When I was a child, my parents smoked. I, on the other hand, was the original nonsmoking campaign – damaging to health, yellowing the walls and curtains, that smell you just couldn't get rid of. I took a puff once when no one was looking. It was foul.

But one summer day, a friend and I found a book of matches. Inside was a simple drawing of a man's face and information on how to win an opportunity to become a famous artist. All you had do was copy the drawing, exactly as in the matchbook. My friend and I spent the rest of the day drawing. I wouldn't be confined to copying the silly head. I produced nothing to submit. She did version after version and decided to send one. She was accepted. While she never enrolled, she did become an artist — and a smoker.