I hate it when people say things like, I became a writer because I was a terrible house painter. Which means “it’s the only thing I’m good at,” which is another way of saying “I’m too good at it to do anything else.” Maybe I’m just jealous. I’m not especially good at writing. I don’t even have a mind full of stories. It’s more like a peculiar tic, ocd, a refusal to give up the idea of myself as a writer, in spite of any encouraging signs. Like a person who talks in rhyme because some part of her brain malfunctioned and she can’t stop.