She didn’t believe Scott had exactly planned all this; he didn’t even plan his books, as complex as some of them were. Plotting them, he said, would take out all the fun. He claimed that for him, writing a book was like finding a brilliantly colored string in the grass and following it to see where it might lead. Sometimes the string broke and left you with nothing. But sometimes -- if you were lucky, if you were brave, if you preserved -- it brought you a treasure. And the treasure was never the money you got for the book; the treasurewas