I’m not a parent, but a lot of this hit buttons for me.
I recently had a large typewriter tattooed onto my arm. Although I love the aesthetics of the drawing, I can’t claim that the image has particular resonance with my own history as a writer. My first writing tool was a Mac SE computer, but somehow a drawing of an outdated Apple machine seemed less iconic than a beautiful Underwood.
I felt I somehow needed to mark myself as a writer in a permanent way, even though I don’t feel like one on most days. Most of the words I compose go into press releases and web postings that don’t bear my name, but do contribute to the general struggle for workers’ and human rights. I feel good about the text I compose and the people I do it for. But the politics and passion are tempered by professional considerations. I write for work, but rarely for myself anymore.
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