Rejecting Genius as a Vietnamese Artist

I’ve been reflecting a lot this week on my identity as an Asian-Canadian writer. In the creative sphere, most of the focus following the rise in API attacks have centred on the important issue of hyper-sexualization of Asian women and more broadly the need for better Asian representation in mainstream media as a whole.

A crucial piece to this conversation is how to support Asian creators in the first place — and the deeper I delve into the professional world as an artist, the clearer it’s become that the concept of genius disproportionately harms underprivileged artists. In fact, rejecting talent altogether is the only reason I’ve managed to create anything at all.

“The Cyclone of Drafting” by Christie Wong

I started writing seriously when I was 11, but as many people in my life pointed out, it was a weak start. I was not a genius. I was an 11-year-old kid, average in pretty much every way. To this day, most of my writing still sucks and never sees the light of day (i.e. my entire 50k word manuscript that I’m now rewriting in full). I didn’t always know that that’s totally normal and part of the creative process. Art takes an incredible amount of time, resources, and emotional and logistical support. To reduce it to talent and discuss success in terms of inevitability means to rob anyone not born into wealth and connections with an opportunity to even start.

Working in Obscurity

A huge challenge unique to the creative world is the lack of transparency on the road to success. The path to becoming a lawyer, doctor, teacher, and most other professions is lined with clear stepping stones: schools, degrees, residencies… If you want to make it as a writer, all you can do is write and hope. Of course programs exist, but the flaws and barriers of MFAs are worth a whole other article.

I, for one, did not get into my chosen Masters in Creative Writing. I knew no other writers working on getting a debut novel published. I had no clue how to go about getting an agent, what standard royalties looked like, how to write a query letter. I started writing five novels and finished two manuscripts without any idea of what to do with these massive Word docs. It took two years after finishing my latest draft before I stumbled on a couple free programs online (shout-out to the FOLD and HCC’s Open Inbox) that cleared the fog and changed everything. These are the initiatives we need to invest in if we want to support artists with no family or friends to guide them on this long and foggy journey.

Illustration by Christie Wong, for “Cracks in the Wall” published in Loose Leaf Magazine Volume 7

Money, Money, Money

When I graduated from my undergrad, I began working a full-time minimum-wage job that involved a three-hour daily commute on public transit in addition to a part-time job to supplement. I barely wrote anything that year (though to be fair, I did get to meet Paul Sun-Hyung Lee at work). The experience prompted me to apply to grad school for creative writing, because I could not fathom how balancing art with a working schedule was possible.

As mentioned, I did not get in, and quitting work wasn’t an option. After a few years, I saved enough to be comfortable with gaps here and there, and I recently went on E.I. for three months. Having a financial safety net is critical to being able to create, revise, and put art out in the world. It doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen when we’re stressing about student loans or 12-hour work days. We need time and space, and that means money.

Intentional Community

Finding Project 40 Collective through an offhand conversation was a pivotal moment in my writing career. It was the first time I had a community that actively foregrounded my Vietnamese identity. Most of the people I met were interdisciplinary Asian artists and poets who pushed me to think more critically about my role and work than ever before. I’d been writing stories for a dozen years at that point, but only then did I start writing about Vietnamese characters, food, and culture. It felt easier to assume whiteness until I had Asian peers showing me how it’s done.

Now as someone who’s working in the field (and fairly confident I’ll be able to live as a creative writer in the near future), I’m extremely aware of the patience, dedication, risk, and support I needed to get to this place. Some of it was luck but none of it was an accident or the result of god-given skill. I started my first novel fourteen years ago. Any number of things could’ve derailed or delayed my journey to where I’m at today just as having more supports would’ve sped up achieving some milestones sooner. There is no inevitability. If we want more meaningful representation, we need to invest in BIPOC artists and communities with tangible resources and stop chalking up success to fate.