Nathaniel S Rivers

UWRT 1101 070

Portrait of a Writer
11/30/14
The recently purchased car has already traveled where not many go. The noon sun overhead
with a clear blue sky. In the distance light can be seen emanating from a house on a mountain. There is
a reporter in the drivers seat, and a tossed powered cell phone in the back. Else where the sound of a
feather duster running over wood can be heard.

As assigned by your higher ups. You are to interview to some writer by the
name of Nathaniel S Rivers. Youve had to travel out to the mountains to find him.
When you reach your destination; you look upon a Victorian style house lacking any
noticeable paint. Light escapes from a single room on the second floor. You step out
of your car the setting sun behind you, and walk up to the lightless doorway. Upon
reaching the doorway you notice the lack of a doorbell, and are forced to use the
knocker.
Knock, Knock, you bang the knocker onto the door. After about 10 seconds
you prepare to do it again. When the door opens revealing what you guess by the
clothing a maid. Yes~? she says coolly. Im here to interview Mr. Rivers, you
reply. At this the maid fully opens the door, and steps to the side. Stepping still
notice nerve-racking lack of lighting in the house, and you swear it feels colder in
here than outside. Closing the door the maid lights a match, brings it to a candle
sitting by a feather duster, and picks it up with its holder. Follow me, she says
again near emotionless before striding up the stairs, so you follow after her not
wanting to lose her. The floored boards creak as you walk on them. You attempt to
ask questions about Nathaniel to the maid, so as to gain a rough understanding of
him. However the maid ignores your questioning, and right as you come up with the
idea of asking something about her she stops. Turning sharply around to face you
she point to the door on her left He is in there. Before you have a chance to reply;
she strides past you back towards the way you came. Thus leaving you with only a
window letting in the moonlight, and a black door with three splinted circles on it.
The car stands on the mountain surrounded by trees. The setting sun long set; now replaced
with a full moon and a sky filled with stars. Light can be seen emanating from a single room on the
second floor from outside. The misplaced cell phone lays there in the backseat. It waits for a call. Else
where a candle holder is set down on a table can be heard.

You take a second look at the door, and notice that the door is probably the
least worn thing youve seen so far. There is a bouncing light coming out from under
the door. Wanting to leave the errie hallway you take hold of the metal door knob
and turn it open. The door opens up into a well dusted study. Book cases line the
walls except one, which in the place of a bookcase is a lit fireplace. Close to the fire
place are two seats facing it, and with their backs to you. Come in, and take a
seat, a calmly warm male voice echoes down the hall. You walk over to the seat;
where an arm points you to from the other. You sit in a rather comfortable arm chair
down to face an unkempt man. His hair is a dark brown, eyes green, skin pale-ish,
shaggy beard, and appears younger than you had imagined. He wears a mix of

greys and blacks, as well as a blazer. Now then, he says leaning in,lets get down
to business.
The car waits on the mountain surrounded by grass. The setting sun long gone; now replaced
with a crescent moon which barely escapes through a cloud filled sky. No light can be seen emanating
from the house. The forgotten cell phone sits in the backseat. Still waiting for a call. Else where water
running over dishes along with panting can be heard.

He clears his throat. So you wish to know effectively everything he says

looking slightly irritated.
Yes, you reply Knowing as much as possible. Will allow me to write an
accurate article on you.
Very well, the vast majority of my informative works are known to be
informal, in a good way. This way of writing I personally do not know when it started
to manifest, yet I do know these writings are effectively speeches simply written
down on the bindings of paper. Some of my fellows criticize and support my
sometimes odd phrasing. Back in High School two peer reviewers questioned my
usage of the phrase As such saying no one uses it. However in attempting to
make a defense I unknowingly used the phrase As such multiple times, and thus
my reviewers retracted their statements.
Nathaniel takes a drink of what appears to be Cheerwine, Now before you
ask anything on my time in High school. It should be noted that the way I write then
and in college are almost the same except for slightly more understanding of
punctuation. No the period of time where I changed was back in Middle school. To
be exact the beginning of it. It was during this time that I (Info about Mr. Rivers
writing/reading in Middle School wasnt one of the things your company is interested
in so you cut him off).
Mr. Rivers, how about talking about what you do to aid your writings, and
the processes you go through in your works.
Nathaniels left eye twitches obviously irritated by your outburst. He proceeds
to clear his throat. Well, there isnt that much to say on these topics. Some writers
have a particular music they listen to or not. Perhaps wearing formal clothing aids in
their work. For me, I quite frankly have nothing. I can listen or have silence, and will
effectively have the same output. I dont have some piece of wool which gives me
the power to write (he might be smirking). Nor do I require the lights be off. As for
the processes I go through
Nathaniel goes quite, as if delving deep in to the thoughts of his mind.
The car waits on the mountain surrounded by leaves. The setting sun long disappeared; now
replaced with a cloud filled sky. No light can be seen emanating from the surrounding area. The longforgotten cell phone rumbles in the back, yet none of which are the call it waits for. Else where
footsteps walking along with creaking can be heard.

