I’ve noticed the phenomenon before.
If you are a studying archaeology, engineering, business, computer science or any number of fields, either nothing is mentioned about chances of getting a job, or it is said that the outlook is wonderful.
If you are studying in an artistic field, say like writing, a very different future is hammered into your brain.
Books by writers, about becoming writers, are grim. I’ve read several of them, and all say the same thing: I’ve made it. I’m able to pay my bills by doing what I love. But you, fledgling writer, will not be so fortunate. You must keep your day job, because I am unique, and you are not. I have talent, I work hard, and I have a lucky streak a mile wide. If you think you’re going to have a success like mine you are deluding yourself.
Now there is one thing I’ve learned about myself. I detest being told that there is an unsurmountable roadblock in my way. If someone, anyone, tells me I cannot do something, that I’m not capable, the old rebellious juices begin to bubble. Furiously.
In the last few months, I’ve read innumerable times that the chances of anyone becoming a writer, the kind who is actually paid for her work, is about a million to one.
The gauntlet has been tossed. I accept the challenge.
I will be the one.