YOUNG people have been educated to believe that self-promotion is essential. Being excellent is only part of the scenario, and quick personal advancement is mandatory. Otherwise, all will be lost. All the talent, all the hope, all the achievement. Those things are not meant to speak for themselves: They’re kindling for the fire, and the fire must be breathed out of the mouths of young dragons that have no fear (with tongue piercings removed for job interviews).

How sad for everyone, that they’re expected to have their narrative — facts are to be spun into fiction; they’re prompted to make up a coherent story, though life itself is hardly that — while they’re still developing. Then they’re expected to be “adult” and to ask another adult to endorse them.

Although I am no longer even teaching fiction writing, I nevertheless am regularly asked to recommend former students for residencies, fellowships, unpaid internships, teaching positions and perhaps a trip to the moon. (I know: The moon seems so old-fashioned.) I can’t even imagine what the load on current teachers must be.

It’s almost always open season for these requests, though the end of spring semester is particularly action-packed. You suddenly get lots of email asking where you are and how you’re doing. The candidate reminisces fondly about interactions with you (“You bought me so many cappuccinos!”). Greetings are sent to your husband and your dog, Domani. (It reminds me of someone I once knew who was so excited about the start of fishing season that for weeks in advance, he fed canned corn to the fish in the pond.)