I heard this question asked in a Facebook writing group. When did you want to be a writer?
It reminded me of some pleasant memories really. Of being a preteen and writing out these long novelettes, then typing them out on my mothers typewriter. tap, tap, tap *Bing* Swoosh. It was great. Eventually she upgraded to a Word Processor! It had a Delete button so you could go back and it would white out the character. Oh, I was in love with that. No whiting it out yourself, waiting for it to drying and typing over it. No, this was smooth. Then came the computer that printed on an endless scroll that you then had to separate. Those were the days.
It was not a matter of when I wanted to be a writer. I was just a writer for as long as I could remember, but definitely in those preteen years I was writing whole novels.
What it came down to is this. I have all these stories in my head. Character discussions. Plot-lines. And it grows into this beast. If I Don’t write it down, it will remain in me constantly growing and changing. In order to stop thinking about it I must get it on paper. To then let another story take its place. That is what it is to be a writer. We are always thinking and daydreaming about our characters and our worlds and our plots. And this world we create will stay in there unless we get it out of there. So we try and share that world in our head by putting it on paper. Usually I fail. The world in my head is perfect. What I get on paper never is as perfect. One day maybe my skills will match the worlds I create in my brain and then I will be a proficient writer.