Before I was actually published, I had this very clear, very precise vision of what it would be like. I would write a masterpiece, something so incredible and touching and epic and just so right, it would instantly catapult me to the top of the New York Times Best Seller list. I would take my astronomical fame in stride, never forgetting my family and friends, the people who stuck by me and believed in me when I was nobody. I’d go on tour and sign books and meet people and have my picture taken with celebrities. Hugh Jackman would star in the movie. Eventually, I’d buy a modest townhouse in the French Quarter and settle down with my harem of younger men. I would write on the balcony in the pre-dawn morning light with my café au lait and beignets close at hand and then retire to the shad...

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