Dylan was on my bed the other night (along with the dog and fairly pregnant cat) watching a De Niro/Pacino film.

The film was as always serving a dual purpose: Watching something of interest to him - namely cinematography, directing, dialogue and photography, at present, which whilst a shock coming from a well-entrenched 'techie' was not entirely unexpected - and, using the time to also 'delve' into what's occupying his thoughts.

Ahead of us awaits Marcus' career choice- given he too has indicated he will follow Dylan to Swinburne and... to what he assumes, tech. We'd been discussing that when-

"Mum, I want to write."

"As in your GitHub stuff?"

"No... I... I want to write a book."

Whoa! (The irony was not lost on me; I'd just written a lengthy, wordy piece on how far his brain had evolved from mine- only to now be confronted with... my younger self?)

I had one of those flash-forward moments. Dylan some decades from now... sitting at a keyboard (or whatever equivalent marks a future 'writer') and clacking keys. "No!" (Common sense.) "Yes!" (Euphoria-filled pride.) "NO!" (Blood-and-guts-splattered trail stretching behind him.)

He's been reading of late. Our every-couple-of-days sojourns into thrift shops have him scouring bookshelves ahead of the 'boots and jackets' racks. He asks my opinion on this and that book. My techie son now owns books of his own! Who'd have thought?

He said, last night, running through an online 'must read list' and checking which of the books on it I'd read- since me having read them meant me having them stashed... somewhere in all those boxes still unopened outside.

He is undergoing change. Questioning. Seeking more from life than what his ICT University studies offer. In fact, he is seriously debating whether to change courses entirely but this has little (though some) relevance to the fact he doesn't 'fit in' with the ICT crowd (where incidentally the ratio of male to female students is an abysmal one: There's only a single girl in one of his classes. The rest of his classes? He feels like he is attending a boys-only school.) It's more though, to do with him discovering his 'artistic' side. He stands out. His dress sense, his mannerisms, his social skills, his confidence, his flair for the flagrantly improper... places him at odds with his classmates.

He is also - having been freed from mainstream education very early on and allowed to pursue whatever held his interest - too far ahead of his classmates. He's not learning anything new. The course is simply not satisfying his thirst for knowledge. So he's looking elsewhere.

Or maybe, just maybe it's... my genes kicking in?

I am still shocked. Maybe because he's been so cynical with this whole writing venture on my part. It took him a long time to say to anyone "My mother is a writer." Longer still, to appreciate what this means. Honestly? I have no idea whether he reads anything I write on here, despite knowing he and his brother feature to some extent in all my works.

My own brother is already published by Penguin Books- he's an exceptional writer with regular newspaper columns/opinion pieces, albeit the book in this instance was ghost-written since he simply has no time. I know, when he finally retires, he will also turn to the written word in earnest. My mother was always a prolific reader and I do believe - given different circumstances - she may well have become a decent writer. My first cousin, overseas... in many ways, she outshines my meagre efforts. It is definitely in our family, the writing gene.

But it's never been the family business.

It's not like my parents were published writers and I grew up in a literary environment and thus became a writer myself and thus... my children will now follow suit. It's always been secondary to our living, this writing thing. Certainly never a single source of income.

There's a part of me that wants to scream to him: "NO! Go be a photo-journalist, go be a travel blogger, go... do, be, anything but a book writer!"

I've seen the movies: Destitute, frustrated, dejected, rejected, anguished, lovelorn... all the images of 'struggling' writers' live in my head and they all hold regular parties- really more like wakes, and it is depressing and certainly no existence I'd wish on any child of mine!

But there's a contesting side, equally screaming, "YES! Sit at your desk and tap those keys and give it all, give over your imagination and your youthful passion and your energy and your flurry of emotions... give it all up to a book!"

Because I didn't. Because no one in the family has. Because... none of us had the opportunity. Nor the dedication- backed by our families. Writing is a lonely business. There's just you and a bunch of words. Getting them out- it's no small feat and certainly, no one can get them out for you. But it helps, having around people who 'get it' when you say "I write."

