In a way, I’ve been writing since before I could write. The function of it rather than the product, at least. I used to talk to myself as a kid. Externalize my thoughts. Interview myself in times of durress, of which there were many.
Tracing the origin of my reason for writing is like trying to explain a dream. Colors are interpreted as sounds or smells. Simultaneous, multi-sensory interpretation. All acceptable and reasonable to the dreamer.
Writing is me. It’s what I’ve done. It’s what I do.