Welcome to Write Wrong: A podcast that talks about writing from the point of view of someone who's been doing it wrong for far too long. I'm Cortney Hamilton, and this is episode 009. Today I'll be talking about: 

 

Why MFA programs are a Faustian nightmare, unless you're rich, which probably means you're already in your own Faustian nightmare.  

 

Since you saw the title of this episode, I'm presuming you're not rich. If you are, then you or one of your family members has already likely made a deal with the devil and allow me to direct you to my Patreon page where you can donate your unholy earnings for which you've sacrificed you and your family's souls for. I'm just kidding. I don't have a Patreon page yet. 

 

 For the rest of us poor people, give me a few minutes, and I'll definitively answer the question: should you get an MFA in the same way Skittles definitively answers the question: Is this really what a rainbow tastes like? 

Now, I know we're in the COVD crisis, and colleges are as close to figuring out if they should open their campuses as an Amish fourteen-year-old is to figuring out that nipples on women are more than just functional milk dots for boobies. But this episode is about education in general. Paying for it and getting it for free. I'm also a pessimist wrapped around a creamy optimistic center, and I believe that the future, although dark right now, will be a sunny day once again, when we can go to a baseball game, attend a concert, or have dinner with our parents and once again savor the ineffable pleasure of expressing our love by avoiding all talk about politics.   

 

But first a tip. One that I learned way too late in life. If you appreciate nothing else from this podcast you'll hopefully appreciate this: 

When opening a can with a manual can opener always do it from the side. Yes, I said, the side and not from the top. The lid will stay connected to the opener, and you can throw it away without cutting yourself. 

Check my show notes to see what I'm talking about.

 

Moving on:  

 

Now, MFAs, or as I like to call them financial chain mail for your future, are not all bad and have some potential qualities. Like: 

 

-MFAs promise the allure and seduction of having time to focus on one thing. 

 

-Learning the ins and outs of writing. 

 

-Having a mentor to help you on a more personal level. 

 

-Providing a community with which you can share your writing, get feedback, and learn by example.

 

-And giving you an opportunity to boast: 'Oh, me. I have a Master's degree' while at the same time pretending someone's calling your name from across the room in order to avoid the awkward follow-up question: 'And what did you study?'

 

But MFAs have drawbacks too. Here's my story:

 

Way back in an ancient time when the internet was a place where Nigerian millionaires could still be trusted, I applied to MFA programs. 

I'd sent my application to five schools. Three that were at the top of everyone's list. Iowa. New York University. And Cornell. And two that I actually thought I had a chance at getting accepted to: School of Art Institute of Chicago and Emerson College in Boston.

 

Coincidentally, those last two had a larger limit on their admissions (as oppose to Iowa which I think takes eight fiction writers at a time) which, essentially meant as long as I could pay for my school they'd love for me to come and spend my money which wasn't mine of course, it belonged to Sallie Mae, the evil stepsister of Fanny Mae who is the shape-shifting dosh-gobbler matriarch of Freddie Mac who, little known fact, was the first to accidentally drop his pasta into chili and call it Chili Mac. 

 

Now, if I could distill all of my reasons for going to grad school to get a degree for an overwhelming amount of debt to graduate with a piece of paper that would better serve as a tissue, it would be this: desperation.

 

Because I had no published stories, no connections, and the only conversation that I ever got to have about writing was with a bottle of Jameson's who always wound up shouting that the Oxford comma was an insidious mark of tyranny created by the British government to keep Ireland divided—the Trojan Horse of grammar if you will. 

And I wanted something that showed people that I was serious because the elbow patches on my blazer weren't fooling anyone.  

  

 

And I got accepted by both Chicago and Emerson. I chose Emerson, and I forget why right now. I think it was because I was under the impression I could teach there and receive a stipend to help with my tuition: that, or the access to decent clam chowder.

 

And I just want to say, all of my opinions on this topic do not reflect on Emerson personally. I have nothing against them. It was my own poor choice. To me, Emerson is like a bad relationship. It really seemed like a good idea at the time. But in the end, I can't even look at old photos of them without aggressively sighing and eating my feelings. 

 

But I went because I wanted structure, community, and, most importantly, mentorship. 

 

And I have to tell you going to grad school can be wonderful because it can provide all of those things. But only after you've exhausted every other option first. And there are plenty of options nowadays. Some of which I will talk about. 

