On the ride home last night, after the customary Thanksgiving Day foodfest, I asked my mom and Alan why they thought I had become a writer.
Mama: Because you already did everything else.
Me: I knew you would say that. When I was a child, did you have any idea I'd become a writer?
Mama: No. I thought maybe an artist, because you drew well. Or, maybe a poet, because as a kid, you wrote good poetry. Also, your sons write, so you're trying to show them you write.
[ Huh? I thought they write because I write!? ]
~ ~ ~
Alan: John Steinbeck said it so many times-- writers become writers because they have something to say. Also, they want to leave something of themselves behind.
They're both right. They're both wrong. I always wanted to write. I always did write-- journals, long letters to friends and the dreaded white person's Christmas letters. I have the diaries, correspondences and archives to prove it. I just didn't have the nerve to move beyond personal writing to something more general.
I don't know that I'm a natural born storyteller, but it's never too late to become one. As for leaving something behind, I have my two wonderful sons who represent me better than my own words ever could.
Why do you do what you do and have you always wanted to do it? Or did you fall into it by accident?