A friend recently asked me how I knew I wanted to be a writer. It was a good question, and initially, it caught me a bit off guard. The truth is I’m not sure when I actually decided that I wanted to be a writer. I’d always been a creative sort, and writing was a way to put the stories in my head out where they could be seen and enjoyed.

I’ve always had stories in my head. Many of those stories will not be written because, frankly, they’re stupid daydreams that should never see the light of day. The cool ones, however—those are the ones I share. The stories that pop into my head and keep me up at night and lead me to explore the universe through a completely new (and frequently warped) lens are part of the reason I find fulfillment in writing.

But how did I know? I don’t think I can pin down any one experience where some great revelation came down and let me know as with a voice of thunder, “ANDREW, YOU ARE A WRITER!” There was no one definitive incident where I dropped whatever it was I happened to be doing to pursue my art. Rather, it was a collection of experiences that happened along the way as I found myself putting words on paper for this or that reason. As life led me to reflect on those events, I gradually came to realize that writing was what I wanted to do.

Now, I won’t go into any details on those events here, but I think I’ve figured out a common theme that unites them all. There is a reason I enjoy writing so much, and it’s not actually all that noble. So far, you may have gotten the impression that my desire to be a writer is based purely on some primal impulse to give expression to my imagination, but that’s really only part of it. In fact, it could be argued that’s the reason I am a writer at all, independent of whether I ever desired to be one. The true reason I found myself wanting to write is this:

Power. And a hefty dose of narcissism to boot.

There’s something unwholesomely gratifying about dredging up insane ideas from the deepest depths and laying them out clearly and simply, or drafting sentences that brim with cleverness and power, or watching people react wholly and uncontrollably to the things you called into being almost by instinct. When you know enough to know what is good, and you know that what you have created qualifies as such, it fills you with glee, and you almost can’t help but revel in your own brilliance.

It’s the same reason evil overlords are so prone to laughter, incidentally.

So how did I know I wanted to be a writer? I knew it every time I wrote something that I knew was good. I knew it when I could do so without having to try too hard. In short, I knew it when I tasted power. In the words of the late David Eddings, “[Writing is] like reaching up into heaven and pulling down fire. It’s better than any dope you can buy.”

There is a sublime magic to creating any art, including writing, and finding yourself able to command it is intoxicating. That’s why I wanted to be a writer—because I had far too much fun being good at it.

Narcissistic? Oh yes. I’m not proud of it at all. But it’s the truth, and anything more or less would be cut from the same peat used to make those cheesy motivational posters.

What are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed this post, feel free to like and share the heck out of it. All proceeds go toward no one in particular. Really.