I grew up romanticizing what the life of a writer would be like. I dreamed of nights filled with red wine and cigarettes and eccentric friends on New York City rooftops discussing my work. In my fantasies, I typed out velvety words on a loud typewriter and paid for everything in cash. There was barely any money but always just enough to get by. I knew that a writing life wasn’t going to be easy. I never had any illusions. But I certainly glamorized what the struggle would be and feel like. To clarify, I don’t come from money. I have thousands and thousands of dollars of student loan debt and don’t have any sort of trust fund or savings to lean on. I’ve been worrying about money for as long as I can remember. But for some reason, when I thought about not having enough money and being a writer, it sounded more bearable. We were supposed to struggle, no? We were supposed to be penniless and scrappy and resourceful.
But Will I Ever Be a Writer?
But Will I Ever Be a Writer?
But Will I Ever Be a Writer?
I grew up romanticizing what the life of a writer would be like. I dreamed of nights filled with red wine and cigarettes and eccentric friends on New York City rooftops discussing my work. In my fantasies, I typed out velvety words on a loud typewriter and paid for everything in cash. There was barely any money but always just enough to get by. I knew that a writing life wasn’t going to be easy. I never had any illusions. But I certainly glamorized what the struggle would be and feel like. To clarify, I don’t come from money. I have thousands and thousands of dollars of student loan debt and don’t have any sort of trust fund or savings to lean on. I’ve been worrying about money for as long as I can remember. But for some reason, when I thought about not having enough money and being a writer, it sounded more bearable. We were supposed to struggle, no? We were supposed to be penniless and scrappy and resourceful.