The eternal MFA question has cropped up in a couple of places and I can’t confine my comments to comments. So here goes. I went to AWP. I’m in a writing program, a full-time student getting an MFA in fiction.
I wasn’t sure I’d do it. First I had to clean up my Bachelor’s degree, then take the GRE, then throw $50 or so at a bunch of grad schools. There was no guarantee I’d get in anyplace. I wager, all told, about 1 in 20 do.
If I had walked into the bank that once gave me a mortgage and told them I’d like tens of thousands of dollars to sit in a room and write for a couple of years, they would still be laughing. But the federal government is doing exactly that, all because I’m getting the coveted MFA. But other than scoring those loans, why get an MFA, exactly?
Nick Matamas says it’s because those magic letters open the door to a great teaching job. Ah, no.
This year my school has conducted a search for an assistant fiction professor. How many applications did we get for that one job? About 200. They all had MFAs and had published at least one book. So the odds of getting a tenure-track position with your MFA are 10 times worse than getting that MFA in the first place.
Yikes, no wonder people are getting PhDs in creative writing. It takes that or a bestseller to stand out.
So why get an MFA? For the sage writing advice? Well, you have to pick the right program for that. Many times with ficiton this means picking a program with professors you like. If I’d read Brian Evenson’s work 18 months ago, I definitely would have applied to Brown; as it was, even Robert Coover wasn’t enough to get me to return to Rhode Island. But writers take sabbaticals, jump ship, or maybe just don’t teach all that much. Picking a program isn’t like looking at a menu at Denny’s: all dishes are subject to change. They might never serve the Moons Over My Hammy again.
OK. MFA for your workshop colleagues? This should be a reason. I mean, graduates who have nice things to say about the degree usually cite this as a chief benefit. But you don’t get to pick your fellow students; some will be great readers of your work, others are bound to be clueless. Honestly, you’ll probably get better returns forming a writing group of your own.
So is there really any reason to get an MFA? Yes. It gives you time to write. Me. It gives me time to write.
I can complain about many things: one professor had us regularly meditate during workshop, my thesis advisor made me cry, job prospects are bleak and I haven’t been this broke since Reagan was president. But I have time to write. And with that, my complaints seem minor. As Gwenda says, I have a novel to write. And the time to get it written.
Yeah, an MFA isn’t an easy doorway into teaching, but I knew several people who already had books published who went back to get the degree so they would be more marketable as professors. So sure, you need more than just the degree to teach, but then again, you also seem to need more than the books, too. Which order you pursue these in is really up to the individual.
I’m still pretty baffled about the anti-MFA chorus. If my book’s good, it’s good, right? And if it isn’t, is it the fault of my workshop or my own damn shortcomings? Every student in a writing program doesn’t have to become a professional writer, and every professional writer doesn’t have to have a terminal arts degree. What’s the big deal?
For folks who are turned off by the workshop model, I had a really positive experience in my low-res program. I didn’t necessarily buy myself time to write – I kept a full-time job the whole two years, but I did buy myself access to fantastic mentors who taught me so, so much. I guess that’s not cool to mention in certain circles, that I learned from talented teachers what I might not have learned with my $2.50 in late fees at the public library. I also lucked into a fabulous peer network of supportive, smart, talented, warm and exciting people. Maybe I’m lucky in that regard? But I don’t regret my decision to go for the MFA at all.
I hear you on all of these reasons-but-not-reasons to get an MFA. The truth is that it is a time to write — with the added benefit of motivation. I still have time to write now that I am done with my MFA, but without the encouragement, motivation and inspiration that comes from being in a community of writers every day. It is tougher.
Reading your post makes me think of all of the stuttering explanations I give to non-writers who ask why I decided to get an MFA. It’s hard to explain wanting to go into debt for something that doesn’t necessarily lead to better job prospects or a career to people who are focused on (high paying) careers. An MFA is, like you said, the gift of a time to write. And if you’re not a writer, it’s hard to see how that makes any sense.
Meditate during workshop? Wow.
Yes, the right program is definitely a must. I agree it gives you time to write… I’m starting my MFA thesis this summer, and my coursework has also actually given me more writing skills. Most poeple forget to mention that when discussing this topic. There are concrete things I learned that I can apply to my writing that I didn’t know before, and may not have figured out on my own without an expert mentor and a ton of experience that I couldn’t have gotten outside the program.
Maybe an MFA only whiddles down one’s chances at a teaching job to 1 out of 200, but the chances would be 0 out of 200 without it. I’m bracing myself for my post MFA let-down. I doubt my world will change upon graduation, but I could list many things I’m getting out of it that I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. I’ll have to keep those in mind when I’m paying back my big fat loans…