Are there potholes in the fast lane to fame?

I was having a conversation with my 17-year-old niece, Alex, a few days ago. Now … before I continue with this story, please bear in mind that Alex finds me slightly cooler than her mother – only because I am not her mother – but not nearly as cool as a half-off sale on OPI nail polish. She sometimes gives the illusion of listening to what I say, but I’m aware there’s a filter in her brain that takes it in, pokes it, squeezes it, smells it, then usually hands it back to me and goes “Meh.”

Now back to our conversation… we were talking about the various celebrity interviews I’ve done over the years, and I was explaining to her that my interview with Graham Russell of Air Supply a few weeks ago was as big a deal for me as it would be for her to get to interview One Direction. This little tidbit made it through the filter and was accepted. But then I said, “So you see, Alex, maybe you’ll want to become a writer and then you can meet your heroes.”

The filter rejected that.

“Or I could just become famous and meet them that way,” she said.

Okay, first of all, ouch. I’m not looking forward to telling my fellow writers that we’re not now, nor will we ever be, famous. Second of all, is this what kids think now? That you just need to decide you’re going to “become famous” and fame overhears you and it happens? I’m going to guess that answer is a resounding yes, given that it appears being a “YouTuber” is actually a career goal.

I just… I just can’t.

I wrote a guest post this week on fellow author Jon McDonald’s blog about the perils of being what I am right now: an old writer in a new world. The hyperlink on his name will take you there, but let me just reiterate one thing I said: in our instant-gratification society, we’ve lost sight of quality. I specifically talk about people who call themselves writers and slap dozens of sloppily written books on Amazon every year, but it’s true for anyone really. If your greatest goal is fame, fast, what you do is not art. It’s a commodity. And it’s cheap.

I submitted an article to The New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” column a couple of months ago for consideration. This week I got a note back, and although they turned me down for publication, it was a personal note, with specifics about my piece that were very complimentary and encouraged me to submit again. In today’s world of flash-in-the-pan success stories, this would label me a dismal failure. To me, it’s a huge boost. There was a time when my submission to such a publication wouldn’t have gotten a second glance. This did. This is creative growth. And when I submit my next piece to them, who knows?

I don’t think that fame, in and of itself, should be anyone’s goal. Someone who answers “What would you like to become someday?” with “famous” deserves a smack. At least know what you want to be famous for and be willing to work for it. It makes me want to boil my brain in bleach that I even know what a Kardashian is. Please don’t give me any more like them.

I find it incredibly sad that Alex, and so many out there like her, see fame as the answer, the goal, the finish line. What are they learning along the way? For awhile, I considered social media a blessing, a great way to publicize my work for little or no cost, and while I still think it can serve that purpose, I’m horrified, frankly, to realize how many youngsters see it as their express ticket to fame. I weep for our world’s cultural and intellectual future if it is.