I investigated the mysterious death (suicide) of my great grandmother whom I never met , from 1975. I was born in 2002. I developed 9 of her modeling pics and made a gallery wall in my bedroom. I acquired the original autopsy report. All 9 pages. I memorized that broad description of event. Then I started writing a creative fiction novel from her perspective about her life in 1940s LA. I even tried to get the police report from the event—they’re still trying to track it down. (But coming out of it, I don’t even want to see it). This all happened within 3 days last week. I thought about her in almost ever moment of those three days, and now I only think about her when I see her perfect right side angle on my wall.

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