I’ve always wondered how it came about that I ended up being a book worm and a passionate (unacknowledged) writer. Similarly how did the literary greats (and amateurs and wannabes) realize that their calling in life was writing? Was it an innate urge to pursue this fine art, some kind of an inner call like the mothership calling them home or was it acquired imperceptibly over years of regular exposure to the world of reading and books?

If it were the case that it did come from within , like some kind of primordial urge like eating, sleeping and procreating or passed down through genetic matter, wow , it would be an unkind cut indeed for many whose familial backgrounds have had no association whatsoever with literary pursuits of any kind. And William Shakespeare would probably have lived and died in ignominy as a poor farmer in Stratford (Both his parents were poor of reading and writing to the point of calling them illiterate)!

And if it was an inculcated or acquired art, then would it be right to assume that showering babies with books instead of toys, reading to them while they eat, sleep and poop would result in a superior batch of poetry reciting , word slinging  Ernest Hemingways and Virginia Woolfs?

How is it that some of us are persons of letters and others not as much?

It’s a question I’d love to have an answer.

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