I don't know why, and I hope I never find out.

–Jayne Anne Phillips

I've kept journals (sporadically at times) since at least nine years old; I have all of them as far back as sixth grade. Upon review, I've found that entries often begin with one problem or thought process and by dint of discursive, meandering ravings I eventually arrive someplace worthwhile—the answer, a new understanding, a light bulb moment, etc. It is usually while engaged in the act of writing in my journal that I am able to see myself clearly: once writing autopilot kicks in, my higher brain functions become fully engaged and active. This same, ostensibly uncanny, thing happens during prose writing, which is why I tend to approach those pieces with only a vague notion of a conflict or feeling I'd like to express. Then I write my way out of the maze.

Let's open this column with a loaded question: what makes someone a writer? An unconditional love for the craft? Skill? Talent? Artistry? Publication credits? Prestigious awards? Calculable sales figures? A Michiko Kakutani review (biting or otherwise)? A tattoo of the Latin word "scriptor" on one's upper right shoulder or a semi-arcane "Paradise Lost" quote on the upper back? (No, I am NOT referring to anyone sitting at my keyboard right now!) In my opinion, the first four qualities make a writer, while the second four make for a (possibly) financially successful and well-known writer, perhaps even studied and celebrated by posterity. Of course, number nine makes one an AWESOME writer (but that probably only matters to me). I won't even get into what makes a good writer ... not now, at least.