Riding the bus in Los Angeles today, I finally answered the inane question that followed me throughout eight years of journalism: are you a writer or a reporter? I never really knew, but always slung some jewel of an answer at the interviewing editor. It's been four years since I've had a running byline in a newspaper. I'm not a credentialed member of the working media. But as I ready to graduate from USC, a Master in Professional Writing, I've realized I'm a reporting writer. Whether it's riding public transportation (where there's a wagonload of colorful moments), playing pool and drinking wine in the garage with friends or playing Scrabble with my boyfriend, Dan, there's always something to write about. And I have, ask any of the people whose brilliant quotes I scribble onto napkins or, on those more prepared times, into notebooks. Full atrribution of course. The vignettes, the non-story stories. It's all about pulling drama from the mundane. It's why I can't listen to my ipod on the Metro.