“I’ve had a hell of a day. I’m so mad I could spit nails,” said my Long Lost Cousin.

“Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“I was standing in a long line at the supermart checkout. When some clown butts in front of me with a full trolley!”

“What did you do?”

“I yelled, “Who the hell do you think you are? Get to the back of the line.”

“What happened then?”

“He just put his middle finger up and smiled.”

The other people in the line were getting fidgety.

“Manager! Manager!” My cousin screamed.

The manager came running!

“This bozo line-jumped, and he won’t move to the back of the line.”

“Please sir, go to the back,” said the manager, pleading with the bozo.

“No, I’m staying right here. This guy can’t order me around,” the bozo said, defiantly.

“Then I pushed him out of line and took his trolley to the back of the line.

Then he pushed me from behind. We were pushing each other back and forth. Before I knew what was happening, the police were there calming everyone down. It took me two hours to get out of the store with my groceries. Can you believe it?”

“You could have handled it better,” I said, calmly.

“How’s that?”

“Well, you are still visibly upset and it has made your day miserable. This is the outcome of your aggressive behavior in handling that difficult situation.”

“What would you rather me say? “Please sir, will you be so kind as to move to the back of the line. That’s being a wimp.”

“Do you know what being assertive means?”

“Please tell me, cousin dear, I’m all ears.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean being sarcastic, I’ll tell you that!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Being assertive involves talk focused on the solving of problems and preserving the dignity of everyone in the difficult situation.”

“How do you do that in the line-jumping situation?”

“Well, you could have said:

“I’ve been in this line for a while, waiting, and you going in front of me has upset me, would you please go to the end of the line,” you see, no swearing, no name calling, and no pushing.”

My cousin looked at me quizzically.

“Now, to communicate this, you have to have a firm tone of voice, eye contact, and a confident stance, no slouching!”

“So you think saying that will make him move to the back of the line?”

“Well, at least you are not arguing with him in a loud voice.”

My cousin shook his head.

“Now, you might get a very angry response, or be ignored, and the line-jumper might stay put. But, on the other hand, you might get an apology and he might move back.”

“That would be great if he went to the back.”

“Yes, and you would feel good for tackling the situation in a calm, cool way, and not spoil your day.”

“Well cousin, thanks for the lesson  in assertiveness.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, where are you going?”

“Home. My wife said she’s going to let me do something I have always dreamed of doing. She will let me win an argument without being ASSERTIVE!”

I was at a literary conference, where not only writers meet but also people who are interested in books and the info they contain, whether fiction or non-fiction.

I was having a glass of wine and chatting with a couple of writers, when this chap sat down next to me and said:

“I hope they “cure” the deterioration of old age because I would like to live a long time to continue and finish all the projects I have on the go.”

I took a good look at this guy, he was very well built and healthy looking for a grey headed fella with quite a few wrinkles on his face.

“Well, there is a writer here that is going to speak about his book on “Immortality”. I guess that’s why you’re here today.”

“Yes, I will probably buy his book and get him to sign it for me.”

“That statement you made when you sat down, It’s a good way to start a conversation,” I smiled.

“I’m sorry if I butted in, but I’m new at these conferences and I am anxious to make acquaintances.”

“That’s alright, the purpose of these meetings is to exchange views on ideas that different writers have written about.”

“Well, I would like to live to at least 160 to complete my projects and see my grandchildren grown up and maybe even my great grandchildren.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixty.”

“So, you’re looking for another 100 years!”

“Yes, but the trouble is that now our cell-repair mechanisms shut down due to old age.”

One of the writers at our table piped up, smiling:

“When I learned of a friend’s death, I asked, what of? I was told apparently it was nothing serious, only old age.”

“Well, that’s my point. I don’t want to die of old age,” said my friend, next to me, very seriously. He had a far away look in his eyes.

“Did you ever consider Cryonics?”

“No, what’s that all about?”

“It’s a “freeze-wait-then re-animate” process. A sort of frozen fountain of youth.”

“You mean when I die, I would be frozen like the food in my refrigerator?”

“Well, freezing does preserve things.”

“How does it work?”

“After death, all your blood is removed and replaced with a fluid that preserves your organs, while they are frozen. Then after a length of time, the technologies of the future could bring you back to life. Defrost you, so to speak, for another lifetime of 100 years or so.”

Our new friend looked very pensive.

“That sounds interesting. The distinction between the living and the dead would become vague and actually blur. Our definitions of death would be re-written!”

“There are a couple of questions yet to be ironed out. Would the brain cells be okay after freezing? Would memory and personal identity be restored?”

“Has anyone been brought back to life yet after defrosting?”

