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    Josephine Stein
    Josephine Stein
    Josephine Stein
    Ebook716 pages10 hours

    Josephine Stein

    By Danny Eugene Allen

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    About this ebook

    Stein's great and impressive ability, is intrinsically, changed as once donating imagery dreams become nightmares of impunitive mystic-like impressions. What will become of her, her-imagination and as what became a genius of creative expression. She escapes into her dreams, and with her smarts, she turns her imagination-out of an other-worldly, subconscious... It is her secret, until what was once reputation becomes resort and retinue. She witnesses by what was an expressive-night's existence; into her works of art. Writer, as Harry Potter-type battles to be in-control or belonging to the alter-realm of a grand-mystery and held in as a forbidden-fantasy. Will Josephine be able to overcome this life long subconscious imposing... Read: "Josephine Stein" over again...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDanny Eugene Allen
    Release dateJun 23, 2013
    ISBN9781301272754
    Josephine Stein
    Author

    Danny Eugene Allen

    27 year veteran Indy writer author Danny Eugene Allen brings to you 34 extraordinary ebooks across a wide-arena. Properly proposed and propagation. A holder of an Associate in Arts degree and attended 5 other institutions of college learning. His long private career has brought forth a large sample of driven, tasteful and general development that has a requiem to all readers. His present works taken on numerous directions. Powerful, excellent and astonishment proves worthy of much gteat engaging entertainment. Find out and uncover your favorites.

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      Josephine Stein - Danny Eugene Allen

      Josephine Stein

      By Danny E. Allen

      Copyright 2013 Danny E. Allen

      Smashwords Edition

      This ebook is the property of the author. It may not be copied, borrowed or sold. Doing so you are breaking the law. If you would like a legal copy please purchase a downloadable copy from this epublisher.

      ‘Check with me again tomorrow, Flo…’ ...'I can’t understand that lady, she’s as unsure as a wayward-'dynamo'’... ...'Okay, Jo, you want me to look-in on your aunt Ethel, pay your Deli bill, and pick up your sinus-medicines?’… 'If you will, and be gentle with her the poor-dear.’ ‘I’ve got deadlines to meet’. …Ms. Stein, didn’t just necessarily have ‘deadlines’ except those which resided-in her head. Yet what had resided-in her-head, was quite sequential. She was a graduate of Harvard at 19, went into writing and never looked-back. By 23, she’d received the Pulitzer, Booker, BOTM-Special and a reverence of other author-achievements… She was adored by critics, and being a regular-author on the Bestseller’s Lists… …While young, she began traveling-abroad... In a 'Vagabond'-style, romanticism... Yet she rarely spent time without learning, enjoying and writing about many things she’d experienced...

      Her-mind worked within, what was to be an adamantly, ‘simple’ complexity... All who knew her, realized she was industrious in-all she did. At a very young-age, her professor-mother and engineer-father watched; as she learned, they guided her in all her-talents. From rocket-scientist to cosmetic-surgeon, they humored her. ...She read 'Cosmopolitan' and ‘Mad’ magazines...and at 6, she became a regular-visitor to the adult-section of the local-library. Her mother, would have dreams about her daughter; that when she awoke, she couldn’t fully-understand. ...They only wanted the ‘best’ for her. The two, became ‘brave’ as their daughter went-out into the world.

      ...One-day, her mother awakened from 'dreams'-of ‘fire’ that she had, occasionally. Her-father, his daughter's devotee left home, due to his growing conflict with his-wife, over the dreams. She was alone at home, with her talented-daughter... And she came to realize that after talking with a child-counselor, he telling her that everything was ‘okay’. ...Her father, Samuel Kosset Stein came to terms, and they never spoke of it, again. The trust between the two flourished and grew. They stood behind their only-child. She improved as well. They decided that being her parents, was to be with a sense-of competence, responsibility, and support. That she would be better-off letting her find her own way... Superimposed upon the gentle-love, was the respect for what she would become. So as her character grew so was her very-capable support and love. This would be a cultivated-‘maxim’ by any recourse. That it just seemed to be the way with her as to what would be a developing-devotee. ...As she went to the kitchen to make herself a bagel and waterkrispe sandwich she came to realize that after that evening's work... She’d fall asleep and dream. Not just any ‘dream’ but one-totally in ‘another-world’... One, she knew, one-day, she would ‘not’ come back from. She seat at her writing-desk. Thinking-on how things had went several days earlier. …How she’d been walking with her pet English Terrier in the dim-light of an overcast-evening.

      Seeing the shining-lights of the street-lamps, and those in-doors through their-windows. Walking-up the stairs of her lower-Manhattan Brownstone. She’d lived there seven-years or so, since she bought it from a good-friend for $855,000, a-‘steal’. Back then, she was just-prospering off several newly sold book-deals. Her editor said, she was a full-fledged ‘author’ and that she should move to the city, from Schinecdity. She liked where she lived, then. But her editor, was very convincing. Several homes, and $62 million-plus later, she owned a home on both coasts, one in Chicago and a bungalow on Key West. Then, she open the door, were her-maid was awaiting. How she had been working from the previous-weekend. For which there might be a future deadline. That was, then... Now she had just awakened. As her good-friend, Brad Fellows a neighbor gave a vibrant and loud ‘Hello’. It was Brad’s way of getting attention.

      He was an only-child, enamored by his wealthy-father… His father, was a New York-executive who made it for life with a stock-deal. By that time, Brad was just a baby. He grew up with a ‘Silver Spoon’ in his mouth. Going to the best schools, and given anything he needed. To what was a ‘farce’ that he became adamantly, a Freewheeler; but also adorned with technical ability... So he had advantages going to MIT, getting a doctorate in Computer Sciences, and now the executive-liasson for a computer contracting company based in New Jersey. But he found it much more suitable to just loaf-around, and spend his Daddy’s money. With his all-present boyish-immaturity and winsome tact he came to know Josephine. He suggested she watch out when walking alone in the Big City. And that would she like to go out for a night-cap that night? ...As the lights were turned-on by the maid, she came out of her meditation.

