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When I searched myself, I knew I was a writer. That was something. I had this calling to write, and I couldn’t deny it. I wondered if part of the reason I was lost was that I had convinced myself I was a scribbler, but I had no story to tell. I had no success that meant much to me. I had won contracts and awards as a journalist, copywriter, speechwriter, and editor. But when I tried to write a book, I found I quickly exited through the side door. The subjects couldn’t hold me.