In Memory of David Farland 

New York Times bestselling author, teacher and local Utahn David Farland (whose real name was John David Wolverton) passed away last month at the age of 64. For most aspiring novelists here in Utah, he was known as a mentor to all. He taught Brandon Sanderson (Wheel of Time, Mistborn) and Stephenie Meyer (Twilight), along with many more.

I would count myself among the number of kids he mentored over the years.

The first time I met Dave, it was 1994 and I was 13 years old. I wanted to be a writer, yeah, but more than anything, I loved Star Wars. I got a call from a friend letting me know there was a real, live Star Wars author signing books at the Media Play in Orem, and I had to get down there quick to talk to him.

Naturally, after begging for enough money to buy a new book, I made that particular Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs, and I was greeted by none other David Farland (writing then as David Wolverton). His new book, The Courtship of Princess Leia, finally brought Han Solo and Princess Leia together, and I could not wait to read it. I couldn't believe that no one was there to talk to this clearly world-famous author, so I spent as much time as I could, asking him questions about Star Wars and writing (and writing Star Wars.) He was so gracious about it, and spent what felt like 10 minutes building me up and building up the possibility of a writing career.

"For Bryan," he wrote in the book that I still have in a place of honor on my shelf; "May the Force Be With You--Always -David Wolverton."

It was probably the same thing he'd inscribed on every book that day, but it meant a lot to me. It still does.

I ran into Dave here and there through the late 2000s at conventions and conferences. Both of us having written Star Wars (or about it, in my case), we ended up on panels together at places like Dragon Con in Atlanta. He always kept encouraging me.

But after that, the next time I ran into Dave was in 2011. I was in my 30s then, and I had indeed put out my first novel. I had been scheduled to sign at a local book store (I don't remember which one, but they're all great), and somehow I would be signing next to Dave.

Already anxious about the fact that I would have to be signing a book, now I was going to have to do it next to a New York Times bestseller—one that I admired. Impostor syndrome kicked in, and I was convinced that I did not belong there.

But when the time came, Dave wasn't just gracious; he welcomed me into the club. It didn't matter that my little book at a small press hadn't sold a fraction of what he had. We were colleagues. I told Dave about my anxiety, and the story of him signing my book all those years ago, and he spent the rest of the signing assuring me that I was a professional who deserved to be there. I was worth it, and just because I didn't have a book with a Star Wars logo and my name on it, that didn't mean I wasn't worthy to sign next to him.

Before we left, he asked me for a signed copy of my book. It was the sort of thing that I could have only dreamed of.

Over the next decade after that, we came to know each other some at other conferences and conventions across the country, doing many panels together—not just about Star Wars, but about writing, too. Talking to others who knew him, it seems like that was genuinely Dave. He was a caring mentor who did his best to make sure that everyone saw the worth in themselves and the value in the written word.

Dave died far too young. At 64, he still had a lot of mentoring to offer. In this day and age, the world needs more mentors like him, not less. So, think about the art you practice, and think about how you can pass that along like Dave did. The world will be a better place for it. And it was a better place for having had Dave in it.