My mother, uncle, and father-in-law were all writers. My mother was the least productive, and never made a living at it, but they were all published. My life took a different turn: I became an academic. Though I've written bits and pieces all my life, only a couple of poems, a short piece of fiction, a couple of articles, and some professional writings have been published. I have kept a journal since my teens, but systematically destroy old ones. They were useful in their time for letting off steam or expressing an opinion.
Science fiction, mysteries, classics, "serious" fiction, poetry, The New Yorker, National Geographic — I read everything that crosses my path, usually several books a week if I'm not too caught up in knitting, drawing, or cooking.
Living alone for the last 25 years or so, as a natural introvert I'm mostly content with my own company. As a result the retirement community I live in, with its communal meals and expectations of idle conversation, gives me some problems. Now that I'm hard of hearing, emails are my preferred way to connect -but never Facebook, etc.
Who knows what Scriggler will supply?