 

Now, as I said, I went to grad school at a time when the writing community on the internet was burgeoning, and Alta Vista was still a search engine. Writing websites and communities for exchanging work were scarce, and The Facebook was just a gleam in the eye of a young upstart who'd eventually achieve his ambition of making millions from people posting disreputable sentiments and breeding shallow friendships across the globe. 

And I'd already graduated with a Bachelor's in Fine Arts, which again meant nothing for a long-term career but did allow me to try to find myself in theater, ceramics, screenwriting, poetry, cinema, and performance art. And to my surprise and no one else's, throwing fake eyeballs at a crowd while dressed in a leotard and lighting cow dung on fire only made me feel empty inside. So, a couple of years after getting my Bachelor's, but before going to Grad school, I took a writing course at a community college. 

 

And what I confirmed in that class was I liked trading work. I liked talking about work, and I loved getting feedback to improve my work in a classroom setting. So I thought grad school would be like the professional's version of community college: serious writers dedicated to the sole business of writing, but with more direction and fewer retirees. 

 And I knew I needed guidance, and getting accepted into grad school would legitimize my decision to be a "writer" and get me published.  

 

Oh, by the way: It didn't. It doesn't. It won't. No degree or certificate will. Of course, if you are already very, very good at writing before you go to school, it might speed you along a path that you were already going to be successful at anyway. 

 

But off I went. 

And here's what I got: 

 

1. Structure. 

 

Getting on a set schedule of writing is a challenge. Especially if you're in your twenties and want to smoke a lot of weed and play video games. Not saying that you do, just saying I did. And some of us need imposed deadlines to motivate us to get things done. 

 

Personally, I am not a go-getter. I was born a sheep. Always looked to others to see if what I was doing was okay. Now, I've changed quite a bit since then. And not just physically. But when I attended grad school, I definitely benefitted by having someone else say: 'this is due on this date. And you will fail this class if you don't comply.' And so it helped me write. And quite honestly, that structure was valuable at the time. 

 

I also think this was one of the ways I justified the cost as well. Since I'd taken on so much debt, I couldn't let myself not write, because too much was on the line. I wanted to be successful at this. And I committed to it. So I was going to give it my best shot, make it happen, and ruin my credit trying. 

 

Plus, as I've mentioned, I'm a people-pleaser, which historically has applied to pleasing people other than me. I love being a good boy, even when it's been detrimental to my well-being, and turning in papers and doing assignments were the perfect 'good-boy' tasks that would motivate me. And they did. Up to that point in my life, I'd never written so much or so consistently. And, if you're like me, and need that external motivation, then going to class can be a great way to start you on a routine that you'll be able to continue through and up until you graduate when you have no more external motivation. Then you're on your own again. 

 

2. I got community.

 

It was wonderful to go to a class with a diverse student body who all have read the same story and talk about it. To listen to different points of view and discuss how it could be improved. It helped to disagree, to debate, and to find the kind of writer I was among others who, and this is important,  were equally as serious as I was. 

 

This, I think, is the most beneficial thing I got out of my MFA. Because, and here's the challenge, I could join a meet-up group of writers, attend a weekly session to discuss someone's chapter of a novel, but, let's face it, most of us are flakes. Myself included. At that time, unless I was being paid, was paying, or had the threat of being flogged, I could take or leave most things.  

 

And it's hard to find other people who aren't flakes about writing. Cause if you don't feel like going to your meet-up writing group today, who's gonna care? "Well, I do. It's my story, Lisa, and you promised to give me feedback, and you ghosted. You ghosted, Lisa! Then you show up three weeks later with your bubble tea and flippant attitude and not even an apology. Grow up, Lisa!" 

 

But the other thing you have to remember is that a lot of writers are introverts. They don't go out. They don't spend time after class talking to you. They go home and write. And a lot of them are busy going to work or their internship as well. So while going to grad school allowed me to be surrounded by more writers, it was kind of like being surrounded by a larger school of fish, hoping they'll start a pick-up game of baseball. We're fish. We swim. You want to play baseball? Hang out with the octopi.   

 

And I know this isn't true for everyone. Some writers are social and starved to meet other people and better at keeping relationships. So it is possible. In fact, I even know some who have done it quite successfully. But if like me, you're not one of those people, you probably won't turn into one no matter how much you force it. 

 

3. Guidance. 

 

And this is a tricky one because we would all like a mentor. An Obi' Pen' Kenobi who will help us to hone our talent, tell us we're chosen for something great, and maybe use the force to get our work in the New Yorker. 

