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Writers Workshop

Should I Get an MFA?

Yes.

That’s the short answer since I knew you’d want it right away. It will always be my answer. There. Solve your problem? Probably not. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this question. It’s agonizing for most, though it probably shouldn’t be. The question is not, Should I Get an MFA, but something more like, What Do I Want to Do While on This Planet? Of course you don’t have to have an MFA to succeed as a writer. But perhaps you aren’t even sure why you might want one or what it might do for you. Or perhaps you’re wondering just what an MFA program is really like. If that’s the case, this article is written for you.

I polled some of my "emerging" writer pals with MFAs (including myself) to see what we learned from earning an MFA. I’ve also listed some of our accomplishments to give you an idea about what we do or have done for money, what we’ve published, which residencies we’ve attended, etc. These details should give you an idea of the kinds of things you, too, could someday do as a writer with an MFA.

Chris Baron (MFA, Poetry, San Diego State University, 1998)

Chris is currently Associate Professor of English at San Diego City College where he is the director of the City College Writing Center. Chris teaches Creative Writing and Composition. He writes the monthly column, Letters to My Eighth Grade Teacher, for Writersmonthly.com. Chris has also published in a number of literary magazines including, Pearl, Aethlon: The Journal of Sports Literature, Sierra Club Press, and others. Chris was recently a featured artist on Jazz 88’s Ilfonix program. He is an editor for the literary magazine City Works, and he serves on the executive board of The Border Voices Poetry Project.

Should you get an MFA?

Yes. But don’t underestimate the challenge!

When I set foot in my first graduate writing workshop, the professor asked us to take out our poems. Uh...hello? We just started? I didn’t get the memo? How did these people know to bring poems? There I was, a local, surrounded by students who had come from Tulane, Kentucky, UCLA, Iowa, and more. Some were returning from incredible life experiences like serving in the Peace Corps in Africa, or writing fellowships in Ireland. This is to say—an MFA classroom is not your "bookstore writing group."

An MFA is a highly creative and highly academic journey at the same time. For example, if you are a poet and you write only free verse or spoken word, be ready to learn the fundamentals of formal verse. If you write the novel, be ready to experiment in flash fiction. If you are a language writer, prepare to write accessible narrative. You will be pushed, stretched, shaken and stirred, but driven to produce quality work.

I encountered an incredible diversity of people/writers, and what I really take away with me is a strong sense of writing community. Even now, I meet with my writing group each week. We were all in the program together, we have seen the growth in one another along the way, and we keep each other accountable to our writing. This has been vital to my writing life. Relationships are born in the MFA program, and this is one of its greatest assets.

Professors are key, but remember that great writers don’t always make great teachers. Overall, the experience of working with successful and innovative writers is worthwhile and challenging. The final thesis of any MFA program will be a creative work. In this process the student is required to find a thesis committee which essentially workshops the final, book-length work. Not only do you have a book when you are finished, but you most likely have a solid mentor—an established writer with whom you will hopefully be connected to when you leave.

I learned what it takes to publish, what it means to struggle, what writer’s block really means, how to stay up late and work, how to write 25-page research papers, how to and how not to rhyme, how to drink wine at critical moments, why playing excessive basketball can aid the writing process, how to have a dream, lose it, and get it back.

Another aspect of my MFA program was that I was able to teach lower division writing courses, intro to creative writing courses, and intro to literature courses as a teaching assistant (or "TA"). This gave me valuable teaching experience which, combined with my love for teaching, propelled me into my career today. But teaching isn’t for everyone. I also learned how to edit a literary journal, put on poetry readings, and work on literacy projects, all the while producing endless pages of poetry and fiction. Universities are foundations for developing communities of writers and artists, and in my opinion, this is where the university is most effective. It is a testing ground/proving ground/practice session for the writing life. At the same time, it is the writing life!

The thing I remember most is that I was never made to feel like I was a peon undergrad that didn’t know anything. I felt respected for my opinion as a writer, and at times (very few probably) my opinion was even called on. An MFA program is a unique opportunity to experiment, enjoy, play, work, cry, and learn, and most of all, it is a place where community is born.

So go for it, but don’t underestimate the challenge.

Mary Fifield (MFA, Fiction, San Diego State University, 1996)

Mary is currently the principal of Oakland-based Signature Copy Services, a communications and consulting service whose clients include several nonprofits. In the past she has worked as a content analyst and editorial manager for Saltmine, Primus Knowledge Solutions, Inc, and others. She has completed a novel and is currently at work on her second, for which she has traveled twice to Guatemala to conduct research. Her work appears on www.ChickLit.com and several other Internet sites. Her fiction has appeared in Mediphors and is upcoming in Colere. Her short story, Elvis Impersonator, won third place in Story magazine’s Famous Fictions contest in 1999.

What I learned in grad school:

How to discriminate between constructive criticism that hits the mark and constructive criticism that is totally off base.

How to identify readers who "get" what I’m trying to do/what the story is trying to be, rather than read the story solely from their preconceived notions or expectations (related to the point above).

How to read a story on its own terms rather than impose my terms on it.

How to believe that I am a writer, give myself permission to be a writer, and convey that credibility to others, especially when I don’t have the publications to "prove" it.

How to make a living and create or find a community of writers if you don’t go the academic route.

Something I would have liked to learn in grad school:

How to hobnob and schmooze and with whom so that I could get on the inside track of publishing (in other words, it would have been great if one of my professors said to me: "Mary, go to X conference, send to X journal, go to X event, etc., and start getting in front of people who can support your work and get you exposure with publishing big wigs or small wigs").