      She looked up, and it was ‘lightless’ sometime between lunch and bedtime she’d began the final few-chapters of her awaited-book in the Simon Wynchyme-series. It had real-promise to break once again the Bestsellers ‘20,000,000-sold’-division. Elated, as she was in its potential and finesse she startlingly, realized it was bedtime. She had turned-on the light but fell into a trance. Trances these days were better than sleep. Although few knew it but sleeping was an unspeakable, instance. From midnight till seven, she was not to be disturbed. So as she climbed the stairs to her Master-bedroom the last of the

      day was fulfilled. The air was stiff as she climbed into bed. And then she had laid-there. As she gazed-out the window… She could see the stars between the trees. Then the sense came over her. Brad Fellows, was presenting himself in her memory... He’d always been a good and exciting-friend, spontaneous and fun. Not caught-up with things, and not unrooted in anything.

      In theory, Josephine was talented with many abilities, an excellent crossword puzzler, a sense of analytic-ability and a safe-central spirit by utter acceptance... Like Einstein, and Ghandi, with M.L.K. thrown-in.. Yet compassion sometimes held-to being, problems. Her feelings had to find an 'outlet'. This was in the utter-ability to perceive of, in what could be a ‘superstition’. It was her Falstaff to understand simple-appeasing and to avoid-it. But somehow with family, friends and work, she perservered. Jewish-people had a way of doing that. And the hereditary-intelligence, helped also. Brad had often told her, her beauty was the only thing rivaling her-heart… ‘Josey, you’re a work-of-art…’ Said Brad, one day on the street as they walked Porgy, her dog. Brad always dressed-casual; even at his uncle’s funeral. He wore a Sak’s sun-suit. He-reminded her of Tom Wolfe, whom she felt was ‘grand’. They had regular ‘tifts’ in-public. But Brad was not one to impose. Besides, he loathed cramp-spaces. He’d walk 20-blocks to avoid the subway. But his wealth kept him 'happy' to walk.

      Although Jewish people had a natural inclination for superstition... Josephine was an established heretic/nonconformer. Which made for what was an advanced hibition and an endowed-intellect that came to be, both set and resolved in an utter-instillment. She was a dutiful-intellectual, adorning and adopting the Arts; without inconsistency, and with a relish... ...Devouring, embracing and engaging in all its illuminary-accents to squarely, advance and articulate form. Graduating with a Doctorate of Fine Arts. Within her youth, high-IQ, and incentiveness she came to bare-through the forms like a 'hot'-knife through butter; she joined her-professors in what was a deep-understanding, and appreciation. Now she was older, she was an award-winning, connoisseur and cosmopolitan and consummate-writer... ...With 28-fiction and nonfiction novels in professional mystifying-form. Due to her now overcome study of the form in a 'religion'-of the Arts.

      So she was popular as a break-through genre-author. Her books took it to another-design. She’d found her niche. What became vibrantly, accepted and fantastically, enjoyed. She was both rich and happy. Yet for now, was one-thing, as most intelligent taskmaster had in common… Lack of proper-sleep. She’d pay 'big-money’ to sleep, blissfully. Her energies were too-high. She read technical-books about the ‘psychology of sleep'. Of how people sometimes took ‘Witch-doctor medicine’ to get over it. Although, she took no time in taking this to heart. But like so many ‘savants’ she too, suffered as an individual. Sleep, had a way of subdividing her-existence. Perhaps that’s why she never married, carrying the talisman of workaholic, determination and in an individuality. Each were severed-alms of loneliness. From so many accolades, she remained a onely-independent; easing the world's problems at her own sacrifice... But she never held it against anyone so she had many friends, devotees and fans which ended, in an uncertain, sense... ...She’d read many psychological self-help books from holistic-meditation to vegan diets and mindful-exercises. Each was a superficial 'play' on new-designs.

      ...But she had to admit, they helped a-bit. Each giving impetus to be superior, over the aches and pains of life. As she laid-there in her expensive feather-bed with its canopy-frame and at times, a tenuously, cooled-room... Already, her mind wondered over the day's events. Like a secretary she identified, understood and acknowledge each thought and emotional-leveling; and levering the terms of life that day... She fell asleep, still thinking. What happen while sleeping was essentially, all her own. Josephine didn’t know depression, life was too short to not think of a zealousness of life… Her precocious-reality as a child helped to instill-in her a ‘Midas’-relativity. But even then, sleep was a personally, religious-experience. Her mother and father always slept through the night. So even though her mental-energies ran-on, she soon saw the ‘sacredness of night’.. Only on holidays and the weekend was she allowed to stay up.

      But by 18,on her own, she celebrated the night-life of living in New York. Night-caps, parties and events, allowed her to fulfill her last-vestige of night-time excitement... Never using drugs eventually, her partying-fell with the death and vanishing of one-time friends… But she did learn from and enjoy-it in a rather superficial-subjection. In what was a ‘wisdom’, she matured. So their terms changed, and what was affiliated, was the very personal-terms of insomniacal-revelation... As the years came and went, the aging-realities resolved themselves, and she had learned from them. It was a practical-proceival, one that a very capable-individual could find an awareness. A 'lesson' of life, taken well. But there was something symptomatic which went ‘deep’, but she’d come to accept it well. This was a simple, yet certain-‘reality’.

      Most people had habits like anyone, she had idiosyncratic-tendencies. She had a way-of coming to terms with that reality. Being very perceptive and profound-all seemed to fall into place... And the many instances, factors and fortunes of human-character could easily be seen congealed in- the Jewish-sector. Though, her family were not orthodox-Jews, they still carried its integrals. Many of her other friends allowed her to be herself and thus officiately, be acquainted in a self-proving provision. She was an unusual but devoted-companion. Especially with the diligent-qualms in what was a causal-custom. Popularity, power and profit allowed her to have so many friends. Who’d now come before, and had gone... An anonymous-‘reality’ that proved valuable. A fortuity that she had come into much inner-mitigation. An energy and resolve to advance and afford by assertive-ideas and intentions. She became a prime-mover especially with diligent-qualms in causes and customs... As well, she became a ‘prime-mover’ by martaring and merging with, all those that came to be accompanying her. ...There was alot which was in sway in her 'logic'... Graduating, working and networking-on social-inclemental-terms. There was little left for immargin. But as life always tends to be, one had to own-up to facilitative-terms.

