III

Media

Typical Franciscan weather surprised the tall blue-eyed man as he walked down Market Street. He buttoned up the oriental inspired ankle-long black coat as various transport pods zipped along the street beside him. His interview with Weekly had been surprisingly short, so he decided to take a stroll down the street it was located.

Passing by what looked like an old-fashioned jazz lounge, the sound of a trombone invitingly captured Will¡¦s attention and he soon found himself sitting down and ordering an espresso, taking in the music. He had even closed his eyes, enjoying the early-afternoon perfection.

An hour zoomed by and soon Will was on the move again, this time into Starfleet Academy, where the campus library was open to the public and where Will spent most of his free time when he was in town. He often entertained himself with the prospect of exploring the stars, stretching his wings, finding new cultures that have long dwelled in the various corners of the universe, long before Will¡¦s ancestors were or fighting those pesky Romulans and negotiating some sort of long-lasting peace.

But those were long ditched dreams of the past, as writing had inevitably took over. In his deepest desires, he did want to travel the stars, but never had the chance because of his other obligations. He could still do it, but it would take time. The last he read, the Enterprise-D would be docking next month, perhaps he¡¦d be able to hitch a ride. It wasn¡¦t like he wasn¡¦t qualified to be on a Galaxy-class starship.

Will¡¦s chrono beeped alive and jolted him back to reality. He calmed the noisy piece of technology and hailed a transport taxi.

~

Turned out Rolling Stone was doing a whole segment on Will and his book. It had raked in millions in sales and what Will¡¦s assistant failed to tell him was the fact that the person interviewing him was someone who had quite an infamous crush on him. The whole interview, in its entirety is below, but what happened afterwards had a lot to do with Will¡¦s imagination and the woman interviewer¡¦s desk in her private office.

The Other Side of William Riker

William T. Riker, or ¡§Will¡¨, as his friends call him, has written the #1 New York Times bestseller, The Dark Life, and we finally got him to sit down and talk to us about his life, love and what makes him happy. By Jenny Miller

¡§WHEN TOM AND FRANK were still kids struggling within the confines of high school, Frank had been the smart one. He wasn¡¦t poor like Tom was, but he wasn¡¦t rich either. His family just wasn¡¦t as well off. Tom had been the one with the domestic problems, and Frank was always there to console his best friend. He was also smarter, not necessarily full of logic and common sense, but he had his head screwed on right and he was exceptionally smart.

So besides the advice on Tom¡¦s home problems, Frank also helped him with his homework. And as friends, (the best) the two were allowed to joke about it, as they often did. And as the years went by, Tom often turned to Frank like a little brother looked at his big brother. When Frank was disappointed in Tom, for doing things that weren¡¦t exactly legal, Tom really did feel bad. He had let his friend, his best friend down¡¨ The Dark Life (5). Printed with permission from Houghton Mifflin, The Dark Life; © 2378

WILLIAM T. RIKER IS INDEED AS MYSTERIOUS AND DEEP AS HIS fans say he is. He arrives at Rolling Stone HQ with a long black overcoat and his hair neatly combed backwards. He takes off his sunglasses and soon I see what his woman fans are obsessing about. He has eyes like the sky, sharp and blue, and has to duck when he enters the room. He looks as if he has been up since the crack of dawn and when his assistant beeps in on his port-a-COMM and realizes that he has to make it back to Valdez later, where he was born and raised, for dinner with his editor and director Anna Osbourne.

Riker tells us that he¡¦s recently bought back his childhood home and refurbished it when he should¡¦ve been polishing the rough draft of his next book, the sequel to the first, titled The Fine Line. He¡¦s allowed to go about writing in his quiet little town without being bothered for an autograph or an unannounced signing. ¡§People in Alaska have more important things to do than chasing me around town for an autograph.¡¨ He continues, talking of hope and peace. ¡§I had been hoping that I would be able to live peacefully after the first book was published and released into the public, and I¡¦m thankful for that.

¡§At first I didn¡¦t want to release the damn book. I went through five drafts before my assistant finally talked me into it.¡¨ Apparently Riker¡¦s son had read an early draft and tried to talk him into of writing more. Other family includes his father, who also resides in Alaska. His mother died when little Will was eight and his father ¡§was never there for me, so I just became the mute boy who occasionally asked him for money for lunch.¡¨ He gets a little quiet and I decided quickly to move onto the next topic. Before I get to speak, he tells me his mother inspired him to write in the first place. ¡§She taught me to read and write like I do. When I write, (pause) it¡¦s like she¡¦s there with me, holding the pen in position, reminding me to sit straight and to eat.¡¨ So he¡¦s a workaholic. Sue him.

¡§The Dark Life was indeed inspired by my childhood, but lets not talk about that. I enjoyed writing the book and like any other story I¡¦ve written it became a sort of self bore baby. As a parent, I¡¦m sensitive of what the critics say, but I never take it seriously, since critics tend to find fault in everything.¡¨ After he makes this comment, he realizes his throat is a bit parched and asks for a drink. I tell him that we have a quaint little café a block away, and he agrees to the sudden date.

