’s more of a companion guide. If you’re trying to get a quick, reliable number for purchasing or cataloging, treat the canonical series as three titles, but be alert for newer spin-offs, special editions, and co-authored supplemental books that show up in search results. Personally, I’d recommend starting with 'The Book on Rental Property Investing' if you only grab one — it’s the most foundational and will cue you into whether you want the managerial or creative-financing deep dives next.

Honestly, I check his channels like someone's checking a train schedule — when Brandon posts a new 'State of Sanderson' I stop whatever I'm doing and pay attention. As of my last deep-dive in June 2024 there wasn't a publicly confirmed date for a brand-new Brandon Sanderson novella. He tends to announce specifics on his newsletter, YouTube livestreams called 'State of Sanderson', or on brandonsanderson.com, and sometimes novellas show up tucked into collections (think 'Arcanum Unbounded' or one-offs like 'The Emperor's Soul'). So if you're waiting for a precise day, it might not exist yet — but there are reliable places that will light up the moment he or his publisher says something official. From being in the fandom long enough, I can tell you how this usually plays out: Brandon juggles huge series and short works, and publication timing depends on editing, cover art, printing schedules, and sometimes tie-ins with special editions or Kickstarter projects. He also occasionally releases shorter works through anthologies, digital exclusives, or as extras for collectors, so a new novella could appear in a few different formats. Realistically, if he’s mentioned working on a short project in a livestream, expect an announcement a few months before publication — they rarely spring a printed novella on the community with zero notice because of marketing and preorder logistics. If you want a practical plan: subscribe to his newsletter at brandonsanderson.com, follow his YouTube for 'State of Sanderson', and join a couple of fan communities or a Discord — those places almost always catch publisher listings or preorder links fast. I also keep a wishlist on my usual bookstore sites so I get alerts when a listing goes live. The waiting is part of the fun for me; I love the little flurry of speculation and cover reveals that comes just before a release, and honestly it makes finally holding the book feel like more of a reward.

The difference between a novella and a novel really comes down to how much room you have to play with the plot. In a novel, you can weave multiple subplots, develop intricate character arcs, and explore detailed world-building. Take 'The Great Gatsby'—it’s packed with layers of social commentary, romantic tension, and personal tragedy. A novella, like 'The Metamorphosis,' has to be more focused. Kafka doesn’t have the space to delve into Gregor’s past or the world outside his room. Instead, he hones in on the immediate, visceral experience of transformation and alienation. The novella’s brevity forces the writer to strip away the excess, leaving a sharp, concentrated story. It’s like comparing a symphony to a solo performance—both can be powerful, but one has the luxury of complexity, while the other thrives on precision. That said, novellas often pack a punch precisely because they’re so concise. They demand that every word, every scene, carries weight. In 'Of Mice and Men,' Steinbeck doesn’t waste a single moment. The plot is straightforward, but the emotional depth is immense. Novels, on the other hand, can afford to meander, to build slowly, to let the reader sink into the world. It’s not about one being better than the other—it’s about how the length shapes the storytelling. A novel can sprawl; a novella must cut to the core.

I've always loved how small details reshape a story when it's adapted, and 'The Mist' is a perfect example. Stephen King's novella in 'Skeleton Crew' is tight and claustrophobic: it centers on David Drayton, his son, and a handful of townspeople trapped in a supermarket, and the terror comes as much from human breakdown and religious fervor as from whatever creatures lurk in the fog. The novella leaves the origins of the mist murky and leans hard into psychological and existential dread — you feel the pressure of the crowd, the slow erosion of hope, and that lingering cosmic unknown. Watching the TV series, I felt like the creators wanted to turn that pressure cooker into a sprawling study. The show expands the world, adds lots of new faces, and spends time on backstories, politics, and supposed explanations for the phenomenon. Where the novella is intimate and ambiguous, the series plays with serialized mysteries: government involvement, conspiracies, and extended character arcs. The result trades some of the novella's sheer, immediate horror for broader worldbuilding and soap-opera level interpersonal drama. I enjoyed both, but for raw, concentrated dread the novella still has a special sting; the series scratches different itches, especially if you like long-form mysteries mixed with moral collapse.

I’ve always been fascinated by the distinctions between novellas and novels, especially as someone who enjoys both forms. A novella is typically shorter than a novel, usually ranging between 20,000 to 50,000 words, while novels often exceed 50,000. The novella’s length allows for a tighter narrative focus, often centering on a single conflict or theme without the subplots and extensive world-building you’d find in a novel. For example, 'The Metamorphosis' by Franz Kafka is a perfect novella—compact yet deeply impactful. It dives straight into Gregor Samsa’s transformation and its consequences, avoiding the sprawling character arcs of longer works. Novellas often feel more intense because every word carries weight, making them ideal for readers who want a powerful story without the commitment of a full novel.