It used to be, at least in America, that writers often wrote from their heritage. If you were Irish, you tended to go that direction; if you were Jewish, that was important. And it made sense, especially in early 20th century America: everyone was struggling to define themselves as new, yet familiar. Hence, everyone is a (something)-American. What’s weird about me (and, I think, quite a few people of my generation) is that I have very little in the way of cultural identification. My mom grew up in Quebec, but she’s a mix of French, German, and First Nation (the Innu tribe). Most people think she’s Spanish, or Greek, or…