Interviewers, especially those who aren’t very creative, inevitably ask emerging writers that question. I don’t think readers care.
Since I don’t like the question, my flip answer is, “When I got too old for the gigolo business.”
My wife and I have seen so many 1940s movies where the characters, when asked why they did something stupid, said, “Well, there was a war on,” that that has become our standard rationale for just about everything.
I guess that’s my real excuse. Those were desperate times and people did desperate things, blew their savings in a poker game, married somebody in Vegas whom they’d known for twenty minutes, wrote the words “once upon a time” on a scrap of paper grabbed from the clutches of an ill wind on a dark street corner.
Truthfully, I could say that both of my parents were teachers and writers and that they passed the curse down to me. I’m sure a sophisticated DNA test would prove that. They both read a lot of books, and passed that mixed blessing down to me. It’s mixed because it leads to a house full of books.
My folks, who didn’t know anything about the gigolo business or the fact that my life’s work started because there was a war on, were a bit pushy about my writing. When I called home, Mother asked, “Have you been keeping up with your writing?” before she asked how I was or if this was just another call for bail money.
Maybe she knew my distrust of straight answers made me unsuitable for other careers such as the ministry, police work, or counseling. Years before the movie “Fargo” was released, she worried that I’d throw my principles into a wood chipper and become a used car salesman.
She had good reason to worry: I made my worst grades in school in English classes. That never went over well when report cards came out. “My teachers hate me because they think I think I know more than they do.” Mother acknowledged that I might, but said, “I think those teachers are like dogs. They can smell fear.”
She was right about that.
My teachers also smelled lack of interest. I told them I was already fluent in English and shouldn’t have to take it.
Chances are, I have a negative attitude about all this.
Malcolm's Round Table 
I loved this. You’re never very far from Jock, are you.
I felt about the same way about English, but I thought that if I could read it well I shouldn’t have to write it.
Jock and I have similar approaches.
What a wonderful story, Malcolm (and witty, too, which I always appreciate … a nice respite from the rather serious, weighty things stirring about these days). It’s also a wonderful pic of your father in journalism-teaching mode.
Thank you. I like that teaching photo a lot because that’s how I imagine him, walking amongst the students rather than standing behind a podium.