tales?), but I have no idea what they might be. Only that John “Jake” Chambers would have to come back into it.
A rainy, muggy day by the lake. No Playground for the kids. Tonight we had Andy Fulcher sit
the big kids while Tab & I & Owen went to the Bridgton Drive-in. Tabby thought the film (The Other Side of Midnight . . . from last year, actually) was a piece of shit, but I didn’t hear her begging to be taken home. As for me, 1 found my mind drifting off to that damn Roland guy
again. This time to questions of his lost love. “Susan, lovely girl at the window.”
Who, pray, be she?
September 9, 1978
Got my first copy of the October issue with “The Gunslinger” in it. Man, this looks fine.
Burt Hatlen called today. He’s talking about me maybe doing a year at the University of Maine
as writer in residence. Only Burt would be ballsy enough to think of a hack like me in connection w/ a job like that. Sort of an interesting idea, though.
October 29, 1979
Well, shit, drunk again. I can barely see the goddam page, but suppose I better put down
something before I go staggering off to bed. Got a letter from Ed Ferman at F&SF today. He’s going to do the second chapter of The Dark Tower — the part where Roland meets the kid — as
“The Way Station.” He really wants to publish the entire run of stories, and I’m agreeable enough. I just wish there was more. Meanwhile, there’s The Stand to think about — and, of
course, The Dead Zone.
All of this doesn’t seem to mean much to me just now. I hate being here in Orrington — hate
being on such a busy road, for one thing. Owen damned near got creamed by one
of those Cianbro trucks today. Scared the hell out of me. Also gave me an idea for a story,
having to do with that odd little pet cemetery out in back of the house. PET SEMATARY is what the sign sez, isn’t that weird? Funny, but also creepy. Almost a Vault of Horror type of thing.
June 19th, 1980
Just got off the phone with Kirby McCauley. He got a call from Donald Grant, who publishes
lots of fantasy stuff under his own imprint (Kirby likes to joke that Don Grant is “the man who made Robert E. Howard infamous”). Anyway, Don would like to publish my gunslinger stories, and under their original title, The Dark Tower (subtitle The Gunslinger). Isn’t that neat? My own
“limited edition.” He’d do 10,000 copies, plus 500 signed and numbered. I told Kirby to go ahead and make the deal.
Anyway, it looks like my teaching career is over, and I got pretty well baked to celebrate.
Took out the Pet Sematary ms. and looked it over. Good God, is that grim! Readers would lynch
me if I published it, I think. That’s one book that’ll never see the light of day . . .
July27th, 1983
Publishers Weekly (our son Owen calls it Pudlishers Weakness, which is actually sorta
accurate) reviewed the latest Richard Bachman book . . . and once more, baby, I got roasted.
They implied it was boring, and that, my friend, it ain’t. Oh well, thinking about it made it that much easier to go to North Windham and pick up those 2 kegs of beer for the party. Got em at
Discount Beverage. I’m smoking again, too, so sue me. I’ll quit the day I turn 40 and that’s a
promise.
Oh, and Pet Sematary is published exactly two months from today. Then my career really will
be over (joke . . . at least I hope it’s a joke). After some thought, I added The Dark Tower to the author’s ad-card at the front of the book. In the end, I thought, why not? Yes, I know it’s sold out
—there were only 10,000 copies to start with, fa Chrissake — but it was a real book and I’m
proud of it. I don’t suppose I’ll ever go back to ole Roland the Gun-Toting Knight Errant, but yes, I’m proud of that book.
Good thing I remembered the beer run.
February 21st, 1984
Man, I got this crazy call from Sam Vaughn at Doubleday this afternoon (he edited Pet Sem,
you will remember). I knew there were some fans who want The Dark Tower and are pissed off
they can’t get it, because I also get letters. But Sam sez they have gotten over THREE
THOUSAND!! letters. And why, you ask? Because I was dumb enough to put The Dark Tower
on the Pet Sematary author ad-card. I think Sam’s a little pissed at me, and 1 suppose he’s got a point. He says listing a book that fans want & can’t get is a little like holding out a piece of meat to a hungry dog and then yanking it back, saying “No, no, you can’t have it, har-har.” On the other hand, God & the Man Jesus, people are so fucking spoiled! They just assume that if there’s a book anywhere in the world they want, then they have a perfect right to that book. This would be news indeed to those folks in the Middle Ages who might have heard rumors of books but
never actually saw one; paper was valuable (which would be a good thing to put in the next
“Gunslinger/Dark Tower” novel, if I ever get around to it) and books were treasures you protected with your life. I love being able to make my living writing stories, but anyone who sez there’s no dark side to it is full of shit. Someday I’m going to do a novel about a psychotic rare book dealer! (Joke)
Meanwhile, today was Owen’s birthday. He’s seven! The age of reason! I can hardly believe
my youngest is seven and my daughter is thirteen, a lovely young woman.
August 14th, 1984 (NYC)
Just got back from a meeting with Elaine Koster from NAL and my agent, the ole Kirboo.
Both of them pitched me on doing The Gunslinger as a trade-sized paperback, but I passed.
Maybe someday, but I won’t give that many people a chance to read something so unfinished
unless/until I go back to work on the story.
Which I probably never will. Meantime, I have this other idea for a long novel about a clown that’s really the worst monster in the world. Not a bad idea; clowns are scary. To me, at least.
(Clowns & chickens, go figure.)
November 18th, 1984
I had a dream last night that I think breaks the creative logjam on It. Suppose there’s a kind of Beam holding the Earth (or even multiple Earths) in place? And that the Beam’s generator rests
on the shell of a turtle? I could make that part of the book’s climax. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m sure I read somewhere that in Hindu mythology there’s a great turtle that bears us all on his shell, and that he serves Gan, the creative overforce. Also, I remember an anecdote where some
lady sez to some famous scientist, “This evolution stuff is ridiculous. Everyone knows that a turtle holds up the universe.” To which the scientist (wish I could remember his name, but I can’t) replies, “That may be, madam, but what holds up the turtle?” Scornful laugh from the lady, who says, “Oh, you can’t fool me! It’s turtles all the way down.”
Ha! Take that, ye rational men of science!
Anyway, I keep a blank book by my bed, and have gotten so I write down a lot of dreams and
dream elements w/o even fully waking up. This morning I’d written Remember the Turtle! And
this: See the TURTLE of enormous girth! On his shell he holds the earth. His thought is slow but always kind; he holds us all within his mind. Not great poetry, I grant you, but not bad for a guy who was three-quarters asleep when he wrote it!
Tabby has been on my case about drinking too much again. I suppose she’s right, but . . .
June 10th, 1986 (Lovell/Turtleback Lane)
Man, am I glad we bought this house! I was scared of the expense to begin with, but I’ve never
written better than I have here. And — this is scary, but it’s true — I think I want to go back to work on The Dark Tower story. In my heart, I thought I never would, but last night when I was
going to the Center General for beer, I could almost hear Roland saying, “There are many worlds and many tales, but not much time.”
I ended up turning around and coming back to the house. Can’t remember the last time I spent
a totally sober night, but this is one of that dying breed. It actually feels fucked up not to be fucked up. That’s pretty sad, I guess.