Greetings, Sai, and I welcome ye to another world, another chance to set things right. I, like you, am no more than a lowly writer, though some of us may be better than others, and I do seek the best, not a one of us can say we are kas-ka Gan – the prophets of the creator. And that is a power I cannot bestow – nor would I want to, for 'tis too heavy a burden, even for one such as I. however, I offer a great chance, up unto the best and the brightest of writers, to rise up, join my ka tet, if ye will, and be wordslingers. In the lines of text before you, I offer a second chance, both for roland, and for you yourselves. Let us find the unfound door, one last time, and perhaps even close it upon a happier ending. In the immortal words of Stephen King: there will be water if god wills it. For better or for worse, I ask ye to stand with me. Hile, to me Wordslingers!
And, in simpler terms, I want to write an eighth book to end the dark tower on a happier note. I have the beginnings of the prologue below, and I need help picking out the important parts to repeat, and the ones to create. This book will require a great deal of dark tower research, so I ask only the bravest and brightest to come with me on this quest. Anyone interested in helping can email me at RonninBlade (at) gmail. com (minus the spaces, and turn the (at) into the at symbol. fanfiction. net doesnt allow you to use hyperlinks in a story)
Thank you, to those who have taken the time even to come this far, and my eternal gratitude to those who would turn the proverbial page,
J. S. Ronnin
The Dark Tower: Book VIII
OTHER WORLDS THAN THESE
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed. A thousand thousand times, he followed; this last gunslinger. His quest could not end, but for the hope he placed in the forgotten promise of Gan himself. And perhaps this time if you get there it will be different. But I have left my feet behind me. If we began the tale yet again in the first stage, it would be a thousand thousand years again, before we reached the pivotal moment. Perhaps, this time around, it would be more fitting to start somewhere other than the beginning.
Jake Chambers, the boy who Greta Shaw called "Bama", woke in a cold sweat, but he did not cry out. His parents wouldn't hear, even if he did. This, he knew – they were deep sleepers. Besides, it was not fear that woke him, but unbridled sadness. The sadness was not from the knowledge that today, he would be pushed into traffic by jack mort, and simultaneously be driven insane by this not happening, nor by the knowledge that close to three years from now, he would die in a world from which no-one could return. No. as he felt the hot tears drift silently down his cheeks, he knew whose fate he was truly mourning. He, Jake chambers, called "bama" by his housekeeper, would know love, and be loved, and yes, he would lose a brother before he too fell in the wake of the tower, but he would not lose his father. His father, though, would lose him. No, not his biological father, not Elmer chambers, who was asleep in a room down the hall. No. he mourned the fate of his true father – Roland Deschain, the last gunslinger. The eternal last gunslinger – Roland, who would learn to love, only to have that which he loved torn away from him in pursuit of the tower. And then, the voice of the turtle began to sing its song, and it was a song of sleep, and of forgetfulness. Jake did not fight, for he knew it to be a losing battle. He closed his eyes, and the world drifted away once more. 'and so, it begins again...'
Susannah Dean woke with a start, and felt panic descend. Not twelve seconds earlier, she had gone to sleep with eddie by her side. Not her eddie, perhaps, but close. For once in her life, she had the opportunity for a truly happy ending. All that day, detta didn't interfere even once, and then, when she reached into the dogan of her mind, that secret control room from which all things stem, she saw that there was no detta, and no odetta – only Susannah, and she was happy. Now though, as she felt her consciousness being split, she cried out. she knew what was happening. She had seen the tower, been there with roland, with all of his ka tet, past and present, to watch him ascend the stairs of the tower, and had been there when he reached the top, and it started all over again. then she heard the song of the turtle, and try as she might, her struggles were in vain. Sleep and forgetfulness took her, and it began again.