      ‘Ms. Stein, we need you in the office, tomorrow.’ ...’The Chief is looking-over galleys and we need your input...’ They knew she hated preparatory-work. She liked the ‘bare-bones’ of writing, due to the hard-fought rules of writing. As for most people writing is romantic. Yet as she matured the work was best kept ideally, tangential and equational... The inclemental-issues of success and popularly, assertiveness of fame, fans and fortune; left something to-be desired. She sometimes ‘wished’ for other things. But with the many efficiencies of ‘time’ and temperament, the incentive was ‘good’. Galleys were like little-‘mirrors’ to a writer’s success and sacredness. If it was 'right', you were rich; if it was off a ‘little’ the blemish was ‘huge’. Editors would meet with you and discuss your entire-career. She read as a ploy Mark Twain, Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, in their careers; and learned something about the relationships of writers. And in this potential staved-off untold, ‘nightmares’.

      So as she prepped to see her head-editor at Pemberton Group, the national conglomerate which folded rival-book companies like tooth-picks. She’d evolved a relationship with them; many of her best-editors had been there. Yet her superiors were not friends and even though character was not integrity, money came with being a mogul. Emerging was an editorial-regime, in regiment. So as her writing impacted, as imposed. She swung into what was a convictive order. In what was an idea and implication. So as the publishing-board found what was ‘oil’, in her ‘ouvre’. And the ‘essence’ by what was an iron-clad arrangement. And thus in a firm fruition, by what was in the idiomatic-form. It was 10 am, when she got out of the Limo at Pemberton’s headquarters on 85th Street. The escort had arrived at 9:15 am. ...Being one of the group’s ‘best’-resources... She was very well taken care of. Hughe Samuelson was her direct-contact. The ‘handler’ of her-whilms but fortunately, one of her best business-acquaintances. He was a honest-friend fortunate enough to be a competent editorial-assistant.

      Hughe was waiting at the building’s Pavillion to converse with her. He was a quiet man, unreactive but sensible. He was 57, a borne-book editor reading all sorts of text in his sparetime. And worthy of a maxim of literary-knowledge... Being very intelligent he worked for the ‘best’. He was not a big Bestseller reader, he did enjoy the enterprise of writing epithesis. He was a literature-engineer that had fed his mind in an ‘easy’-job. Josephine’s intellect didn’t match his, she was more of a free-spirit... That her talent and background was ‘worthy’ of acknowledgement. Which went from pre WWII journalists to world wide competence in nearly all forms of the Arts... There was much that preceded her. Yet she didn’t take her skills for granted. ‘Miss Stein’, said the lead-editor. ‘Thank you for taking time-out from your busy schedule’. ...He was short and ‘stout’, with a trimmed-beard and thick eyeglasses. She noticed that his breath smelled like a Cuban cigar. He smiled and the browning of his teeth proved two-things.

      -That he took his habits, seriously. And that he thought reverently about what self-sentimentality meant. She shook his hand, and smiled. From then on they got along well. She realized his life would probably, end in a decade or so... So she didn’t want to violate a leader’s competence. In the contrary, they both lived for the moment and by their own terms. As he filled her in, she understood that he was ‘frugal’ in his signs and sensations. She agreed, utmostly, in his tentatives by venture and versatility... ...She realized her emboss on this work might prove-worthy of the editor’s contentions. Besides, she had better things to do... He’d give it his ‘best’, due to her personal-position on the subject.

      By 2 pm, she wanted to be shopping with her aunt at Tiffany’s. Her nursing-home aunt, a patient, devoted and aged matriarch, was delighted by everyone she met. Her niece was guided by her father’s oldest sister... Till then, she had to carry on business. Upon reaching the street... She quickly, entered the Limousine. The skyscrapers gave her vertigo, rather like many in the Stein’s German-Jewish villagers heritage. From a century ago they were Shtel small villagers whom were not big ‘ascenders’ of their culture... And it still resided in the blood. She’d seen and heard of many identities-of and about Jews... The grandness of the Rothschilds to the Holocaust to Israel to the rise and ability of Jewish capabilities and competences. A free-ranging reign of the highest accolades of the western world. She knew she was in good company. But she was only a simple-writer, adorned in a capacity with ability for which no one could entreat.

      The money earned, was an input in centuries of ability and education accomplishments, as well as being accommodated in her own. But the ‘regency’ to act-as those, was for her an art of succinct ‘ageal’. ...Dependable and dissertational, were in the allume of a human-doctrine... In the sophistication of an assertive-sentiment. She came to realize that as an articulate and artist, she understood the relevances were under 'thickened-terms'. Implicate, impressive and imposing there was much in the intricacy of Josephine Stein. Like most Jewish persons she identified with their virtues. And as a Jew, she had their ideological inundations. Other than that she fared fairly, well. Josephine realized there was a deep-spirit in life and living. But many of her ethnicity chose to live by arduosity and finity. She came to the understanding that she was chosen like many of her kind.

      After a nurtured-childhood of which she was to do as she willed. College, skills and adeptitude meant you were responsible for both your devotions and dutiful decorum. Although, her hand was held by a caring-father and an accepting-mother; the ‘plots’ in life proved defining and definite that’s why she chose and came to be incense in creativity. Although, there were marginal in the deep-seated objectives and obsessions. ...Of paramores and obstenity, tended to reprove rather than outright ‘deny’... What was in the Jewish heritage was mentality and mindset, which was filled with severence and propriety. The mind of thought and imagination endured in spatial-worlds pitted against itself... So one vocalism was the sustained-reverance to oneself, accordingly. But passion was the unsettled residing under multiple realms. So it was a coathe-ability, to be creationary and espoused.

      It was a responsible and intrinsic-reality. Josephine was to starkly, empathic in the tentatives, terms and trials of the self and self-convocation. And issue was the foment of factors, of the instances and utterstances, acting and enacting of a Jew-woman’s life. As she rode the streets of New York to her Brownstone... She observed the climate and incursions of her adopted home which was enticed and interested in many of its facets. She was known to disappear in its many cosms; then reappearing at night, to get home to bed. On these excursions she visited the MOMA and private-museums, and pondered the creativity as mind of artist of all kinds. Yet there was something else she observed with intensity the many visions of artist and art. There were secrets she held that with maturing, manifestation; inordinated an entrance in what was an innateness and incedings. That she thought dominated in treatise a privilege of talent, by which she herself had had.

