For me, it's a combination of many factors. I started being trained in violin (now my day job) when I was a toddler, around the same time I got to see Les Miserables on stage for the very first time. I struggled to practice, but I fell in love with the stage. All throughout my childhood, I gradually gained a greater and greater appreciation for both violin and theatre, but never reconciled one with the other.
I began writing because it seemed like the natural progression of things, after all, [pick a great composer] began writing when they were only 5, so why not me? In first grade I wrote a song, but didn't write anything down on paper again until middle school; but I kept writing, just in my head, or simply improvising in the moment, in the meantime. When Noteflight came out I was going in to high school, and began using it to write. At the same time, my school announced that they would be doing Sweeney Todd- I'd never heard of it before, and it was very much love at first dissonant chord.
I never did my homework in high school, instead choosing to practice or write in any free moment I had. In college, I elected to triple major (though I only ended up getting two of the three degrees) so I'd have an excuse to really focus on writing.
After college, I didn't write for a long time due to trauma. After another trauma (and concussion), I started writing again, and haven't stopped since.
I don't know. I'd like to be able to say that I write because it's my purpose in life, or because I have something I want to share, or better yet, so that I have a legacy that remains behind after my death. Those are certainly all true statements, but they're not why I write, nor descriptive of for whom I write.
You see, I was kicked out of high school. Just before the verdict, I asked a teacher if I'd ever star in a musical. They said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "You don't have the looks, voice, or presence. No." So I resolved to write my own show, a la Lin Manuel Miranda, to star in myself.
I very much write because I simply want to, fueled by spite. It's not noble, it's not poignant, and I really don't care. After being hit by a car and having my dream of being a symphonic musician snatched away in an instant, I really just have the one dream left- and the more people that tell me I can't do it, the more I want to prove them wrong. 🙂