A Novel Thief
The Younger Generation Has It Made • Advice From Old Folks On How To Live Longer — 3
One Minute Wit
The Younger Generation Has It Made
“Kids these days got it too easy.”
“You know it. Radio, sliced bread, six-day work-weeks.”
“Seriously. I had to get up at 4:00 a.m. this morning so I could lace up my boots in time for work.”
Other Stuff
Advice From Old Folks On How To Live Longer • 3
Shen Bigcat — Age 91
Rejection, rejection, rejection. My efforts to get my super helpful book on aging advice — Super Useful Tips To Squeeze More Days Out Of Our Meager Human Lifespan — traditionally published have been unsuccessful so far.
It’s like book publishers can’t see the benefits of such a book. If people live longer because they bought and read my book, then they will have more time to buy more books. It’s a double win!
While I wait for a publisher to grasp my book’s incredible potential, I will continue to share these useful tips here, one at a time, so you can savor each one. Allow them to soak in and become part of your consciousness. Then, incorporate them into your lifestyle.
Here is tip number three:
If you go to the zoo and they say, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll have that tiger caught in no time. Come on in.”
Don’t go in.
Longevity tips don’t get much better than that. Thank you, Shen.
Story
A Novel Thief
Harrison Steamer was a promising young novelist. His debut novel had become a must-read sensation. People (especially his publisher) constantly asked him when his next book would be finished. He always replied, “I am working on it!”
But in truth, he wasn’t. Maybe it was the pressure of writing the follow-up, but nothing Harrison wrote was any good. Everything felt forced. Which only fed his panic.
Harrison decided to use some of his earnings from the first book and bought an old abandoned building. He converted it into a writing space, hoping it would inspire him.
It didn’t. Harrison spent his time pacing the building, still unable to come up with any good ideas for his next novel.
One day, in his frustration, he threw his laptop at the wall. The laptop knocked a brick through the wall, leaving an opening where the brick had been.
Harrison grabbed his phone and shone the flashlight through the opening. To his shock, he saw a hidden room behind the wall. And some kind of machine that filled most of the room.
Harrison made a trip to the hardware store and bought a crowbar and sledgehammer. A few hours later, Harrison had knocked enough of the wall down to get inside the room. The machine in the room was now completely visible. Harrison chuckled to himself. It looked like some kind of steampunk time machine.
Why not? Harrison thought. So he sat down in the seat, set the clock to 25 years in the future, and pulled the lever.
The time machine came to life and started shaking. Harrison’s eyes grew large, and he thought about jumping off. But then it stopped. Harrison chuckled. Must be an old movie prop. Maybe I should write a time-travel novel, he thought. He got up and went back into the other room.
Harrison felt his stomach growl, so he decided to go out for lunch. As he left the building, everything was different. The skyline had changed, cars were different, and people were dressed oddly.
No. It can’t be possible, Harrison thought. He stopped the first person he saw walking by.
“What is the date?” Harrison asked the woman.
“May fifth,” she answered.
“What year?”
“What year? Are you high? It’s 2047.”
Harrison’s mouth fell open. He started running down the street, looking at the buildings he didn’t recognize. He looked in one store and saw a mirror. He froze in shock. He looked older. Twenty-five years older. He kept running. Then he saw it—a bookstore. Harrison hurried inside, grabbed the first book he could get his hands on, and opened the cover. He checked the copyright date. It said ©2047.
Harrison knew it was real. He had traveled 25 years into the future.
Then he got a sinister idea.
Harrison went to the popular new releases section and grabbed a novel. This won’t be written for decades, he thought. He tucked the book in his jacket and hurried out the door.
When Harrison returned to his building, he sat on the time machine again, set the date for 25 years earlier, and pulled the lever. After a few seconds of shaking, he was back in his original time. Harrison ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He had returned to his original age. That was a relief. Harrison took the novel out of his jacket and put it in a drawer in his desk. Then he went out to buy a new laptop.
Harrison’s second novel made a big splash. He had tweaked the language of the stolen future novel to make it sound more like him. It worked. No one suspected anything.
