"George would break up with every girl he dated on the grounds that she wasn't weird enough for him, unaware that he himself lacked the slightest bit of non-linearity..." Thus began my very first story, although a very short one, about a guy named George.
It was all good until, after just a few sentences like that tedious introduction, George, sick of the gibberish his narrator (read: me) bore, interrupted and said: "One doesn't simply want what he has, you prejudiced prick!"
You asked me why I became a fireman but not a writer. That's why.