I don't know. Maybe it was that twelve hour car ride from Providence to Syracuse and back. We'd rented a Cadillac, partially because my father had always wanted to look like he had money, but mostly because our cars were too shit to make the trip. No one wants to scan channels for fuzzy radio stations, and the only two cassettes we had on hand were Bob Dylan and The Band's Before The Flood, and Led Zeppelin's BBC Sessions. Somewhere between the tenth play of Don't Think Twice, It's Alright, and the eleventh of Going to California, could be where it happened. Or maybe it was Christmas in 1996. I'd gotten a VHS of U2's Rattle and Hum, along with a Suzuki guitar and a 4track recorder (neither of which I knew how to use). I spent hours overdubbing myself over Bono's voice, even through the speeches -- I'd thought 11 was an adequate age to try out for the band. Then again, it was probably some insignificant moment - a song on the radio, a line in a book, a pretty girl. Some little push that brought me to this simple conclusion: I write songs.