 

But unless you have a particular writer-slash-instructor in mind at a particular school to be your thesis advisor, getting your chosen mentor is a challenge. For one, that instructor needs to agree to work with you. So, yes, you might be able to take a class with that person, but to get them to work on your thesis can be like wishing Beyonce will give you a personal concert while showering. 

 

And on a related note, birthday wishes are a scam.  

 

And it kind of makes sense for teachers to turn you down. They're teaching. They're writing. And they have a slew of other students who also want them to be their thesis advisor. It's hard to mentor a slew. So what could end up happening as you finish your first year and go into year two, is you find the only advisor available could be your second or third or even fourth choice. My thesis advisor that I had was a very good reader and accomplished professional. And was my fourth choice. 

 

And your fourth choice doesn't mean he or she isn't a good writer or even a good instructor, but it means you might have someone who doesn't groove with your style of writing, who takes it in different directions. A thesis advisor who gives you feedback that you can't apply because their favorite book is The Brothers Karamazov, and your favorite book is One for the Money by Janet Evanovich. They're both great books but for entirely different reasons. And you might find that feedback you receive doesn't translate as well as you hoped. You also want someone who encourages and inspires you. 

 

And in my experience, a thesis in an MFA program typically means finishing a novel or a collection of stories. For me, it was a novel, but there was a minimum word count that would allow me to graduate. I think it was fifty-thousand. So, I actually didn't have to finish my novel to graduate. Which, I didn't, and that fifty-thousand words is immortalized in a Word document so old I doubt I can open it on any technology created in the last ten years.  

 

4. Internships. 

 

MFA programs can give you access to internships. Maybe you want to see how an agency works from the inside. Or a publishing house. These can be great, and help you learn so much. I did do an internship when I went to Emerson, and the people were really, really wonderful. And I'd applied to a few places, but the only one that took me on was a non-fiction house that specialized in hiking books. So it wasn't ideal for my fiction focus. And the only thing that really stuck with me after it was over was that I definitely did not want an office job after I graduated. Which was good to know, but a little sad because at the end of my internship, they offered me a job.

 

5. So this brings me to a final reason why we go to graduate school or attend any program at all: Learning Something New, you know, the thing that happens when your ten-year-old Googles MILF for the first time.  

 

For me, the learning part of the MFA was the least helpful, in my opinion. 

Right now, there are so many amazing writing websites and podcasts that you can access for free that will teach you everything you need to know. You don't need to buy a single book or program, and you'll learn way more than what I learned in my MFA program. However, I don't want to discourage you from buying books and programs because they can be great. And as long as they provide you with both constructive instruction and/or inspiration, then they can help immensely. 

 

Also, for me, I often need to hear the same thing but from a different voice, a different perspective. I listen to a lot of writing podcasts, and so many of them have very similar advice on things I can do to improve my writing. But the way the hosts present that advice, plus how many coffees I've had before I listen, can strike me differently than when I've heard them before. So keep trying different programs out. See who speaks to you. Pick out episodes and topics that you're interested in. I'll link to a list of a few podcasts I love in my show notes.

 

Also, if it's affordable, utilize local classes. Community colleges can be very helpful. But so can published authors who provide classes for a fee. But if you really want that kind of structure, do your research first. Get some references from others who've studied with them. 

 

Which brings me to…

 

Hard-headedness. 

 

If, like me, you think banging your head against the wall is the only way to show a wall who's boss, and you're still interested in getting an MFA, then I have a few recommendations. 

 

1. Vet the instructors at the school. 

Make sure there's at least one or two people who you like/admire or at least like similar books as you. You can try emailing them before you apply and ask questions. See how receptive they are. Ask whether they'd be available if you were accepted into the program. Have someone in mind when you go to the school and pursue them to help you. 

 

2. Talk to other people who are currently going or have gone to that school recently. 

See what they say: what they would do differently. What they thought was worth it and what they didn't. You'll probably get a lot of disparate answers, but you can at least hear actual experience and see if it measures up to your expectations.

 

3. Listen to your inner voice. 

There was a moment after I'd been accepted to school when I held the pen over the loan document to sign my name. I still know exactly where I was and the time of day. Something inside me hesitated, looking back I think it was my future-self screaming at the top of his lungs to not sign. And, honestly, I'm still a little hoarse. 

