I’m not sure what I’d be doing if I wasn’t writing.

Talking about that possibility with family members in town for a visit yesterday, one of them wondered what I’d be doing if I hadn’t kept writing when I took a buyout from the newspaper business seven years ago. I went on to write three novels, a couple more true crime books, 73 or 74 pieces for CrimeReads, 55 for another site, eight or 10 for another (now defunct) site, a few for a couple of other sites … plus dozens of press releases, short stories and more.

What would I do if I wasn’t writing?

Well, reading, of course. That’s been the oldest constant in my life (other than breathing and eating), from the Marvel Comics a friend gave me in the 1960s to books and stories aimed at young people.

But I can’t imagine a life without writing.

It seems to me that writing is not only the dominant optional privilege in my life but it could be the privilege that anyone can enjoy.

(This thought goes hand in hand with my belief that ir you write, you”re a writer, regardless if you are published or even disseminated in any way.)

The fundamental act of writing changed me. Decades of news writing made me think better and all the qualities that go with it, especially the ability to look at a circumstance critically.

I don’t think I’m a great writer. I think I am, at best, a clever writer and a sympathetic writer. Sometimes. Writing helps make me that.

And the best thing about writing is that you can do it at very little cost. Of course, thinking about writing is writing, in my opinion, and I’ve got this (aging) MacBook that lets me put together words.

But really, if I didn’t have that tool, i could write in a notebook or even scraps of paper.

Writing isn’t precious. Writing doesn’t care how much money you can afford to write.

For me, writing is in some ways the most consistent thread in my life. In many ways, it’s the most satisfying, but it’s certainly the longest-running and the one that feels among the most important.