AS WE STEP OUT INTO the cold Franciscan weather, Will points out a love for jazz. ¡§It¡¦s like writing. It¡¦s an art. You have to work at being good at it.¡¨ So you play? ¡§Of course.¡¨ The conversation dies again but he flashes a huge grin and I feel my legs begin to melt. ¡§I started when I was little, after elementary school. I took lessons from an old man who lived a few miles from me. He was a genius I tell you, but he died while he was in the middle of teaching me a song, and every time I practice it, I always ruin this one note. It frustrates me every time.¡¨ I mention that I play the piano. ¡§You do? What style?¡¨ Classical. ¡§Ah.¡¨

Since he is the only child, Riker sometimes wonders what it would be like to have a younger brother or sister. He would¡¦ve turned out to be a better person, he admits, ¡§Someone would¡¦ve been there so I could share more. But then again, I might not have become a writer; I would¡¦ve become a trombone player playing at some late-night bar or some Starfleet lieutenant charting the stars. But it¡¦s a good thing that I chose writing as a profession. I don¡¦t think I would¡¦ve made it as a trombone player.¡¨ But what about a Starfleet lieutenant? ¡§Maybe, depends.¡¨ On what? ¡§I was actually thinking about joining Starfleet before I wrote The Dark Life. But I had this intense urge to write something, like if I didn¡¦t do it then I would just die. It being a #1 top seller is only coincidence. I only wanted to get everything on paper so that I could remember it.¡¨

WILL WAS DISCOVERED in a coffee house in northern California five years ago when a sudden gust of wind blew the first few pages of what he had of The Dark Life into the lap of Houghton Mifflin editor John Walksh. He was in the bathroom at the very moment, getting what he had left of latinum (¡§To pay for the espresso and the scone I had ordered.¡¨) out of his polo sweater. He was living in a low-rent apartment with noisy neighbors but he had no complaints. ¡§I had a roof over my head. That was enough for me.¡¨ Will Riker was already semi-known to the writing world with this compilation of short stories, titled, Matters of the Heart: A Collection of Short Stories. The book was featured and even excerpted in the New York Times and the Sunday Telegraph, which became quite the accomplishment for the small town boy from Alaska. He quickly moved into a better apartment as mentioned above.

The hour draws near and the interview comes to an end. But first, I throw a couple of quick-answer questions at Will, hoping he would get the gist of it.

Favorite childhood possession? ¡§Duh! My teddy bear. I brought it everywhere with me until I lost it when I was fifteen.¡¨

Favorite book? ¡§Hm. That¡¦s a tough one. I don¡¦t know. Ask me again later.¡¨

Ever been convicted of a crime? ¡§Not really, I stole the school nurse¡¦s tricorder on a dare once when I was in the third grade, but I got caught before I really did any damage and had to pretend I had a headache.¡¨

And lastly, the question on everyone¡¦s minds, marital status? ¡§You did this on purpose didn¡¦t you? Yeah you know you did. I¡¦m single and that¡¦s all I¡¦m saying on the subject.¡¨ *

~

The chrono on the wall blinked to six twenty-seven and the sun was beginning to set. Various movie posters with the phrase ¡§Directed by Brandon Adam¡¨ were scattered here and there on the walls with the shadows cast by the sun.

Will sat on the other side of a metallic coffee table in the room, reading the final script of the movie that was to be made the very next month. The movie was going to be based directly on The Dark Life, and then since it would be bad to just leave it at one, the director in charge of making the first movie would also make the second, The Fine Line. It was a huge production and Will had to be there at the site, every week or so to make sure everything was as he had imagined it, that everything was matched correctly to what he foresaw.

The script was the most crucial foundation of the movie. Will had written the first draft, (maintaining his usual workaholic status) and then given it to the writer that would eventually produce a one-of-a-kind script in which the actors and the actresses would all slave over, perfecting their performances and then watching it over and over again with their grandchildren, telling them of the little stories behind each shot and detail of the set, and possibly even of their meeting Will.

Will found himself suddenly nervous and excited with pride and admiration. He was proud of himself for writing such a good book, and excited that so many men and women had gotten together to decide to make a movie out of the book that he had written during his dark ages.

The next book would be brighter, fluffier, full of love and compassion, the opposite of its significant other, often called by Will¡¦s assistant, the girl. It would be about camaraderie and the strength in life that we develop as we grow and meet new trials, learning new lessons all the way. It was the exact opposite of Will, who had become quiet but otherwise charming, and mysterious, yet nonetheless dark and private. Many admirers flocked to Alaska just to get a glimpse of the man who had written the masterpiece, the one that would be talked about well after he was gone.

¡§Well?¡¨ The man excitedly awaited Will¡¦s final judgment call. ¡§What do you think? Is it too much? Did I over do it? Come on, you can¡¦t decide to stay silent now...¡¨

Will smiled and looked toward the man with a twinkle in his eye and replied, ¡§It¡¦s perfect. When does shooting begin?¡¨

The champagne bottle popped open on the other side of the door with cheers and hooray¡¦s coming from the director and the rest of the already hired crew.