 

But I also wanted some structure and legitimacy and community. And I dismissed it by saying that I had to take a risk to get the reward, but what I didn't take into consideration was that I suck at gambling. And at the time, I was gambling on doing the only thing I thought would give me stability by committing to a two-year program at an exorbitant price, in a town I'd never visited, to fuel the heady delusion and impractical aspiration that I would come up with an idea for, and write a novel that would be a best seller and get me out of the crippling debt I just signed to take on and legally promised to pay back.   

 

It was a huge gamble. And I signed, thinking everything would work out, much the same way we think climate change will just fix itself. 

 

And I'm doing okay. I mean, I'm not homeless, and I can pay for health care for the time being, but not because I'm making money off writing. Financially, it would've worked out far better if I'd never signed that paper. It's been sixteen years to the year since I graduated, and instead of buying a house or saving up for when I can barely spoon chowder into my toothless maw, I'm still paying off my loans for grad school. And, since, right now, I can hear my neighbor through my apartment wall peeing, I have to admit, I'd rather have a house. 

 

Again, I want to emphasize I'm not blaming the quality of education I received from Emerson. I don't even think MFA programs aren't helpful. Community being most important. And if you get into Iowa or another school with limited admission, you're probably going to get the time and attention you deserve. Ultimately, these were my poor decisions, and I blame myself. Even while in school, I didn't pursue what I wanted as ardently as I could have. But, much like my undergrad education, I was still finding my way. 

  

Also, I didn't vet the school as well as I could have. Emerson is a reputable school. But as I signed that loan agreement, I was comforted with the idea that after my first year, I'd be teaching, which provided stipends and lowered tuition for graduate instructors. Which was true, for everyone but MFA students. After I got there, I was told that they only provided lowered tuition for instructors not in the MFA program. Ultimately, I didn't make the cut to teach. But it didn't matter, because I wasn't there to become a teacher. I was there to write. And I made more money waiting tables. And I needed that extra money because I was graduating in a year, and loan payments would be due. 

 

Some people travel the world, others get a sixty-thousand dollar loan and suffer debilitating winters in a historic east coast city for the potential to learn their craft. They both have their benefits. Just not necessarily commensurate with the price. 

 

Education for your writing is important. Many of us, if not most, say they have a book in them. And not just to impress their first date. They actually mean it.  But most of us don't start off as good writers, and we need guidance. We need instruction. We need community. But we don't have to sacrifice our future financial security to do so. 

 

Pay for it, please. Give money to those who do podcasts, purchase good books on writing by, say, Donald Maas or Steven Pressfield, Natalie Goldberg or Lisa Cron. There's a ton of others. Or give money to someone who takes the time to teach for free like K.M. Weiland. That's what Patreon is for. And those people deserve it. 

 

But, unless you have a specific plan and the confirmation from the people you want help from in that school, I believe you're better off finding your own way in your own community and online. 

 

Education is one of those rare activities that can deeply gratify, especially if you're in a room all by yourself. And maybe you're contemplating going to a reputable school, or have postponed going to one until you can argue with your professor without a face mask on. Just know why you're going, what you want out of it, and with who, specifically, with who, and how you're going to pay for it. Because if you want to learn to write well, you don't have to sacrifice your future for your present. 

 

That's it for this one. As always, reach out. Tweet/email or, well, tweet or email me. Or leave a review on iTunes, because I don't even exist if I'm not recognized on iTunes. And if you do, apparently, their stock will split again. It's the single pebble that causes the ripples in the world. 

 

Visit my website at Cortwrites.com. That's C-O-R-T writes.com, where you can find links, and show notes, and transcripts. Also, maybe we can talk on the podcast. I can interview you, and you can tell me about your experiences and how wrong I am, or what you learned in getting your MFA, or how this whole episode was ill-timed.  

 

And here's the quote today. This one's from Mark Twain or maybe Grant Allen. But since no one knows who the hell Grant Allen is I'll just say Mark Twain: 

 

"I have never let schooling interfere with my education." 

 

Thanks, Mark. You tell Grant that's a great quote. So go to school, my friends, or learn from the internet, or just read and learn that way. Plenty of famous authors never went to college. Dickens, Bradbury, Angelou, Faulkner. Bradbury didn't even believe in going to college. He learned in libraries since it was free. Take that Sallie Mae!  

 

And in the meantime, write. Write, my friends. Write like you're saving a baby from a burning car. Because that baby is your novel and that car is time.