“Not yet, to my knowledge. There was a fella in the late 60’s, who was suspended and apparently his body is checked ever so often, and it seems to be holding up okay. They might try to defrost him soon. As of now, there are approximately 1000 bodies in suspension.”

“Well, it’s a thought,” said my friend, seeking immortality.

One of the other writers at our table said:

“Maybe death is the best part of life; it’s always saved for last!”

We all laughed, except the fella seeking the Fountain of Youth.

I got up from the table and said:

“Well, I have to go now, I’ve got a speech to give. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, here’s my card, we should keep in touch.

THE CARD READ:

CRYONICS INCORPORATED

EXTENDING LIFE THROUGH NEW SCIENCE

I was sitting in my favorite diner having a coffee. It was too early for the tavern and the green padded stools! The curvy waitress served me my coffee and said:

“Did you see that cartoon in the paper today?

“No, I didn’t, was it funny?”

“Oh Yes, it was on the moon, you see, and this red Indian comes out of his teepee and sees in the distance an astronaut sticking an American flag into the dusty rock and he says:

“Oh no, not again!”

I smiled, but the fella next to me said sourly:

“The moon landing was a conspiracy, it never happened!”

“What makes you believe such dribble?” I said seriously.

The waitress disappeared and left us to it.

“I’m a member of “Conspiracy Ltd.”, and we believe in many conspiracies. We believe the “powers that be” are trying to hoodwink us.”

“I remember the moon landing well, that day back in July of 1969, when my whole family watched it on TV, and we were incredibly proud of the achievement. Why would it be faked?”

“We know it was all done because of the Cold War and The Space Race with the Soviets. It was deemed easier and less expensive for NASA to fake the moon landing and thereby guaranteeing success, than to really go there. Our technology was also probably lacking. So, faking it was easier with less risk.”

I shook my head.

“But all the evidence points to a real moon landing. It was probably the best documented event in human history. There were thousands of pictures, hours of video, and many moon rocks. Scientists do not doubt, for a moment, that it was not real.”

My diner companion eyed me suspiciously.

“You people are ready to believe things because you are very gullible.”

“On the contrary, I am a skeptic! I question and analyze ideas and events with the concept of fallibility in mind. But when reason, logic and evidence prevail, as in the case of the moon landing, it becomes fact.”

“We conspiracy believers don’t believe what the “authorities” tell us. We believe the theories because we see the world full of conspiracies!”

This guy was getting under my skin. The curvy waitress re-appeared.

“More coffee?”

“Yes please, and I’ll take a piece of the cherry pie.”

I thought if I indulge myself, I might be able to take this guy with a grain of salt.”

She returned with my pie and said:

“I have another moon joke.”

“Go ahead, darling, it might lighten this conversation up.”

“Well, after the Americans went to the moon, the Russians said they will send a man to the Sun! The engineers said, if he goes to the Sun, he will burn up!

“What do you think we are stupid?” The Soviets replied, “We’ll send him at night!”

The diner erupted with laughter, except the guy next to me.

“Do you realize it would be virtually impossible to fake the moon landing? The conspiracy would have to involve about 400,000 people who worked on the project. Governments are not known for keeping secrets! So, with the number of people that would have had to be involved, someone would have leaked the hoax.”

“People like you believe science is the absolute truth.”

“No, you’re wrong there, science, like everything, can at times, be fallible, but its strength is self-correction. If something is wrong, it will be flushed out by lack of external verification. In the case of the moon landing there was plenty of external verification.”

I had enough of this guy and as I got up to leave, the waitress hurried over and said: “How many aerospace engineers does it take to change a light bulb on the moon?”

Walking out the door, I said:

“None! It’s not rocket science, you know.”

I was so excited, I had to call up my Long Lost Cousin, to tell him the news.

“Hello Cousin, I have to tell you my first novel is out on Kindle. I’m so excited.”

“That’s great Cousin, what’s it about?”

“Well, there are three main characters suffering with extreme guilt and they try to rid themselves of their guilt in different ways and they all get tangled up with a gangster.”

“Hey, that sounds interesting. What’s it like, writing and publishing a novel?”

“Your novel is like your baby, but the gestation period is much longer than nine months. You plough on and on, then one day it’s finished.”

“Your baby, huh?”

“That’s right. Getting to the end of the novel is hard and at the finish it’s sad, because you have to let go and let it out into the world.”

“I imagine it takes a lot of going over to make it just right.”

“Yes it does, it’s called revising. You check grammar, punctuation, word choice, etc. It’s about looking at your book from different angles.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Do you read many novels, Cousin?”