Hrm, I typically just contemplate a potential work for a couple days. I do this
till whichever publishers due date comes close. I start writing it, and perhaps within
the first 1-3 paragraphs I might get an idea to add more flavor to the piece. Other
than that, nothing much. My skills at self-editing are horrendous thus is why I need

an editor to look over my work practically always. However sometimes I have a

miracle which stuns my editor whoever he or she is. Unfortunately thats about it.
Now if we go back to the discussion about middle school; you might get some more
usable info.
How about your goals in writing, and thoughts on the subject. You suggest
shifting your legs about. The chair youre in isnt that comfortable.
Crossing his legs Nathaniel continues My goals my goals. He sighs I shall
answer that with the goal to live and prosper. How about that?
Such an answer is going to annoy your employers. So youll just replace his
answer with To be the greatest Sci-fi/Fantasy/Horror?/poet writer!. Which one of
those youre going to go with youll find out later after looking up which of those
hes published the most of.
Yes that will be fine you nod your head , I guess your opinion of writing is
not in high regard in correlation to your lack of goals
Nathaniel nods taking another sip of Dr. Pepper.
This should be the last questions for you Mr. Rivers, What qualities do you
like in other writers, and who are some writers you like?
Again silence, ugh why did your boss instruct you to interview this guy in the
first place. I cant say I have really looked into why I like certain writers. It might
just be the subject he or she writes about, or to simply hold my attention. He
shrugs
As for who I like to read. That maybe a little difficult with my disadvantage at
remembering names. I can say however I have recently read stories from both the
Warhammer 40k universe, as well as H. P. Lovecraft.
Whatever Warhammer 40k is you really dont care. Now H. P. Lovecraft that is
something else.
Coughing you start to begin to ask more about his reading of H. P. Lovecraft;
when you notice you is doing that somewhat.
le school had been influenced by these two worlds near considerably. I would
read whenever I had free time. By that I mean the teacher was burning time on
answering idiotic questions answered most likely in that very class no less than ten
minutes ago. And it didnt stop there it would continue until the last year of High
School. My collection of books had grown to such a size that the hall closet I kept
them in would become too little. And
The car waits on a mountain? The setting sun long lost, now replaced with darkness. No light
emanates anywhere. The awakened cell phone has received the call it waits for. On the display reads
You hold the candle, the caged bird, to your body so tight. As if to protect it from the ever-crawling
shadow.
And just when the candle burns brighter; the bird unreleased, and you are filled with hope
The ever-crawling shadow slices in, and consumes it
And now you are lost within the ever-lasting shadow.
Else where the sound of footsteps running along with splintering behind can be heard.

THEN I WROTE A HATE FILLED POEM WISHING DEATH UPON THE WRETCHES
WHO WERE MY CLASSMATES What started as retelling pass writings in school has
become Nathaniel raving about his distaste in humans, as he now stands, pacing in
the study. His glass of V8 lays spilt on the floor. You need to get out. Nathaniel turns
to you suddenly still Where do you think youre going to go? a snarl on his lips.
Out of here you get up for the door. With blurring speed his hand grasps your arm,
and with a strength you never expected to come from him he tosses you into the
book cases. Recovering from the blow you notice a German Luger in his hand, and a
look of blood lust in his eyes. Raising the gun towards you he fires and misses
instead hitting a book on Nightgaunts. You scamper over to an end table hoping for
a weapon. He fires again, missing instead hitting a book on cults. Grasping a leg of
the table you swing it into him. As he falls over he fires again missing instead hitting
the Necronomicon. You fling yourself over to the Luger, and aim yourself at
Nathaniel. That is when you notice a massive blood pool around him. You sprint to
the door Luger in hand shouldering it open, and escaping down the hall away from
the door with three eyes on it.

The car trembles on **g-S*th**h. The setting sun never remembered, now replaced with a dark
tapestry with *ut*r *o*s filling it. The near dead cell phone receives one last text.
You're fired. Where ever the hell you are don't come back. Mr. Rivers was waiting for days for your
arrival.
Thankfully he called us, and are now going to carryout the interview at the office
Seriously what the hell; he lives in the very suburbs of the city we are based in.
Else where a thud along with flesh tearing can be heard.

The halls seem everlasting. Uncounted doors you sprint past all of which with
3 eyes watching you progress. The empty Luger you left behind attempting to blind
them. No matter how far you run it keeps going. The hall ends at an open door.
Rushing in you see a gruesome sight. The maid from before is laying in the middle
of the floor mangled. More of her clothes are stained with blood than not, and her
right leg is no where to be seen. You can barely contain your stomach when you
hear a cough. She is still alive! As you stoop down to help her you hear behind you a
disturbing chuckle. You turn to only see the darkness of the hall, but it continues. A
noise of only horror slips from the maid's lips. The floor of the hall is rip up, as the
chuckle becomes a maniacal laugh. You desperately look for escape from the room
noticing another open door. Running now the other door flies into the room
shattering, and leaving the maid to her fate.
Again you are running down what seems an impossibly long hallway. The
doors with eyes always there watching you waiting for a chance to . . . Wait a light.
You can see the end of the hall to the staircase. You turn the corner and jump down
the flight injuring yourself. But there it is the door. You pick yourself up legs hurting
like nothing you felt before (unless of course youve jumped down a 2 story building
to hard flooring before). You throw the doors open, and trip through.
Down
Down
Down

Into the ever-lasting shadow