      She especially, enjoyed the strange-aptitudes of ‘mythic’-artists. Of there vivid-illustrations and moving-symbolism. It meant more to her then anyone knew. Arriving home, her pet met her at the door then her maid, who’d prepped an afternoon-meal of Salmon Croquet and Spinach salad. With her very mind there was more to her fascination than what was an embracing. The mind has a way of finding-embrace of dennable temptation. She was not exactly, engrossed by form, function or emulation. Most art enthusiast find there own definings, yet superlative was as effective to envaluate self-virtuality. Their defacto-in a redeeming and interpretation enculcated by the vision, virtues and for her, a 'virtual' deep-seatedness beneath her deepest-core... Jews were notorious for subjugate-renown, so was what was a youthful-progeny, had became a fluidic and superfluous conscientiousness, adornment. It came ‘easy’, with intrepid and incipidious-allegory. It became a pride, and pretense for her and her-meticulations.

      But there was a ‘bigger’-secret of sustaining, sensual and indepth realization... Of a relative-order for which she both, beheld and retained in a greater-reverence. She arrived and ate before retiring to her den to rearrange her scores of work, reedits and reworked-manuscripts. She was looking-forward to her-time with friends to enjoy companionship in the order-of an acceptance, confunction and entertainment. She had several complexities fed by her-acquaintances. A shy-person, she appreciated others as she accomplished being a novelist. Her friends were as her-work fascinating and engaging. She loved titillating her mind with the knowledge, considerations and understandings about others. She didn’t just revel in her relationships, she was gorging in every-facet. As sure as she built and fed a friendship, she understood they would not last ‘forever’. Like so much of a once ‘shy’ and precocious-innocence, and family’s benevolent-relative that she took no one for granted.

      She was a passionate and compassionate women, both driving and admonishing as both a Jew and utterly, talented-individual. Which she’d became aware of as a character of her reality. She knew others would reinforce this relevance and reverence of which she could do little about. So as she matured she had seen success, and realized this great-responsibility, she knew life and living were short. After fundamental success, she knew it was a good rationale and philosophy to share and be supportive in all things. With her first book-sale she donated 70% to charity and friends who’d been there when she needed them... And in this new resolution she grew as a writer. Knowing it was more than about her. So as she met with friends the following day. A warm late October morning, the night before had had transitive-things that occured. Which in its world, was a trival, tribulation of a kind only she knew.

      The morning began with the sun coming into her den in which she was wide-awake and writing the framework of creative-book ideas. Sarah Parrs was a dear friend, a Systems Analyst with a large agency on the 18th floor of the Empire State Building. An intrepid worker, she was on the hot-list to being the lead-SA. ...A superior-attitude as mentality, Josephine met her at a fish-market in lower-Manhattan. She was ingratiated-in her emotions, thoughts and conclusions. It was like watching a war-scene on an old TV set. And then there was Charlotte King, a hair-dresser. Which she was once a customer on a trip to the style-district she had went to on a-chance... Although she no longer saw her due to her upward mobility, now owning her own shop uptown. They stayed together as friends, enjoying each other’s company and she had a way of turning a conversation into a deeper-understanding of relationships and life.

      And the last: Jean Hale who loved french food...would order Eggs Benedict, yogurt and toast with Marmalade. She was young and an inspirational. Although she was an underling, clothing-apparel manager. She could spot exquisite clothing a mile-away. ...But that said each contributed to a masterful-conversation. Not exactly, ‘Sex in the City’, more like JFK with his official executive-team. They were genuine and that’s how their world revolved and life evolved. It was a genuine determination for all. By 10:30 am, the plates were cleaned and taken away and a nice warm-toddie replaced them. A couple of them asked for a small liqueur-individually, but Josephine enjoyed Green tea with milk. Each spoke about the day they’d retire to do something else; but there was really, little-interest, because they could retire tomorrow...

      ‘Okay, ladies. I’ve gotten a Bon Vivant, waiting for individual-consort’...said Charlotte... ‘That must be amazing’, said Jean. ‘Yeah, I’ve got an entire-floor to investigate for e-mail violations, when all they wanted was to find compassionate’, said Sarah. And Josey, as she was called, concluded-itinerary of her many social-roots... And it was settled then by making for compliance, in an eminent and atoning-perspectus. But in the last sixteen hours the fundaments of instances and social-austerity was by an affiliation and self-fortitude... There were certainty, sensuousness and suffering-ideal and inordinate to their choices, channels and chances... As she conveyed and received girl-club logic she was dated with an intuitive-intimacy, and interring by the many idioms, ideals and innatenesses what were in-focused, fostering and inner-fortuity. Revelry of a personified-pretext. An adopting, intricate and enticing of what was an itinerate-prefix. And leaving with an economic-entendre of a murger of matricians’ minds... From provocative to profundity, it meant a durable-enormity of a gorgeous feminine-world.

      With her friends there was no agenda; no, on-the-surface conundrum of imperical-assuage. Just for the understanding and aim, of that which you were not alone, by definition. As each began their ‘last-tete’ they bid ‘farewell’. And that they would be back to together soon. There were mutual-assonances to the portrait and reliance on the pertinents of life; in the world and a heartfelt, recision to find a ‘hearth’; in what was an erring-society. It was a revering of fortune, self-design and delivery. In an ultimate credo to suriving in a certain-sufficiency. She was ready to focus-on her ‘art’; the transfeasance, which gave order and aptness to ‘life’. There was ‘vision’ to her creativity which few knew... That in the catacombes of her mind, in a conscious and unconscious-creedance. ...Of what was a deep-depicting. And for a dimensional-satisfaction that she accepted and deferrently, was entitled.