“Yes, I just finished one that I didn’t like at all. In fact, the writer should have put a finishing touch on the story- A MATCH!”

“That’s very funny, I hope you like my novel.”

“Can you take criticism on your book?”

My Cousin was starting to delve beneath my skin, now.

“Yes, I can, when you are a writer you have to have a thick skin. When your novel is out there in the big, bad, world, you have to expect some criticism.”

“How do you rationalize it to yourself?”

“Well, when you let out an object into the world, and it’s something you have created and invested in; when all is said and done, it is still an object that can and should be criticized.”

“Do you have interesting characters in your novel?”

“I hope you will find them interesting. I tried to make it a character study.”

“This novel that I didn’t like; the writer said his characters bore no resemblance to any person living or dead. That was what was wrong with the story!”

I smiled, but I wished he wouldn’t make so many jokes.

“Well Cousin, I hope you will download my book onto your Kindle. Remember my novel is like a game for two players, you and me. My book may have been written in solitude but the dream of the story comes alive when the reader’s imagination collaborates with my imagination. I hope I can get you Cousin, to stay inside the dream of my story.”

“About this birth of yours, was it a long labour?”

“You and your jokes, Cousin, yes, as a matter of fact, about three years.”

“Well, if you kept at it that long, I congratulate you and I will most certainly download your book.”

“Thank you, Cousin, the world is filled with words and I hope you enjoy the ones I am giving you.”

PS-From Writer Dave: My novel, “Web of Guilt, A Chicago Story”, is coming soon to Amazon Kindle.

I was at a luncheon, where the speaker’s topic was “Becoming a Writer”.

During lunch, before the speaker spoke, the gentleman next to me asked me what I do now that I’m retired.

“I’m a writer,” I said, and all the other six people at the table suddenly looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Are you now, what do you write?”

“Non-fiction, short stories, blog posts and I’ve just finished my first novel.”

“Anything published?”

“A few articles for a magazine years ago, I publish my blog posts on the internet, and I’m going to self-publish my novel.”

The chap smiled and said:

“Should you really call yourself a writer?”

This guy was getting under my skin. The others at the table were waiting for my answer.

“Of course I’m a writer and I have a pile of rejection letters to prove it! Only writers who write and submit can get rejected. What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“That’s nice, nobody at this table is going to ask you to prove it!”

Everyone laughed.

“It’s interesting that writing is one of the few jobs where people put the “burden of proof” on you.”

“I guess it’s a form of identity,” one person across from me said.

“Yes, you’re right. I look at myself in the mirror and say, “I am a writer”. It’s a unique way of interacting with and viewing the world.”

“I guess if you call yourself a writer, you have to write often, probably daily,” the doctor said, humbly.

“That’s right, a writer has to produce. Nobody will ever miss something you didn’t write. Writers have to create their own motivation.”

“You must have to discipline yourself to write,” someone said.

“Yes, a writer must have self-discipline. Writers are people who write!”

“What about writer’s block?”

Questions were coming from all directions now!

“Well, questions like the one the doctor put to me, “Should I call myself a writer?”, contribute to writer’s block!”

“What do you mean?”

“All writers have a little negative voice in the back of their heads saying:

“Are you really a writer, maybe you should put your pen down and walk away from the table.”

“Writers hear voices?”

“Yes, so do you, it’s the voice of self-doubt!”

Everyone at the table nodded their head.

“The doctor’s controversial question just fortifies that voice, which is the enemy of writers and really the enemy of all art.”

“Well, you sure know a lot about writing. I’m sorry I said what I did,” said the doctor, shaking my hand.

“Apology accepted.”

At that moment the M.C. announced:

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, our speaker: Writer Dave.”

The applause was deafening. I GOT UP AND WENT TO THE PODIUM!

My friend, Tom, decided to write a family memoir as a legacy since he was getting on. One day, he came to my house, visibly upset.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve been researching your family tree and found out you don’t exist!”

“It’s not a laughing matter, Dave. My cousin is very mad at me, in fact it’s bordering on hate, since I showed him the first draft of my memoir.”

“Hold on Tom, it sounds like we need a couple of strong cocktails before we continue.”

When I brought the cocktails into the lounge, Tom continued:

“Well, it was the section about Uncle Ernie, my cousin’s father, that ticked him off. Uncle Ernie was in the Korean War and received a couple of medals for valor, he was a war hero.”

“That’s great, what was wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but I decided to write how he appeared to me as a child. He wore a deer stalker cap and loud checked shirts, shorts, knee length socks and walking boots. It was quite a comical sight. And his wife, Aunt Kate, would nag him to change his outfit.”

