I stayed in the attic mostly, writing. That’s all I could do, I realized, unable to function normally in the real world. I finished my mystery, put it aside to cool down, and thought about starting a second one, which was probably going to be about Miss Kitty, Tuck, and his baby grand. Night after night I stayed up thinking, crafting the twenty-five s of the mystery, being nocturnal. And during the daylight, I slept. Between shifts, I critiqued novels, making money, but just enough to survive. Some days were longer than others, but each was painful, a heavy weight on my shoulders, and my mind. Death was so close I could feel it touching me, but fended it off with some heartfelt pushing, willed to live…barely surviving.