      There was ‘magic’ of a mystical-kind. An subordinate-collusion which fell on old and ancient otherworldly, impossible conceptions... Which were not all a ‘poetic-license’... Since ancient times Hebrews were articulate with ‘vivid’-seeings and abject-sights up to the present. The many potential-abilities of their culture that often purported and predicted-in the emulated-manifestation of what was a virtual-in agency. This being, as she kept them to herself and used it to understand in a symbolism. In this, a fulfilling-understanding was the ‘infuse’ that went with a diffusion. Over the years, she learned to accept and delineate in a defintion and underscore, it made apt the illusion of ‘time’ and testament. While she went to the stationery-store, pet shop, and electronics retailer before going home to meet with her agent, order her groceries, and straighten her den for tomorrow’s publicity and media-interviews. For each she wanted to look her ‘best’. It was to be the very technical-division of declarative and disclaiming, of the ‘virtues’ of depicting her and her-work.

      There was much to be active about...Josephine loved her personal written job. It both fulfilled her role as independent creative-artist, and the need for self-restitution; with work therein was having no complications... Josephine learned only that her mind and mental proclivities gave-forth success and originating from a stern and intelligent father, and loving mother. That work, ambition and commitment to something, larger than yourself proved worth the goal. Her heritage relied on the age-old enduring-precepts. As she went through her activity, virtues and intentions realizing that the ideals of life were mostly, instantaneous and ultimately, irrevocable... So over years, she primed herself, and strengthened her talents, purposes and friendships on the order of a deepen-insight and understanding... It was a childhood-inception.

      After meeting with the media on the debut of her latest book, she was interviewed politely, engagingly, and with cooperation. And all the interviewers, left with all they required. The next day she was all over TV, radio and in the newspapers. She had a good image and could understand all the factors oriented and officiated to the terms. That night she fell into deep-slumber. Her dreams were an intimate and rich-dimension. When she awoke, she told no one about them. Much of her imagination was a flourishing in her-dreams. Yet her dreams went further in an ultimate ‘reality’. Which wasn’t shared with anyone. The next day, she awakened to the sounds and smells of her maid who was making eggs and toast over-easy. She realized the night before that she knew she had to ‘run the gauntlet’, with all her responsibilities. Though, she enjoyed her home better than going-on vacation or sabbatical. The museums, parks and cafes was more than enjoyable than hiatus and work, they were utter ‘pleasures’.

      And that passionate-nature proved quite valuable. But there was more to life. And fortunately, it was her ‘idea’. ...The dreams which privately, she’d read all about. But felt as the creative-release was a treasure and defining-dimension. Something she never gave creedance to a technical relevance. From instance to instrumentality, she wanted nothing to do with. The only true-technician was the theorist, Albert Einstein. A true Jewish scholar, but ultimately, a truth technical ‘artist’... He, as well, had special dreams forted by dedication and self-virtue... In what was an immaculate, fortitude. This, she could really, appreciate. She ate while watching morning-TV. The phone rang at 8:15 am. It was her agent, informing her of the good job she’d done typically... And to tell her that it would be 153th, on the Bestseller’s list.

      The quixotic Bestseller’s list was her favorite act of procrastination. Another thing she had to ignore. If she wasn’t sure of her capabilities, she’d say that the hardwork was a thorough-waste of time. Like her friends, she was a partaker of work, even when it seemed it was perhaps just a ‘form’. But her skills, everyone knew, was envisions and artifices, which in New York was typical-Josephine; a social-elite but a very-sober one. She didn’t mind that she was spending too much time, alone. Reinforced by her parents, aunt and subjective friends, her time was her own. A self-devotee, who revelled in her solitude. Some of the people who knew her thought it made her a very unique writer. She simply insisted that it was a truly, convention of careful-consideration...

      The many things she did most to ignore, or was kept private... But she wanted to believe she was an intense, objectified and incentived-writer. Which she’d worked into her life very well. This, she didn’t take, unseriously. As the day went on the day-light faded into clouds and rain. The Manhattan shoreline was full of tugboats and ships, downtown traffic slowed on 9th Street, and Josephine was in her den. She keep a TV and computer there it they sat as get-to items in emergencies. She had the internet. But if she couldn’t call, she went by word-of-mouth... Efficiency and effectiveness, were fortend-facts. Which she felt they were a certain-‘duplicity’. She sat at her desk, a heavy Mahogany six-drawer den-desk, which was worth a small-fortune. Her chair, was a leather swivel chair meant for executive businessmen, a lush red fleuret carpet kept her feet warm on New York’s typical winter days.

      Knowing this, the central-air was installed, 7 years ago.. Which to older-buildings meant it wouldn’t be ‘cheap’ to operate. The HVAC company wanted money upfront but she haggled it down by 8%. As the rain on a Wednesday fell, most of the afternoon was derived by nature.. She was hard at work and progressing in the facets of a dubitable mass-market writer. As she penned the sketches of the continualty of her book, things were doing very well... Which she knew she should not take for granted. The power of the mind is its exquisite mental capabilities. The wiser mind was to prepare for the unexpected. It came natural to the Jewish mind. Intellect, was the ‘broad-stroke’ of virtuousness. And determination, was the virtue of empowerment. And as well-‘human’ discipline was more a poetic-judgment...

      The den room warmed after the weather began to cool. Later on, was the beginning of the cooler season. The city was emerged-in the ‘macrocosm’ of a delible-function. The refuse-collector arrived at 8 am, the three newspapers came soon after, and Brad came with the early Times, carrying a gallon of chocolate milk and a baker’s dozen. He loved the morning in the Big City. When he was in college at 20, after all night-partying he’d awake more vibrant than ever, unlike his friends. Who were hung-over from alcoholic attrition... He was a ‘jock’ then and now, he awakened at 6, jogged a mile, drank a cup of expresso instead of heavy-dark coffee; and now realized, he had a lot to accomplish in his life... He was an admirer of Steve Jobs, and Steve Forbes. He liked the name:‘Steve’. So much, he wanted to have a son with the name.

      Unlike his dear friend, he aspired and dreamed. Which she admired but saw little purpose. She often told him that dreams were for ‘books’. But he would inject, ‘you’d be out of business if there wasn’t’... So the dreamer and admirer sat at the kitchen-table enjoying each other’s company. Brad had once seen a therapist suggested by someone, it came to very-little. So he became a professional-Bon Vivant, with the money to back it. He was not a total plesbian, his company he bought with his family’s money became a first-class computer company, but only after he turned over the helm... He always inferred that it was his ideas which only came into full-fruition after his departure. He had many chances to be married. He had a high school girlfriend, whom he still corresponded. But being a wife and mother of 4, didn’t make for manly, affection.

