And in that year, running short on sleep and tasking my brain to its limit, I neither drank nor cared to drink.
So far as I was concerned, alcohol did not exist.

I did suffer from brain-fag on occasion, but alcohol never suggested itself as an ameliorative.

Heavens! Editorial acceptances and cheques were all the amelioratives I needed.

A thin envelope from an editor in the morning's mail was more stimulating than half a dozen cocktails.

And if a cheque of decent amount came out of the envelope, such incident in itself was a whole drunk.
Furthermore, at that time in my life I did not know what a cocktail was.
I remember, when my first book was published, several Alaskans, who were members of the Bohemian Club, entertained me one evening at the club in San Francisco.