Damn, I could have been a...or a...?

WHY DID YOU BECOME A WRITER?

On my ninth birthday by darling grandfather and I visited Cape Cod. He sat on a bench in Cape Town whistling at the girls; as for me, I followed the Town Crier. This colorful older man had a voice that shook the hand-made glass of the nearby shops. At first I was frightened. Then something inside me took command of my steps. I followed the poor fellow from noon to sunset. With a clang of his bell and a drink from a dark brown bottle he boomed the news of the day… I moved my lips in agreement with his. Ten, twenty more steps, and again he would clang his long-handled bell, gulp again from his bottle, and repeat his tale…each time adding more, and more color to his words. “I too,” I shouted to those standing about, “will be a Town crier.”
“Do you want to be a writer?” asked my grandfather. “No grandfather, I want to be a story teller. Will you buy me a bell?.”

I was a storyteller.
I had a story to tell--I told it in a book.

By the way I was thrilled to see the success you have achieved with your writing.

Thank you alice,
I read your post about your two rejects. I have written five books. Have not submitted to a publisher. I still write, but I write for me, and the un-born readers who want to look into the thinking of past writers...and take my babbling as if it has some value. They won't understand we smile when we pass wind. Give your book time.

Domenic