      But as times evolved, the many ideas of he and her became conclusive for times of companionship and fellowship in the ‘Big Chill’, so as they took advantage of each others appeals, sitting and enjoying there revolving of life; they set about their individual functions, and bid farewell. Josephine, was now alone, in the late morning... While they’d spent time together she continued the objective of her-workload. Much like her friend they had good mutual tasking-skills... Back in 1999, she’d became a fantastic one to hand in academic work, write and tend to friends she’d made in the school of the Arts, all over the city she even put in time as a director at the Midtown theater. Her niche had developed and devised with timing and diligence. Effectivity, was the scope of her life. And as a result, she was a defining-image of talent, impact, and skill-three very-special qualities. By afternoon she was baking a cake for a young friend, who lived down the block...

      As she put in the cake and watched it rise, she thought of an image which came only with sleep and creativity. The book was the Sea Thrown, a vivid tale of bright-skies, deep-oceans ‘green’ with ocean-‘red’, with golden shines the rising warm-baking. In what was this dream-image she saw blue flying creatures with bright pink-eyes... ...There were men with white flowing beards and long hair, as she slept the creatures would come closer and screech her name. She’d look down and see herself, dressed in ancient war-maiden attire her hair was long, to her chest. Before she could awake as if she wanted to awake at all, breathed in the air, it was exquisite like a berry-wine and the finest-wine all in one. ...Then, the images would fly-off. There was ‘danger’ she was aware of, but there was strength and courage, and somehow she realized it was a place meant for her alone.

      ...It went-through all her dreams, that she was the heroine that in this place ‘reality’ was her own. She’d once read that ‘dreams’, or the fortune, or misfortune-of the dreamer; and that one was symbolicly, speaking to the ‘reality’ of oneself. Other books-detailed that one’s rightful self could only live in dreams, and that it was a reality between ‘mind’ and mystery. Many of her books often played-out upon this ‘vantage’. ...Imperil, imposing and imperative lived in all her books, yet its conscience reality wasn’t 'close' to what she perceived about her dreams... So as the cake bell rang, she removed it and began to apply the frosting. It was a white-cake. The kind, a friend in school taught her to bake, she’d rarely, had such things in a Jewish-household. Friends opened her eyes, and enlightened her to other things in life... It was a more, ‘menial’-labor; it was good for the soul. As much as work now, it was ‘cerebral’...

      She didn’t hold any ideas about her life... She was very fortunate, yet she knew very-little about the way life should be. Her life had always been ‘copesitic’. She had few emotions or fragility about anything in life. But not much love went into what she had become. But in her many blossomings, she accepted and understood what became her life. It unfolded, rather than transitioned. She had no preconceived-notion or ideal, in what the future would become. She was in-charge of her destiny, an obligation and objective ‘cold and clear’... You couldn’t see the outcome but could see the purpose in life. She was not fragile, or in any way mentally, lacking; but was motivationally, patent with a conviction, self-attitude and imposition which in whole, would make the ‘impetus’ of a life.

      She was ‘special’ rather she realized or not; but it was, a realistic-intrinsicness. Electrified by attitude and atonement, then instead to evolve, was more an adventure into determinatonal-understanding... Affectually, ordinating and making ‘consistent’, one can envision a self-reality. So the vision of what was work and relegation, automated the self-priority of an intention. So impact and importance of vocation was an engineering. Josephine never wanted to be a 'snob', ‘know-it-all’ or ‘smarty’, she was too busy making her way in life. It was nothing more than an enterprise. She may not have been a more loving or affectionate, but loved what she was doing. Rarely, embarrassed or emotional, she succeeded and overcame through the facets of sophisticated-intentions. More a philosophy of incentive, for which academia was-implied.

      ...The joys of life was a personal-thing and no matter how they looked at it she proved her ‘resolve’ and ability. Empowerment, that consigned to the influences of ‘time’. On the other side, the result proved an incentive of provening. And though simplicity and logic served its purpose. As life went, she was very competent. The ‘edict’ of writing, proved and prevailed... She loved the ‘Arts’ and her fans, and the many friends who’d came along. Josephine talked with Brad all morning over donuts and expresso. -...‘If you think the President is going to give-in to the over-wrought GOP you must be living in a ‘cave’...' It was true, Josephine was a bit of a recluse, and he knew it. He had a strange sense of conviction and humor, which for the most part, Josephine enjoyed. ‘Brad, you probably know the answer to that’. ‘After all, I’m a confirmed Libertarian and ‘simple-liberal.’... ‘I only want a just society, economy and government’. ‘So as usual, let’s avoid politics.’... ‘...Brad, you have a way of confirming negative-posturings...’ It was a good conversation; one of many, by Brad and Josephine. One thing which neither wanted to infuse was the thought-of marriage. Although both of their-families and friends believed they should find someone. Each was stubbornly, independent.

      In fact, their individual mind-set kept them as friends, in good stead. But as with good-relationships, their mutual resolve helped them to 'fuse' a protective and loving-companionship. It was intimate, yet independent. Brad, eventually spoke about his present professional-talks, and Jospehine spoke on hers. The broadstrokes of interests, intentions and ideas; which sat deep within them both, was as they prepared for the day... With each others support they enjoyed breakfast, and then, the conversation. ...‘Okay, Brad catch you next time.’ ‘You know it, Josey.’ Brad walked out onto the porch, kissed her on the cheek and off he went. While they were conversing she worked on her signing and speaking itinerary. Which she loved. There were points, ideas, and expansive-interests, which were given a ‘structure’. She was read-up upon all sorts of profiles, images and talented ideas, by the media, interests groups and fans with incentives about her favorite-authors...

