How Do You Know If an MFA Is Right For You?
Contributor
Written by
She Writes Fridays
September 2010
Contributor
Written by
She Writes Fridays
September 2010
Nancy Rawlinson, writer/editor/teacher/coach--oh! and next Wednesday's webinar instructor here at She Writes--stands in for Deborah Siegel today, with the four ways to know whether an MFA is right for you, and whether you are right for an MFA. (Register for her webinar RIGHT HERE!) Anyone who writes regularly – whether it’s honing a novel in the small hours of the morning, or blogging up a storm, or crafting a line of poetry – has probably considered the following question: should I get an MFA? After all, it’s hard not to notice the proliferation of programs and the increasing number of people who have MFAs. But an MFA is a big commitment. All that time and money – what’s the return? Is it really worth it? And how do you know if it’s the right move for you? I have helped many clients and students answer these questions and I can tell you the four factors I consider before I give my advice. 1. Are you ready for an MFA? A good question to start with, maybe, but one that’s hard to answer. How do you know? You know by workshopping. I would caution against diving into an MFA experience if you have never been in a formal workshop setting. The workshop is the central teaching tool of the MFA, and you need to be comfortable with the in and outs of it – and know what you are letting yourself in for. If you don’t live in easy proximity of an in-person workshop, try some online classes. There are plenty of them about, and they will at least give you a sample of what it is like to have your work critiqued by strangers, and, just as importantly, help you develop your own critiquing skills. This first question is linked to the second: 2. Is your work strong enough for an MFA? This is a bit of a chicken and egg question, as the only way you’ll really know is by applying – but once again, the workshop is your best barometer. If you are getting enthusiastic responses and lots of encouragement, not only from your fellow workshoppers but also from your professor, you should be good to go ahead with your applications. If in doubt, ask directly, or seek a second opinion from a freelance editor – some, such as me, specialize in helping MFA applicants, and though no one can say for sure whether you will get accepted or not, you can at least find out if you are in the right ball park. 3. Can you afford an MFA? There are plenty of fully funded programs out there, some of which carry stipends. Getting accepted into one of those programs is like being paid to write – what an opportunity! The competition for those places is strong, though, and you also have to factor in the other, hidden costs: the loss of earnings during the MFA period, the cost of relocating if necessary, and the deflation of your other assets as the economy (hopefully) moves forward. For students who end up paying some or all of their tuition costs themselves, the price tag of an MFA is a lot higher – often too high. So let me just say this right now, nice and clearly: It’s not worth taking on a lot of debt to get an MFA. The potential financial return doesn’t justify it and graduating with $100 k of loans will do absolutely nothing for your writing career. I’d say $20 k is the maximum any MFA student should even consider taking on, and ideally it would be less, or none. Do what it takes to avoid that debt, and if you can’t, you may find that your MFA hinders rather than helps your artistic progression. 4. Do you need an MFA? This is perhaps the most nebulous question of them all, because “need” varies so much from one person to the next, and it can easily be confused with desire. So let’s break this down. What needs can an MFA meet? It can give you time and space to write in a way that is hard to find in “regular” life. An MFA can help realign your priorities – some people use it as a bridge into a new life, one in which writing is front and center rather than confined to the sidelines. An MFA can also teach you how to read like a writer – an invaluable skill going forward with your own work, and in many other professional capacities. An MFA can provide a writing community of like-minded souls. And an MFA qualifies you to teach others about creative writing – though don’t harbor any dreams about landing a tenure track job upon graduating. There is intense competition for those positions, and they usually require a strong publication track record. You are more likely – at least at first – to end up adjuncting, which can be rewarding, but is nowhere near as secure or as highly paid. At this point you might be thinking, yup, I need time and space to write, and I need a deeply immersive experience, and I need to move writing front and center in my life – so I do need an MFA, right? Maybe – but the second part of this question is: can you get those things on your own? Can you find your community, make the shift, and tune up your critical faculties – all without having to commit to an MFA? Some people can. I have worked with writers who could answer “yes” to the first three of my questions, no problem. They were ready for an MFA, their work was strong enough, and they could afford to go. But when it came to question four – the assessment of what the MFA would gain them that they didn’t already have, it seemed clear. They didn’t need it. They were already workshopping, making good progress on books or other publishable work, and living the writer’s life – why break that up, only to set it up again somewhere else? Because – and here’s the last factor to take into consideration when you are making your own decisions – MFAs end. I know, that’s obvious, right? But what I’m trying to get across is that when you come out of your program, maybe having moved or given up your job, you’ll have to set up a life again – a sustainable, functional writers life, in which you meet your financial and social needs while keeping your commitment to your work alive. And if you have achieved that tricky balance already, I say hold on to it. Don’t throw it over for an MFA experience which could be intense and transformative but is also fleeting when seen from the perspective of a long writer’s life. And isn’t that what we all want, really? A long and prosperous writer’s life? Whatever you decide, know that an MFA is just one potential ingredient of that life – not the be-all and end-all and not the defining factor. It’s just one more choice amongst many. Nancy Rawlinson is a writer, editor, teacher and coach. She will be running a webinar on MFA applications through She Writes on September 15. Click here to sign up. Nancy’s website is www.nancyrawlinson.com.

