Amy March, was she a bad-ass?
I am still stumbling across critiques of the movie Little Women. This one I found randomly on Twitter. I say randomly because 1) I don't have the app on my phone and 2) I follow maybe a total of three people, about the same number who follow me. And, it so happens one of those people I follow linked to Alison Stine's essay in the Village Witch about the movie Little Women.
A few years back I made the decision not to go bankrupt getting an advanced degree in creative writing. I determined that $30,000 was a lot for a peer group of readers, for a critique group, for access to professors who might endorse my work. In weighing the situation I found that I'd never be able to recoup the expense of the degree. The 90 or so stories I've placed have gotten me less than $100. The books I've published have earned very little in royalties. Every once in a while a writer gets lucky and strikes the bestseller list. Congrats! I know they deserve it. Or they win an award. I'm so glad they get the recognition, but the vast majority of us struggle. Or at best get by doing other things for money and do art in our spare time.
What if Amy was the Better Artist?
It is an essay about women in the arts--about what part of ourselves we have to give up, allow to be nibbled away, sacrificed in order to achieve recognition. This is especially pertinent right now during the Harvey Weinstein trial.
I think we all know by now that there isn't a level playing field.
I wish our work could speak for us, but instead it is about the pitch, the MFA, the professor or mentor who stands behind us. And, I've been to enough writer's conferences--sometimes it's about who we hook up with for the week that determines visibility later on.
Amy March in this version of Little Women seemed to be able to articulate the pros and cons of "doing art" as a woman. I think it is why most women consider writing or painting etc a hobby--mainly because they know they cannot earn a living by it. It is why they turn to teaching when they'd rather be working on their novel. It is why they marry, marry well, so that they can be underwritten, sponsored, able to make rent and eat while being a creative.
A few years back I made the decision not to go bankrupt getting an advanced degree in creative writing. I determined that $30,000 was a lot for a peer group of readers, for a critique group, for access to professors who might endorse my work. In weighing the situation I found that I'd never be able to recoup the expense of the degree. The 90 or so stories I've placed have gotten me less than $100. The books I've published have earned very little in royalties. Every once in a while a writer gets lucky and strikes the bestseller list. Congrats! I know they deserve it. Or they win an award. I'm so glad they get the recognition, but the vast majority of us struggle. Or at best get by doing other things for money and do art in our spare time.
I wish it was just about the merit of the work. A story that brings an "aha" moment alive. That moment when we come close to the sublime.
But, often, it is about logistics. Money. How to get by. It is about saying yes to what we want to say no to. Amy reckoned with this dilemma and with clear eyes made her choice.
So for some of us she caved, and for other's of us she was the "smart" one.
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