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Hobbits were big when I was nineteen (a number of some import in the stories you are about to read)

There were probably half a dozen Merrys and Pippins slogging through thethe Great Woodstock Music Festival, twice as many Frodos, and hippie Gandalfs without nus was madly popular in those days, and while I never made it to Woodstock (say sorry), I suppose I was at least a halfling-hippie Enough of one, at any rate, to have read the books and fallen in love with the fantasy tales written by eneration (The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, by Stephen Donaldson, and The Sword of Shannara, by Terry Brooks, are just two of many), were born out of Tolkien's

But although I read the books in 1966 and 1967, I held off writing I responded (and with rather touching wholeheartedness) to the sweep of Tolkien's iination--to the ambition of his story--but I wanted to write my own kind of story, and had I started then, I would have written his That, as the late Tricky Dick Nixon was fond of saying, would have been wrong Thanks to Mr Tolkien, the twentieth century had all the elves and wizards it needed

In 1967, I didn't have any idea what ht be, but that didn't matter; I felt positive I'd knohen it passed ant enough to feel I could wait a little while on my muse and my masterpiece (as I was sure it would be) At nineteen, it seeant; tiun its stealthy and rotten subtractions It takes away your hair and your ju, but in truth it takes away a lot more than that I didn't know it in 1966 and '67, and if I had, I wouldn't have cared I could i forty, but fifty? No Sixty? Never! Sixty was out of the question And at nineteen, that's just the way to be Nineteen is the age where you say Look out, world, I'm sood for ya, get out of my way--here comes Stevie

Nineteen's a selfish age and finds one's cares tightly circumscribed I had a lot of reach, and I cared about that I had a lot of ambition, and I cared about that I had a typewriter that I carried from one shithole apartment to the next, alith a deck of smokes in e were distant, the insults of old age over the horizon Like the protagonist in that Bob Seger song they now use to sell the trucks, I felt endlessly powerful and endlessly optis I wanted to say and my heart was full of stories I wanted to tell Sounds corny now; felt wonderful then Felt very cool More than anything else I wanted to get inside my readers' defenses, wanted to rip the but story And I felt I could do those things I felt I had been s

How conceited does that sound? A lot or a little? Either way, I don't apologize I was nineteen There was not so ray in my beard I had three pairs of jeans, one pair of boots, the idea that the world wasthat happened in the next twenty years proved e of thirty-nine, ed the way I walked (ath and need not write about theht? The world eventually sends out a ress and show you who's boss You reading this have undoubtedly met yours (or will); I ot uy, a Bad Lieutenant, the sworn eneoofery, fuckery, pride, as nineteen

But I still think that's a pretty fine age Maybe the best age You can rock and roll

all night, but when the music dies out and the beer wears off, you're able to think And drea dreams The mean Patrol Boy cuts you down to size eventually, and if you start out s left but the cuffs of your pants when he's done with you "Got another one!" he shouts, and strides on with his citation book in his hand So a little arrogance (or even a lot) isn't such a bad thing, although your oeth before a fall, Stephen, she saidand then I found out--right around the age that is 19 x 2--that eventually you fall down, anyway Or get pushed into the ditch At nineteen they can card you in the bars and tell you to get the fuck out, put your sorry act (and sorrier ass) back on the street, but they can't card you when you sit down to paint a picture, write a poe this happen to be very young, don't let your elders and supposed betters tell you any different Sure, you've never been to Paris No, you never ran with the bulls at Pamplona Yes, you're a pissant who had no hair in your aro--but so what? If you don't start out too big for your britches, how are you gonna fill 'eardless of what anybody tells you, that's my idea; sit down and smoke that baby

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I think novelists co novelist I was by 1970 Those who are bound for the more literary or "serious" side of the job exaht of this question: What would writing this sort of story mean to me? Those whose destiny (or ka, if you like) is to include the writing of popular novels are apt to ask a very different one: What would writing this sort of storyfor answers and keys to the self; the "popular" novelist is looking for an audience Both kinds of writer are equally selfish I've known a good many, and will set my watch and warrant upon it

Anyway, I believe that even at the age of nineteen, I recognized the story of Frodo and his efforts to rid hiroup They were the adventures of an essentially British band of pilgriy I liked the idea of the quest--loved it, in fact--but I had no interest in either Tolkien's sturdy peasant characters (that's not to say I didn't like thes If I tried going in that direction, I'd get it all wrong

So I waited By 1970 I enty-two, the first strands of gray had showed up intwo and a half packs of Pall Malls a day probably had so to do with that), but even at twenty-two, one can afford to wait At twenty-two, tih even then that bad old Patrol Boy's in the neighborhood and asking questions

Then, in an alor, Maine, if it io Leone It was called The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and before the film was even half over, I realized that what I wanted to write was a novel that contained Tolkien's sense of quest and ainst Leone's almost absurdly onzo Western on your television screen, you don't understand what I' about--cry your pardon, but it's true On a h the correct Panavision lenses, TG, TB, & TU is an epic to rival Ben-Hur Clint Eastwood appears roughly eighteen feet tall, with each wiry jut of stubble on his cheeks looking roughly the size of a young redwood tree The grooves bracketing Lee Van Cleef's mouth are as deep as canyons, and there could be a thinny (see Wizard and Glass) at the bottos appear to stretch at least out as far as the orbit of the planet Neptune And the barrel of each gun looks to be roughly as large as the Holland Tunnel

What I wanted evenof epic, apocalyptic size The fact that Leone knew jack shit about Ao is somewhere in the vicinity of Phoenix, Arizona) added to the filnificent dislocation And inperson canbook, but the longest popular novel in history I did not succeed in doing that, but I feel I had a decent rip; The Dark Tower, volule tale, and the first four volues in paperback The final three volumes run another twenty-five hundred in th has anything whatsoever to do with quality; I' that I wanted to write an epic, and in some ways, I succeeded If you were to ask me why I wanted to do that, I couldn't tell you Maybe it's a part of growing up Aest And that head-scratching puzzlement when the question of motivation co an A It seeood idea at the time

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