Josephine Stein
Read this book of gothic modern terms about a writer with secrets and ability. Josephine Stein grows up as a lone child. Her parents are both talent and intelligent. Their daughter is precious, precocious and self-pinnacled at a young age. That she's a natural at almost anything. Growing up and by 19 years old, she's a super-successful blockbuster book author. Now owning houses, living in the New York scene and all the power and fanfare becomes and goes into other worlds of her mind. They actually, contribute to a creative writing oracle and origination. Come read: "Josephine Stein".
[Sample:]
Josephine Stein
By Danny E. Allen
Copyright 2013 Danny E. Allen
KDP publishing Edition
Table of Contents
Josey is a writer wunderkind of the literary world. A genius jet-setter with wealth, power and ever ratified perniciousness. She a later SITC type that is catered to by New York City types. She simple but assertive, but one secret she holds is his mind. Read as this incredible conscriptionist comes to grip with her reason for success in life. Will it be worth the culmination that she must face. [Stephen K. verses Friday the 13.]
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‘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.