On Writers and Who Gets to Be One

While I hate adding another post about Lena Dunham and her $3.5 million dollar book deal, I skipped this quote from a piece  Sady Doyle wrote for In These Times when the story first broke. When we talk about privilege and the resources it brings, simply "the right to write" gets overlooked.

"This is the nasty little bit we don't like to think of, when it comes to privilege and talent; social status shapes not only one's ability to pursue artistic dreams, but one's ability to dream them. Plenty of talented kids give up their passions for something more “practical,” or just fail to believe they could ever be more than amateurs, because they've never seen a real person making good on similar ambitions. Until I met people who'd actually written published work, and had been paid for that writing, I thought of it as an impossible career. “Real writers” existed, somewhere, but it was silly to think I could be one of them. They existed in some parallel universe that I couldn't reach. Lena Dunham has always lived in a universe where someone like Lena Dunham could happen. And yes: With its overwhelming whiteness, the privilege of its characters, and the unfortunate decision to cast only the children of other famous people as her core set of friends, her work shows the limitations of her upbringing and privilege. Ignoring this, or claiming not to give a shit about it, is, let us say, not very productive."

Growing up, my idea of a job was something you hated, something you came home from tired and with dirty hands, and something you hoped you held on to long enough for the health benefits to kick it. I knew no one who thought writing was a reasonable career goal. Not my parents and certainly not my teachers. I knew few people with any education beyond high school, and none with college degrees. I'd be lying if I said this didn't shape who I am, and my relationship to writing in general.