“It seems to me, you are showing the intimate, human side of a man who goes on to become a war hero.”

“Yes but, my cousin says, I’m mocking his father, the war hero, making fun of him. And further more, he also accuses me of making his mother look like a horrible person because she nagged him.”

We both drained our cocktail glasses.

“Tom, it sounds like your cousin would like to hang you from the family tree!”

“That’s only the half of it. Now, I’m not invited to his daughter’s wedding and he’s going to tell everyone at the wedding how I made fun of his father and mother. The whole family will hate me!”

“Tom, my friend, you made the mistake of showing your cousin the first draft before preparing him about the comedy that leads eventually to stories about his father’s heroism. You should have engaged him in the storytelling process. He might have then realized you were using the comedy to establish a wonderful character, his father.”

“But how do I reconcile this with my cousin now?”

“Ask him to tell you some stories about his father and get him involved in the writing process, it might appeal to his ego. Get him in on the revision also.”

“I’ll try it, but right now he thinks it’s in my genes to be insulting. I hope I can save face in the family.”

“Well, Tom, that’s the problem with the gene pool, there are NO LIFEGUARDS!”

One grey day, there was a knock on my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened the door, there stood my website guru, Eric, the man who helps me keep on the cyber space straight and narrow!

“ Come in, Eric, you’re just the man I need to see right now. You must be psychic, dropping by when I need you.”

“Well Dave, I did feel some vibrations in the air. But to tell you the truth, I just felt like sampling some of your wine. What’s the problem?”

“I’m a frustrated blogger. I have a thousand hits on my writer’s blog, where I feature my short stories. But, I only have 300 comments and some of those are mine!”

“So, you’re frustrated because people don’t comment!”

I poured Eric and myself a large glass of red wine each and continued:

“Yes, but not only that, when I tell people about my blog, they say, they don’t have time to read it!”

“Well, people do need time to absorb and process a piece of writing so they know what to comment.”

“But Eric, I tell people my stories are only 400 to 500 words in length. It only takes a few minutes to read and comment on a story.”

“More wine, please,” said Eric, pointing to his empty glass.

Upon getting his glass refilled, he continued:

“Well, lets see if you’re doing things right. Do you close your stories with a question?”

“Probably not as much as I should.”

“Do you work hard enough at blogging?”

“I most certainly do. I put a lot of sweat, stress and energy into my writer’s blog.”

“Do you reply to your comments to keep the conversation going?”

“I do reply sometimes, but I will do it more often now.”

“Is it easy to comment on your blog?”

“Oh yes, only name and email are required and the email address is not published.”

“Well, it seems you’re doing everything right. The only thing I would say is that a lot of people don’t want to open themselves up online, they’re scared. People are insecure and don’t comment for fear of humiliation. Also, we live in an environment of bystanders, watchers. There are commenters and viewers. By the way, do you need comments for affirmation?”

“No, not really, but a comment shows that the reader cared enough to let you know the blog was read.”

“Do you enjoy blogging?”

“Oh yes, I enjoy writing the blog, it’s a way of getting my stories out to the public.”

“Well Dave, I’ll leave you now with this gem: work hard on your writing, the secrets of success won’t work unless you do. And always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them!”

With that, I was left alone to wash up the wine glasses!

***

Well readers, I have 80 stories on this blog. Will you take time to read and comment? I will appreciate it.

My cousin climbed onto the green padded stool next to me. I took one look at him and said:

“You look terrible! What’s wrong?”

“It’s strange, I woke up this morning feeling caged, imprisoned, restricted, and barred!”

“Well, I guess you don’t feel so good,” I smiled.

“It’s not a laughing matter, cousin.”

“I’m sorry. Bartender, two beers here.”

My cousin took a gulp of his beer and continued:

“My wife wants this, my wife wants that, I don’t like my job and I feel very unsatisfied. I seem to be looking for something, but I’m not sure what it is or where to look for it!”

I took a sip of my beer and thought for a moment.

“I think I can explain your feelings, cousin.”

“I hope you can, because if you think about it, I really have everything I need, food, clothes, shelter, job, and a wife, yet I have an overdose of depression!”

“Well, cousin, the question is: Why, when our basic needs are met, do we still feel unsatisfied?”

“Why, indeed, cousin.”

He stared at me, waiting for the answer.

“I think our constant searching for something else is because our brains, bodies and society in general have changed so radically in the last 50 or so years. We have evolved!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Our culture has evolved, in what we do, how we get our food, how long we live, where we live, what we buy, and how we think about life. So, in our abundant society, we no longer focus on what we NEED, we think more about what we WANT.”

“Wow! I want a lot of things!”

