I did write a lot of light verse, and even some verse that wasn’t too light. Even I knew there was no living in being a poet, so fiction was the game. The writers I’d admired, a lot of them had written numerous essays like Robert Benchley, and I did do my share of those things when I was younger, sold a few of them. But, I found when I attempted fiction — I took a few writing courses at Harvard — it’s like sort of a horse you don’t know is there, but if you jump on the back there is something under you that begins to move and gallop. So, it’s clearly a wonderful imaginary world that you enter when you begin to write fiction. So I guess my hope was to become a fiction writer. I was prepared to fail. I was prepared to not be able to get things accepted, because I saw that happen to my mother. I knew that not everybody who tried to write actually got published, and in fact that’s kind of a long odds proposition, but I figured I’d give myself five years, and if I couldn’t get into print in five years I should know that I didn’t have what it took. But, as it turned out, I got into print pretty readily.