My classmates in Creative Writing would understand how edgy, cool and tortured I was, and how cool my drinking was. The first writing assignment I workshopped in my fiction writing class was from my *ahem* novel, a chapter in which the narrator, reeling from a devastating breakup, hurtles into alcoholic drinking and ends up in rehab. Funny how I was writing things, as ‘fiction,’ that hadn’t happened to me yet, but were going to. Was it prediction? Manifestation? But a story about r...