      She as usual, was perceptive like a ‘hawk’ looking for ‘prey’. With her talent from creativity, imagination for ideas and intellectual-cognition. She was rolling-out, into a full appeasing. It was a propounding compilation, which she came enjoy immensely. Purported to effectively, objectivity and articulately in public attention; or in exercising public-resounding profundity. Which was ‘par for the course’, for Josephine. As with her mental competence, consideration and composure she knitted her ideas and impressions-together. And now, she was engineering together and improving the intentions of her obligations. She was in the best shape and time of her life. She understood that life was not always going to be the same. She’d probably grow ‘old’, her fans would drop-off, friends would move-on, family, fortune and future was an unknown. So she knew and realized, it would not last ‘forever’.

      ...How would she change; was she going to always be a ‘book-binder’, a celebrity and wealthy? She had more money than she knew what to do with. She had to think about tomorrow. She was a very creative-artist, but where was it leading? Being alone invited anxieties, fears and phobias; and being a imaginative women there was alot which had ‘exposed’, itself... There was more to this although, through which, she led-on... After a quick shower, and collecting of a papers, and dressing she was ready to see her agent about the upcoming agenda. The next six weeks would be full of signings, tours and talks; ending in a quick vacation in the Bahamas, were she’d study for her next book-fair in Canada. A book had a fast life-span, by October of the next year it would be number 2,100 on NYBS list or being covered by talk-shows as a ‘phenome’.

      Josephine knew all the tricks and trams, which she reveled in. Apart from being time-consuming, it was a wonderful time. Before leaving she wanted to visit the high-quality museums and the theaters, to meet with old college-mates. Most were very successful but some had become derelict-artist; due to substance-abuse, fame and talent, having differing, affectations by differing-individuals... Their eventual recovery was a wonderful thing to observe. She stayed acquainted, to make sure no one fell-through the ‘cracks’. But selfishly and narcissisticly, she enjoyed their work... And the visual-arts had a way of recognizing and registering, in new-images. There was a suggestive-intensity to her-vision, and their-images... It was like feeding a ‘symbolism’ of the hidden and once, 'alive'... There was an envisage of the articulation, with an intense-availing, and conjuring-up. Which with her talents, became alive, vivid and deep. There were spatial-colors and imagery, alive, at first-sight. She only spent sixty-minutes with each. By the return, she’d been in another-world.

      ...She arrived home informed, fulfilled and tired... She was glad to be home. Walking up her porch-stairs, and unlocked the door. Only she, her secretary, and housemaid had entry. It was installed with the lastest state of the art security, and many building amenities. She was too tired to turn-on the TV in her master-suite but she did turn-on the house music system to easy-listening. It was HD stereo. It was soft-rock which she’d come to like. The lights went on around 6 pm. That was were things of mental-capacity endeared itself... ...Arriving home the next day from a questioning by explicit R&D and PR agents, she was put through her paces. Yet they knew she was on top of her-game. The theories, technicals and terms were formed, fulfilled and fostered. Implicit to terms, and tentatives of contentions, conferrings, and confirmations.

      It was a sunny-day in the metropolis. It shined through the windows of the agent’s skyscraper office. Then, she was taking notes about future strategies. She was in her element. Radgetted-ideas, images, concepts; intentions and implications were flying, left to right... Impressions, expressions and concertions were launched, flew and were grounded for other ideas... Her purpose in all this was the gratification-materialized and stated, in surmounting. It was all they could do to objectify and authenticate; in relatives, -produced. After this production-session was over the interpretations, had been reached and posted. Josephine wore her reading-glasses which her sight once 18x19, with age was myopic to a small degree. She had carried her milieu-briefcase. Which after college became a ‘worthy’ and subjective accessory. In fact, her first agent decided it was up to him to make his newest associate; ‘look’ the part. He brought her clothes from the best clothing, shoes from an Italian-shop, cosmetics from Max Factor, and to set it all off, a professional women’s luggage, with all the latest gadgets and placades.

      After he had been terminated, and the fifth and sixth-Bestseller, everyone came to realize, she was already, a ‘Work of Art’, all to herself. She got rid of everything but the attache, in fond memory of what it all meant. She professionally, took all her resigning, cumulative statements into individual folders, and bid a ‘good day’, to her co-assignors. An eviduciary account, and autonomy as to being a very practical, and pragmatic. ...Through the influences of capability and the affluences of a commandment. It was a ‘tertiary’-corporate relevance. They were impressed, and she was factoring-in completion. The consummate and effectual-concertion, both established over years and actualized into an ‘exquisite’-representation... No one was left, as unassigned. Her agent wanted her to throw a completion and awarding-party. She only wanted to go home after a long day. It was a totally, encumbering transaction.

      Her agent for six-years, he had learned to honor Josephine’s ways. After all she was an ‘icon’ of expertise and importance. She left no money on the table. She could have been a ‘savant’; but she was more integritied, than just that. She served her-abilities and aptitude to her work, and no one was to stand in her way. Learning early-on, while a third-grader with awareness and understanding, that proved mature at issues and opportunities. By 38 little, got passed Josey which in her growth was the advances of intellect to be wise and analytical. There were 'hobbies' to the active-mind, which Josephine-possessed. A heavy-deduction and induction, by the instances and ideas, coming to facilitate, the posturings and pontifications of an elaborate, self-engineering. She forged her dubitable-talents, with a superficial-timing... ...As she worked on the simple contract-‘codes’, ordinal-provisions, and feduciary faculties the actual contentions, were being followed-through... ...It went on, by 4 pm she was on her way home... While the publisher’s analysts, brokers, and lead-extropolaters had caught up...

      In bed, as on her way home, she was beginning to fall asleep thinking of her friends, book-formats, and hypercritical-delineations of present and pass-works. And if her aide was looking after aunt Ethel... She remarked to herself that people were always the most unpredictable, yet simplest atoners; and then was in a deep slumber... The room was cool and quiet, as rain began to fall in a soft-spray. The cool-rainy night made for good sleep. The night swept along, with dawn arriving with a pleasant-glow. The birds began to call, pidgeons flew after a damp-bath and street-cleaners, were coming along the curb. The housekeeper had learnt to make breakfast early on sunny-days. Sarah Hermez was a immigrant working on a green-card from Venezuela. She lived with her sister who came to America, 20 years ago. They were getting by. Sara loved working for Josephine because she treated everyone well.