My cousin stared into his glass of beer like it was a crystal ball.

“So, what do we do to adapt to this evolution?”

“Probably you need to become more electrified, search for more adventures and meaning in life, challenge yourself more.”

“I always feel like life is passing me by quickly.”

“That’s the thing, my cousin, the grim-reaper is always right behind us, whispering, “I am coming!”

My cousin was wide-eyed!

“That’s a scary thought.”

“It’s meant to be scary, to get you moving, doing different things in life. As the years pass, ask yourself, Did I live? Did I love? Did I matter? It’s soul-shaking to question yourself this way, but it needs to be done”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one that feels unsatisfied with life.”

“That’s not true, cousin, 4 out of 5 people suffer from the “Is This All There Is” syndrome.”

My cousin pondered that statistic and said:

“I wonder if I’m the ONE that Enjoys it?”

My cousin and I were having a take-away lunch in the park. It was a beautiful day to be relaxing on the bench, listening to birdsong and watching the human birds pass by.

We were talking about some subject, when I said:

“You know cousin, when we are conversing, there are really SIX people involved!”

“Come on, you’re pulling my leg, there’s only TWO of us here.”

“No, I kid you not. There are three people in my mind while we are talking and there are three people in your mind while we are talking.”

“I don’t believe it. Six people, that would be like talking in a crowd!”

“Cousin, relax, I’ll explain. The other day, someone asked me, how they could beat depression. So I gave them some dos and don’ts about beating depression.”

“What are you now, some kind of agony aunt?”

“Be quiet and listen, you might learn something. Okay, when I gave him my advice, I had an IMAGE of myself speaking. That’s one person. I also had an IMAGE of the person that was listening to me. That’s two people. And finally, I had an IMAGE of how the other person was thinking of me. That’s three people in my mind as I was talking.”

My cousin laughed and said:

“What did the IMAGE think of you?”

“In my mind, the IMAGE thought I knew what I was talking about. So, I decided to give him even more advice.”

“Now, lets go into the other person’s mind. He sees an IMAGE of himself listening to me. Then he sees an IMAGE of me talking on and on. Finally, he sees an IMAGE of himself thinking, “This guy must think I’m an idiot. He’s bombarding me with info.”

My cousin broke in:

“So, all the time you’re thinking, you are fabulous, he’s thinking you’re a jerk.”

“That’s right, cousin, you’re getting the hang of this now.”

My cousin smiled.

“Now, the person I was giving my advice to, walks away coldly and I think “How ungrateful.”

“Boy, that’s quite a story.”

“Yes it is, six people in a two way conversation, sort of a “Transaction of Selves”. Words and nonverbals working together.”

My cousin got up, abruptly, and started walking away.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I don’t mind one on one talking, BUT I HATE CROWDS!”

The middle-aged man, that sat next to me on the green padded stools, blurted out:

“I’m not crazy, I’ve just been in a very bad mood for a few years.”

I turned to look at this guy carefully. Did I hear him right? Was it time for his medication or mine?

“Are you alright, fella?”

“Yes, don’t worry, I’m harmless, I’m just talking to myself. I’m very stressed out.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that 75% of people have extreme stress at least one day a week. That’s a lot of stress!”

He looked at me with a far away expression.

“Why do we have stress? It seems to always be there in the background.”

He ordered a beer and bought me one also.

“Thanks, for the beer. Yes, with modern life we have a stress epidemic. I think we are stressed out because we live in surroundings that are drastically different from the environment that our brains evolved in.”

“You mean because we now live in crowded cities, have fast vehicles, and lots of electronic gadgets flooding us with info, this creates the problem.”

“Yes, we’re living in an age that our ancestors didn’t have to deal with.”

“You’re right, I always feel like I’m in a fog of uncertainty. I don’t sleep well either. Sometimes I wake up moaning, but really I haven’t been asleep yet.”

“Boy, that sounds serious!”

“You don’t know the half of it. I have money problems, wife problems, work problems, and health problems.”

“That’s a lot of problems, you’re in a bad way!”

What can I do to help this guy, I thought.

He continued:

“On top of everything else, I’m a type “A” personality. I try to do too many things in less and less time. What am I going to do?”

This guy was falling apart at the seams!

“I think you could do with some “self-compassion.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself. When things go badly, you need to treat yourself in a kind way. Don’t heap so much criticism on yourself.”

“Okay, I’ll try that.”

We both gulped down the rest of our beers and smiled.

“You seem to be pretty calm. But having said that, you seem a little tense now.”

I laughed and said:

“I’M NOT TENSE, I’M JUST EXTREMELY ALERT!”