I had been writing to pay my way through medical school. I wrote paperback thrillers on vacations and weekends at a furious pace because the bills were due. I wrote under pseudonyms. In retrospect, it was wonderful training. Most of the problems beginning writers have—dealing with their egos, deciding if what they’re writing is good enough for them—didn’t affect me at all. No one knew I was doing it. It wasn’t under my own name. It was purely to make money to pay for my education. I wasn’t trying to be innovative. I was trying to do something that would be seen and not require rewrites or discussions, because I didn’t have time. I mean I just had to write it, it had to be bought and published, and I had to get the money and go back to my classes.