      In her work, good-bosses were hard to come by. Either you were over-worked or under-paid. Now her sister was getting married to a rich American-Latino who owned a construction business. She was glad that she would be happy. She didn’t give a thought to herself. Their parents taught them the duty of hard-work. ...’Judia’, was also a hardworker who took work seriously. The two sisters adored and respected one another... So they knew not to ask anything but love from the other, she was proud. As she stopped folding towels for the morning-bath and began placing plates and saucers on a clothe-table. Josephine didn’t ask for much, assuming how wealthy she was... She paid transportation, healthcare, her retirement, and for the process for her to work legally, in the U.S.

      She met Sarah at a Mexican Cafe selling Burritos, week after week. Her service was impeccable. After a long conversation after work she hired her on... She took well to house-matroning. She was going to move into her own apartment, when Josephine offered her an apartment near the Brownstone. And now she could come and go without difficulty... As opportunity and time passed, it was only typical that she’d want to do so, also. So on weekends, she attended computer science studies at NYCU. She was doing well. The morning sunshine invigorated Josephine to rise and go to the kitchen and eat. There was expresso, honey and biscuits, oatmeal and fruit. She ate slowly, as a necessary thinker tended to. Josephine didn’t talk much before 7 am, it was a code of hers. When a noise was ‘let’ into the house conversation could begin. Josephine’s character was one of sincere criticalism but deep understanding, by what was the imperceiving of others...

      ...Self-understood it was that she had a ‘defined’ way of encountering others... It was subjectively, ‘pale’ but a realizable-composing. Josephine was a deep-relative reactionary about ‘valuable’-things. From the intensity of things to the exactitudes of facilitations there was a convivial of confesson and convocation. Josephine’s attitudes went fairly deep, like her sleep. By Monday morning she was to go to a college presentation on Art at Columbia University. How the imagination and creativity could be a mental and fundamental way of life. After that, the tour would begin for the Spring season... On the friday after she planned to begin her tour which would take her across the U.S., Canada and Mexico. Ending in Florida with a signing and Book-sellers club meeting and convention. Many of them she knew times before. They were old friends, they kept track of her and her works, and were impressed and understanding, about all she did. Then on the following, Wednesday. She’d be at her publisher’s convention ending in Waco, Texas.

      She was not a big-fan of the West, but was a good ‘crowd-pleaser’ and ‘people-meeter’.. Her parents had taken her to visit others all over the world to know family and their lifestyle,and to care for others whom were less fortunate or more. ...Who knows a relationship or companionship, or a view of the world, would occur. Her career had made a fortune and her friends proved valuable-attributes and insightful-experiences. There was purpose to life, and she, with help from others, gained much. There was a psychological-resolve to her many designs and attributes. A designation, carefully planned by institution, to who was Josephine Stein. A precis of refining and exaction; collectively, instilled and installed in an inflexion... Which challenged the recourse and automation to the distilling of role-comported, and recognitive, each day, hour and minute in the activation to being a recollective-person... Her ‘sagas’ were human, habitual, and homaging by vision and mission.

      A presence of arcing professed-work and dignity. A pronouncing, precision that provided, and proffered in the actively, judging-challenges. Defuse and parallel, her very consciousness being in endemic-multiple ‘worlds’. The giant-role of perfection...adduces to voice and vocal of a human-action. A choice of her innate and objective. What led to its own was a predominate, self-provision. In every artist and every work of art; the precious precision to being in obligative and precious-contentions... Yet Jewish-people tended to be ‘schrewd’, Josephine was no different. The scale, scope and scheme of things tended to play-out on life’s stage. She knew of many of her ethnicity, both successful and not. ...Whose hopes and dreams never panned-out, their life-lessons were dishardening. But also, the all too human edict, both predisposed and allowed in an overcoming. As she and others made their destiny, they created a ‘dynasty’, which only meant so much...

      Life was temporary and ethereal, yet it was life. After coming home that day she had all her travel supplies laid-out by Sarah. All she needed to do was to expect tickets, itinerary-schedules and the call and pick-up by her assistant. ‘Okay, Brad, I’ll see you when I get back’... ‘...Lunch at Tiffany’s?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘And you take care of your business. Don’t want it going under...’ ‘Okay, see you soon, bye.’ She hanged up. She knew Brad’s elderly mother would keep an eye on him. That was one thing they both shared: family and love. She packed and was out the door when the assistant showed up in a Limosine. A long Limosine with six doors, her agent had her travel in style. Although, only uptown she had a BMW, from six years earlier. She didn’t especially, like driving, taxis did the job just as well. She only drove to visit her father in Connecticutt. There he lived in retirement. A once engineering-teacher, he had a pension, and at 84, had a senior Condo. He always had genuine words of advice, suggestions and words of support.

      She told her friends that she would be on tour for ten days, so they shouldn’t expect the luncheon with her. Every once in a while, she liked getting away form New York, The hectic life only went so far. She was a genuine New Yorker but her eyes, ears and mind needed to rest. Cooped-up in a Brownstone didn’t always make for a solemn solace. There was the long leisurely, walks through Central Park, occasional strolls through Times Square and along the outer shore but each had its ‘limits’. She fell asleep on the drive into LaGuardia but awoke on the plane, taxying along the runway. Many of the passengers where vacationers and families on visits. She was in the executive-class. She was familiar with the whole bit. From trips to Qatar and China to Bolivia and Poland, she had a close tie with the travel business. In addition she had friends, acquaintances and family of all kinds across the globe. She remembered one solemn trip to Rome to visit the Vatican with her close friend with the ashes of her Italian Grand-father; his last wish. Josephine was a good friend and an even bigger sleeper. She studied sleep; books and her own. But it was a solemn process going back to ancient times from Buddhism to Judaism.

      She was fortunate to read and discover-far and wide what differing and similar societies thought of sleep... Many thought her dreams were probably a source of her creativity. Like perhaps Nicodemus or the Buddha, an astute higher-calling of consciousness. But Josephine was endowed with both conscious and unconscious adeptness. While she napped the plane flew into LAX with ease and a calm descent. The bell of final disembark came-on, and everyone departed. She entered the main sky-Captain’s corridor and was picked up by an associate. The associate had worked as the liasson for wealthy travelers. Josephine was familiar with them. There were many across the country and over-seas... She

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