Around Inside every bright young writer is an angry old one. And it's no better if you reverse the terms to make the irresistible the weight of experience and the immovable the demands of innocence. Once you find yourself on the ''Songs of Experience'' side of things, you have to fight the slightly rancid satisfaction of constantly using words like ''immature'' and ''derivative,'' followed by a long list of previous artists who've done much the same thing only better. Inside every bright young writer is an angry old man or woman ready to cite the literary failings of the new generation in a prominent magazine essay. Which will be answered, or has been anticipated, by an aggressive manifesto from the young, who rarely fail to insist that they are thinking and feeling the truly important things in a way never thought or felt before.
Innocence can be quite bellicose.
It's a depressing and futile impasse. I like reading stories and novels by intelligent young women. I always have. Granted it's not altogether the story, or at least the popular image, of my generation. That image was Isadora Wing, the heroine of Erica Jong's ''Fear of Flying,'' who was on the prowl for artistic glory and hot romance.