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Comments
  • Julie Reinhardt

    I loved reading this post and the comments following (except for that JoAnne person). I've always wanted to get an MFA in Writing for many of the reasons you stated, though I could only attend a low-residency program. I appreciate that you throw words of caution for those of us who really want long hours of writing time and a deadline over our heads.

  • JoAnne Braley

    "right" thing for Lily or the "write" thing?

  • Annie Finch

    Great column Nancy! I would add, check out the possibility of a low-residency MFA--the total cost is much less, you don't have to relocate or give up your day-job, and imho the education can be much more effective, with a wider choice of more consistently top-notch faculty, one-on-one mentoring,flexible personalized study plans, and fellow students of many ages and backgrounds including award-winning writers. As director of a low-residency MFA program that I think totally rocks (Stonecoast MFA in Creative Writing at the U of Southern Maine), I guess I am biased, but honestly, if I had it to do all over again I would definitely choose a low-residency MFA program rather than a residency MFA.

  • Lily White

    Thanks for posting this Nancy and Deborah. I just got accepted into an MFA program and am biting my nails trying to decide if this is really the write thing for me...

  • Amy Campbell

    Master of Fine Arts.

  • JoAnne Braley

    What the heck is a MFA? I was a research writer, and I'm trying to follow "She Writes," but you do not give clear instructions. Now, I'm finding writing screen plays, I must not give clear instructions. However, I would really appreciate it is in the first line or sentence, you tell exactly what MFA, as on text it would mean "Mother Fucking Asshole."...sorry

  • Amy Campbell

    I was very interested in this post because I just finished my MFA on Aug. 6. Since my reasons for pursuing the MFA were somewhat different from those cited here, it’s not surprising that I attended a different kind of program – low residency.

    I started looking for an MFA program because I had started what I believed was a promising memoir, but also believed that without deadlines or accountability it might never get finished. I chose a low-residency program because it would give me the rigor I needed without requiring me to leave a job I enjoy or uproot my family. It was a demanding couple of years, working full time and being a full-time grad student, but it was also one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I got so much more from the program than just deadlines, including, as you mentioned, learning to read like a writer. There is no question that one of the things that improved my writing the most was the reading I did in the program. The “community of like-minded souls” was also a wonderful aspect of my MFA experience, and wasn’t compromised by the low-residency aspect. In fact, it may have been enhanced by it, because when the program ended students were accustomed to communicating on-line and by phone with each other and with profs, so the transition – so far  – was arguably easier than it would have been if we’d been seeing each other every day. Best of all, I went from being extremely product-driven to understanding that the process is what really matters, no matter how long the book takes.

    In my experience, low-residency programs are a great option for writers who want to get an MFA without upending their lives.

  • Nancy Rawlinson

    Thanks for your perspective, Tania -- your experiences are valuable for others considering this decision. I do think that many, many MFA students have a rocky transition out of their programs. I know I did. And I also think that "the dream of writing" as you put it, is incredibly seductive -- as it should be! If writing didn't hold appeal outside of the practical, why would we do it all? And going to grad school has to be more than a practical decision, for sure. If there's isn't passion and fire in your heart for the study of writing, the MFA is likely not going to be that useful anyway.

  • Tania Pryputniewicz

    I should add the transition from grad school was not easy; I relied on the advice of one friend in particular, who sat me down one weepy afternoon and showed me how to piece things together—we’re talking teaching a couple sections in town, another couple in the next town over, applying to teach summer workshops; so don’t let me make it sound too easy! I loved how you pointed out that MFAs end, and to be careful about at least having a plan at the end of the MFA in case the novel doesn’t get taken by the agent immediately, or the grant isn’t landed in time, etc. Becoming a writer requires a commitment to a lifetime trajectory of persistence and hard work.

  • Tania Pryputniewicz

    Thanks Nancy--wish I'd been able to read your article years ago when I applied to grad school…though I was so excited about the chance to pursue the dream of writing I don’t know if I’d have not gone. I will say I came out of graduate school--oops, with debt--but also with an absolutely practical skill: teaching—not only creative writing, but a number of composition courses, and even women’s literature. After the MFA program ended, I did make a living from that skill for the next ten years, choosing adjunct work because it afforded me the mental/psychic space to write. I think at the time I took the teaching skills for granted.

    I spent the last ten years raising my children and writing, and just re-entered the workforce, able to do so precisely because of the MFA and the prior years of teaching. I think writers are going to write regardless—and one’s publication track certainly is the defining factor in landing a primo creative writing job. I do think the MFA carries weight—a sign of one’s commitment to one’s craft. And the workshop experience, profound for kinship and mentorship ties that last a lifetime.