People often ask me if I’m sorry I spent time and money on an MFA since I’ve decided not to teach. But I never feel that it was a waste of time or money (especially since SDSU was relatively cheap). A lot of what I needed to know about content analysis, audience, many of the things I needed to understand (and spent hours banging my head against a wall trying to get others to understand) about constructing content and meaning for the Web (read for money) I actually learned in grad school. Some of those concepts came directly through classes in rhetorical theory (though my professors weren’t covering those topics so I could run out and get a job in high tech), and some came indirectly through fiction workshops. Also, I think one of the most important reasons to go to graduate school is that you have to crank out the writing, and when you hit a critical mass in terms of volume, you often start to push the edges of your talent and skill. My writing would not be where it is today if I hadn’t done an MFA.

Susan Bumps (MFA, Poetry, Mills College, 1995)

Susan has worked at North Atlantic Books, an independent press, since getting her MFA. While at North Atlantic she has done marketing and publicity writing, proof-reading, and copy writing, and is currently a part-time contract writer. She has also written dictionary entries on a freelance basis for the Archive for Research in Archetypal Symbolism (ARAS). Her poetry has appeared in the adoption literature anthology, A Ghost at Heart’s Edge, and in the food and literature anthology Bite to Eat Place.


Getting an MFA was one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made.

It was so fulfilling that I sometimes joke I should get another one. The great thing about writing is that it is ever changing. And no matter where you are, getting an MFA will make you a better writer.

That’s not to say my parents weren’t a bit concerned when I told them I was getting an MFA in poetry. They have always supported my writing, but what would I do with a degree in poetry? I didn’t want to teach, so how would I earn a living? They fretted. My father networked for me (he had hopes I would be a technical writer). As it turned out, their worries were unfounded.

Soon after I graduated, I got a job at North Atlantic Books, a general trade publisher in Berkeley. Did having an MFA help me get the job? Most definitely. More importantly, it earned me an additional degree of respect, and helped me gain the more interesting jobs. I was asked to take on all kinds of writing, and it was assumed I would do well. I was also asked to look at other people’s work and make suggestions. And when we published poetry books, I was selected to be the managing editor.

So can you get a non-teaching job with your MFA? Definitely. But that’s not why you should get one. You should get one because to quote Mary Oliver, "The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave it neither power nor time." Because you’ll be surprised at what you have in you once you start letting it out.

Melanie Jennings (MFA, Fiction, Mills College, 1995, see my bio)

Reasons to get an MFA:

To learn how to write better. The foundation of most MFA programs is the writing workshop in which you and fifteen or so other students meet once a week for three hours to discuss students’ short stories, novels, or poems.

To write so much that you improve dramatically in a short amount of time.

To meet other like-minded folks. Getting an MFA introduces you to a community of writers that includes your professors, local and national writers who visit your program, and the many other talented students like yourself.

To study literature from a writer’s perspective. Typically you take a literature course in addition to your writing workshop (for a total of two courses per semester). Studying literature with a writer’s eye is different from studying it from the aficionado’s eye.

To teach (if that’s a goal).

To get paid more or qualify for certain jobs.

Because we live in a society that values initials after our names.

Because you can have more than one master’s degree (for those overachievers who are trying to decide whether to go to law school, med school, MBA school, or get an MFA. Personally, I believe in dessert before dinner, so get your MFA first. Let’s face it, once you get that law/med/MBA degree, you’ll be so tied up in your law/med/MBA job, that you won’t have time to even contemplate getting an MFA).

To cement your commitment to writing so that it will be part of your life until the day you die.

Because it’s fun (usually).

What I learned getting an MFA:

How to write a decent short story.

How to critique others’ work (and, of course, thereby improving my own work when I made similar beginner’s mistakes).

Which contemporary writers I liked (my teachers and classmates exposed me to writers I would have never found on my own).

How to write good academic papers (an extremely important skill and one that is all too often underestimated in most circles).

How to schedule writing into my life (sounds simple but is actually quite difficult, like your first experiences with Zen).

That there are other people like me out there struggling with writing, dreaming of writing, praying about writing, etc.

That you don’t have to be young or [add your own stereotype here] to be an MFA student.

How to not be so shy that it impedes my way in the world.

How to work for money and write at the same time.

What journals I like and how to submit my work to them like a professional.

Where to find conferences and residencies and how to apply to them and actually go when accepted (and get someone else to pay for it if your writing makes someone believe in your talent).

How creative writing professors survive in the academic world.

How to be proud of myself for investing the time and money and considerable effort into my own creative development.

Where I am now:

It’s been eight years since I got an MFA. In the meantime, I also got a Ph.D. The reason I did was that I loved my dissertation project and I wanted to teach. After five years in the classroom, however, I changed my mind. Classroom teaching is not for me right now. Yes, I spent lots of money and time pursuing something I am no longer doing (academic teaching). But believe me, having an MFA and/or a Ph.D. is never a mark against you. I’m enjoying my technical writing gigs and the flexibility I have with my time. In corporate settings, my master’s has established credibility with colleagues and looks great on my resume. Personally speaking, spending two years devoted to my writing development was one of the best periods of my life. My sole reason for getting out of bed in the morning was to write so I could go to class where people took me seriously, read my work word-for-word, and gave me feedback that made my work better. What more could I want? Finally, it would have taken me much longer to improve my writing if I hadn’t spent those two years at Mills. My MFA is a constant source of pride and was an invaluable experience for me.

Still not convinced? Then perhaps you shouldn’t get an MFA. Write about that. Write about that and see where it takes you. Don’t waste your time (and money) getting an MFA unless writing is something you really want, something you hold dear, want to give attention to, and see blossom.

Further reading:

Poets & Writers magazine (www.pw.org)

On Becoming a Novelist, by John Gardner

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