Really though... what do I wish for him?

To say that I knew this day would come- in hindsight, the signs were there long before this night. The kid is social. The kid is quirky. Take the photo above. His grandma (mum to me) recently returned from a summer overseas. She brought him back this tee-shirt with zips all over it. One is- let's just say with her limited eyesight, she thought it a pocket zip. Dyls dutifully put it on and... you can see by his pained expression that it's a wardrobe malfunction at best. (I suggested he keep it for whoever his girlfriend turns out to be- laughing till I cried. He didn't appreciate the joke. But he will wear that tee and he will make fun of himself doing it because- that's who he is.)

Tech is a passion of his- don't get me wrong. It's the stifling academia that he finds fault with. His creative side is at odds with the 'rote-learning' systems in place. Take his latest 'group project'. They were to submit an app - as in a Powerpoint presentation. Too easy. He decided to actually 'build' a working app. Took him many days of coding or whatever. Then he integrated it into the presentation. Only to have the lecturer fuming and hissing about "sticking to the brief".

"Mum, the lecturers all hate me. They call me an upstart."

"Tell them that those who can, do; those who can't, teach. Ha!"

"Ye, but their so-called teaching is so outdated, it's of no use to me even if they stop! I can write short-cuts. They want the lengthy, five-year-ago 200 lines of code crap when I can accomplish the same if not a better outcome in 20!"

These above are snippets of conversations he's come home with for some months now. Similar to the behaviour which led me to pull him and his brother out of school, I have been noticing the same discontent- not just with his studies but with life in general.

He's not going out as much. He's quietly distancing himself from those few 'techie' friends.

But a writer?

A writer?

I ran it past him: "Dylan wants to change courses. He's finding tech too boring."

"He should be a travel writer."

"I adore you!" This said because he'd nailed it. The perfect lifestyle for Dylan. And I say lifestyle because the kid lives whatever he is passionate about; such is the degree of his immersion.

"He said why don't you study to become a travel writer?

"That's what I'm looking at. I have to do an Arts degree though..." This said reluctantly because that's been another joke in the family- those who can't get into any other course here, study Arts. (Never mind that it's the opposite gender-wise- full of girls.)

"You'll have a much broader set of electives to choose from."

"Mum. I wanna stop now." (He still has about six weeks of this semester to go.) "I wanna concentrate on my GitHub stuff which I've had no time for. And Patreon is doing well. I don't see why hanging around-"

"Dylan. This would be a waste of an entire semester! (Half a year here.)

"Define waste? It's a chore going and listening to stuff already in my head! That's what I call wasted time!"

What could I say? He'd obviously been thinking for a while and weighing everything up.

"I could study cinematography, journalism... Hey, I wanna buy a good camera. A real one. With all the lenses and stuff."

"Babe. You know what I say: You can be anyone. Do what you believe is the best."

"And I want to read all those books. On your shelves. And biographies- not fiction. I don't like fiction."

Oh!

OH!

The family tradition: Writing Non-Fiction. Writing what we all live...

I realised... was rather shocked really, that genes apart- I was perhaps partly responsible for this shift. I may not be a published writer and he's grown up surrounded by both the classics and whatever fiction novel took my fancy. But he's also been exposed to my multitude of Non-Fiction books. (And to the odd sentence of mine I'll read him before backs away from my room.)

Had I unconsciously nurtured this now emerging passion in him?

And could it finally, become, I wondered, in this young man's hands, the family business?

"Change courses babe. Or do that but take a year off, and go walkabout- take pics and write. Or sit in your room however long it takes and write a book."

"Ye, I'll think about it."

(There'd be hell to pay within the family. Giving up a certain six-figure starting income for... what exactly? "We knew you'd ruin your children...")

This kid was going to have his mother's support nonetheless. Whatever his choice. I am going to break that family tradition.