Why MFA? by Carla Damron

Several folks asked why I had pursued an MFA in Creative Writing in response to the interview that Elaine posted on June 26^th. So I decided to use this blog to explain that strange detour in my life and writing career.

 

I have been a social worker forever. Okay, maybe not forever, but for a good twenty-five years and I loved it. I loved my clients. I loved the idea of doing something that (hopefully) helped others. My mystery novels reflect this passion; Caleb Knowles, my protagonist, is a weary, well-intentioned social worker who does his best. He’s also human: he makes mistakes. He can’t save everyone. He sometimes wishes he’d chosen a more lucrative career, like being a neurosurgeon or a Wal-Mart greeter.

Caleb contributed to my decision to return to school. I loved writing, but I had reached a place where I felt like my narrative had stagnated. I tired of formulaic writing (and reading!). I found myself avoiding the chair: rather than sitting my fanny down and writing, I’d come up with other things to do. Even vacuuming became more appealing.

I needed to explore my characters in a deeper, more truthful way.  Not just Caleb, but his brother Sam, his girlfriend Shannon, and his frenemy Detective Briscoe.

I also wanted to write something other than mysteries. I had started on an upmarket women’s fiction project; I loved my opening, loved some of the characters, but then…. Blah.  I found myself stuck, not knowing where to take the plot, which characters to keep, or which to toss. And then there was the one woman who infiltrated my dreams. She definitely wanted to be written, and I was letting her down.

The idea of a graduate program seemed absurd. I had one master’s degree, and I certainly couldn’t quit my job to go to school for two more years. Plus, I wasn’t young and impressionable like students are—I was a middle-aged woman who probably didn’t have enough memory left in my cerebral hard drive to learn anything new.

But still, the idea held on. Then I learned about low-residency programs. I could keep my job and use vacation time for the week-long residencies that happened twice a year. The rest of the program took place on line, which worked well for a degree completely focused on text.  I was especially drawn to the “workshop” concept: the degree focused less on critical theory, more on making the student a better writer. I talked with several low-residency MFA graduates and each said the same thing: they loved the experience and felt like it had expanded/enhanced/matured their writing. It sounded like just what I needed, so I dove in.

What I loved about the MFA program: the reading. I have one long bookshelf that holds all the books I was required to read for my degree. I’d never given much attention to essays and found that I loved them. I met new (to me) writers, some of whom teach at my school: Elizabeth Strout (who won a Pulitzer), Jonathan Dees, Pinckney Benedict, Ashley Warlick, David Payne, Dan Mueller, and others. Note: no faculty member could assign us their own writing, but once I met these folks, I had to read their stuff! 

I also loved workshopping. Each student submitted up to fifteen pages a month to a small group of writers and a faculty person (this group was called a “pod,” for some reason). This requirement meant I had to write, I had to be more committed to my projects. I wrote every night and weekends. I fine-tuned, revised, etc., then sent my submission to the pod. A week later, I’d receive detailed feedback: line-by-line edits, as well as a narrative analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of my submission.  I did the same for the other students in my pod, and I learned as much from this as from reading their comments. The low faculty/student ratio meant I received detailed, honest, helpful, at times painful feedback from my instructor (all are successful, published literary writers).

 

What I didn’t love: some of the reading required. Ever read W.G. Sebald? RINGS OF SATURN made me want to slam my head in a drawer. Some poetry assignments were also challenging (as in, I had NO CLUE what the poet meant). I also regretted that some students didn’t take school seriously. If they didn’t apply themselves, others in their pod suffered.

Plus some of the feedback was hard to receive. One instructor, who was brilliant and devilishly impossible to please, said of one of my submissions: “I fear this is beyond hope.” I thought about quitting. Instead, I rewrote the blasted scene and it changed the whole novel for the better.

The best thing I received from the program: an incredible group of writer friends. We still critique each other. We celebrate each other’s success, comfort each other when rejections come. We remain invested in the craft and in helping each of us become the best writer we can be.

If I had to do it all over again, would I pursue the MFA? Absolutely. It was costly, but at least I was able to continue working to pay for it. And yes, I believe my writing has improved. Even better: when it sags or stalls, I have the tools to figure out why.

Have you ever considered going back to school?