Six months later, Harrison released his third novel. Another stolen story from the future. It was also a huge hit. Even more popular than his first two novels.
The pattern repeated itself every six months for five years. Harrison went to the future and picked out a new best-seller to copy and take credit for. He also stopped to admire his growing collection of titles on the fiction shelf. He had become ridiculously wealthy and an A-list celebrity. But Harrison was starting to feel empty inside. He knew it wasn’t real. He had stolen those stories and was nothing more than a novel thief.
A week later, Harrison walked out the door of his building, and a man was waiting for him. A fan, he presumed.
“I don’t know how you did it, but you stole my novel.” The man said. “Imagine my surprise when I went to the library and saw my novel’s title under your name. I opened it, and it was my novel word or word.”
“You’re crazy. I’m calling the police,” Harrison said.
“I wrote it when I was a teenager. I have files with the original dates. And a printed copy I showed to friends.”
Harrison’s mind whirled. The man must have held onto the book for 25 years before publishing it. Or perhaps he spent 25 years perfecting it. No wonder it was so good.
“What’s your name?” Harrison asked.
“William Goodwrite.”
Alright, listen, William. I am a wealthy man. I will give you two million dollars to stay quiet. Think of it as payment as a ghostwriter.”
William had recently been laid off at his job. The money was too tempting to pass up.
“Alright. It’s a deal,” William replied.
Five years later, a slightly drunk Harrison walked out of his building and found William waiting, pointing a gun at him.
“I changed my mind,” William said. “I didn’t write my novel for money. It was a piece of my soul. And you stole that. The money never made the feeling of violation go away. Knowing you were getting credit for my novel has eaten me up inside.”
“I am truly sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Harrison replied. “Come on in. I need to show you something.”
Harrison took him to the time machine room.
“This is a time machine. I have been going 25 years into the future and stealing books to pass off as my own. I thought I was stealing books far enough in the future that they wouldn’t have been written yet in my time. The original writers shouldn’t have never known. You must not have published your novel for 25 years.”
William stared at Harrison, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
“But I knew,” Harrison said. “I know I am a phony. I drink to numb my shame. I can’t do it anymore. Go ahead and shoot.”
“I’m not a murderer,” William replied. “Although, I think I would be justified. You are going to put things right. You are going back to the beginning and destroy this time machine.”
“I have thought of doing that many times,” Harrison replied. “But I am weak. I never go through with it.”
“You will this time.”
“Yes, we will. You’re going with me. And I will introduce you to my publisher.”
William was shocked.
“Won’t we be stuck in the past, then? And what about my younger self?” William asked.
“This isn’t Hollywood. It doesn’t work that way. When we go back, you will be your teenage self again. But you will have your memories from the past ten years.”
“How is that possible?”
“How is time travel possible? I don’t know. But that’s how it works.”
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
Twenty-Five years later, two older men sat at a table outside a cafe.
“Harrison, it’s good to see you,” William said.
“I wasn’t sure you would come. Being a famous novelist and all.”
William laughed.
“I was surprised to get your message,” William said.
Harrison smiled. “Although I never repeated the success of my first novel, I still have some contacts in the publishing business.”
“So, what have you been doing?” William asked.
“I fell in love with my publicist, and we got married. I became a furniture maker. We have had a great life.”
“A furniture maker? Really?”
“Yup. Apparently, I have a talent for it.”
“Then I will commission a new writing desk.”
“You got it. What about you? I know all about your career. Are you happy now?”
“For the most part. You should have warned me about the fame. What a pain.”
Harrison laughed.
“I didn’t realize how much I hated the fame until it was gone, and I could walk down the street unnoticed. I love your latest novel, by the way. A time-traveling writer who steals books in the future to pass off as his own. Where do you come up with your ideas?”
They both laughed.
Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.
Mark
I’m happy the story ended on a light note and both men were content with where their lives ended up. The touch of humor in the closing lines was perfect! Thanks for a wonderful story.
This is so clever, Mark! You have such unusually fresh, unexpected themes. Always a pleasure!