A Writer-Friendly MFA
5 points to consider in figuring out where you belong
You know you want to up your game as a writer. You’ve decided to pursue an MFA.
Congratulations! While formal education is by no means necessary to all writers, I believe a good MFA program can be an excellent choice for those who want to build their craft, learn about the publishing industry, develop a support community, and gain access to college teaching jobs.
But by “a good MFA program,” I mean one that is good for YOU. One diploma looks pretty much like another, but the programs that award them are as different as cumquats and bananas.
You may be tempted — and advised — to choose the highest-ranked program you can get into. But if you’re miserable once you get there, or if the program’s goals are not a good match for your own, you could waste a lot of time and money for a questionable return. Sometimes the less prestigious program is the better option.
The purpose of this article is not to make comparisons among specific schools. There are numerous resources just a click away that will do that for you, produced by people with knowledge I do not pretend to have.
What I would like to offer is an overview of some of the important differences among MFA programs in general. Hopefully, this will help you narrow down your search, ask better questions when you contact program representatives, and avoid the stress (and the expense) of sending application packets to schools that don’t offer what you want.
1. The most important difference isn’t lo-res versus high, but academic versus studio.
Academic programs are geared for writers who intend to be professors of literature. In those programs, you will study the history of literature and the principles of literary criticism. You will also write, of course — many of those programs turn out excellent poets, novelists, and long-form journalists. But a lot of what you’ll write will be scholarly articles for an audience of literary scholars.
Studio programs, many of which call themselves workshops, exist to make good writers into better ones. You will still produce some academic articles, like reviews of poetry collections, but the bulk of your writing will be the kind of work you hope to sell: fiction, CNF, drama/screenplay, and poetry. (Yes, there is still a market for poetry, even in the US. Don’t let anybody convince you otherwise.)
In an academic MFA program, you will study under academic scholars, most or all of whom are also active authors. In a studio MFA program, your professors will be creative writers like yourself, people actively engaged in their careers as writers writing books.
2. Most (but not all) MFA programs insist that students specialize.
When you complete your online application for admission, most programs will require you to declare whether you intend to study fiction, poetry, or some other genre like drama or creative nonfiction. A typical small program may state on their home page that they accept 9 students every year: 4 in fiction, 3 in poetry, and 2 in CNF. This means each sub-department selects their allocation from among the applicants in that genre.
And once you are admitted, although most school require their students to take a certain number of courses in other genres, you will be expected to focus the bulk of your time on your own. You can’t enter as a fiction writer and write a poetry collection as your thesis.
This is definitely a question you should explore when interviewing with a school you are considering. How much cross-genre learning is expected or permitted? The answers will vary from “quite a bit” to “practically none.”
This is my greatest criticism of MFA programs in general. I am a writer. My primary obsession at the moment is my novels, but sometimes what I want to say is best expressed in poetry. Sometimes my message will be more clearly presented in an essay or a film. Part of what I hoped to find, when searching for a program, was the opportunity to develop greater competency in my weaker areas.
Fortunately, there are a few MFA programs whose philosophy mirrors mine. One shining example is Hollins University in Roanoke, VA, an old and highly regarded program where specialization is actively discouraged, and where most of the faculty has published work in multiple genres.
Another is the Arkansas Writers MFA Workshop at the University of Central Arkansas, where I expect to graduate next spring. It’s a small program, accepting no more than 8 students each year, and has existed less than ten years. It’s been ideal for me, allowing me to work as intensively as I choose in multiple areas, and letting me decide on my thesis genre when I’m ready.
3. Size matters.
MFA programs range in size from very small to huge. The program at UCA has 6 full-time professors and fewer than 25 students altogether. The largest programs have dozens of profs and hundred of students.
Big programs can attract big-name writers to serve as faculty or writers-in-residence, but if you’re just one face in a crowd, you can’t expect a lot of personal attention from the writing icons you came to study under. Or anyone else, for that matter, other than your primary advisor.
One common rap you hear about large programs is that the competition for faculty attention leads to cutthroat attitudes in workshops. I’ve heard horror stories about people getting brutal feedback on their work from fellow students. My impression is that most schools these days recognize that excessively harsh criticism is of little educational value, and many if not most professors make some effort to model supportive attitudes. But again, you need to ask about the school’s philosophy. And if you get a chance to talk to students in the program, ask them how they feel about the kind of feedback they receive in workshops.
Small has drawbacks, too. The workshop I had hoped to take this fall in screenplay writing didn’t make — cancelled because not enough students signed up — so I had to get permission to take something similar in the film school. All the same, it’s hard to beat the level of support available in a program where everybody knows your name.
The range of options, like courses in special topics, is likely to be greater in a larger program, but faculty-to-student ratio may be a more important consideration. Also, depending on your needs and interests, even small programs may have unexpected advantages. At UCA, I’ve been able to be on the staff of an online literary magazine, even serving as poetry editor. And since I love to teach, I’m glad to have gotten courses in teaching both composition and creative writing — something unavailable in many schools.
4. Two years or three?
The majority of MFA programs expect students to finish in two years, which is popular since most people don’t want to invest more time and money than they have to. There are distinct advantages, however, to taking an extra year.
Personally, given how intense my first two years have been, I can’t imagine how I would have survived them if I’d also had to write my thesis in that time. There is just too much to learn, too many opportunities you hate to pass up, too much to absorb beyond the coursework. Relationships with faculty and fellow students. Activities on campus. The community beyond. (I think most college towns are special places, and Conway’s no exception.)
As you know if you read my earlier article, I came to Arkansas because I wanted to become a better writer. Since coming here, my pace of learning has been astounding, and that’s on top of the 50 years of writing experience I had already. I can’t wait to see what my final year will bring.
5. What about low-residency programs?
If you want to learn remotely, like we’re mostly doing now, and meet your classmates and professors only for 1–3 weeks a year, a lo-res MFA is certainly an option. I can’t say much descriptively about those programs, since that isn’t what I opted for.
A lo-res program yields the same degree, and as long as the program is accredited, that degree is equally respected in the places where diplomas matter. The costs are roughly similar, aside from what you save by living at home. The work will be no different. And you’ll still have to ask the same questions regarding focus (academic versus studio), flexibility, size, and time. In other words, my impression is that lo-res programs vary along all the same dimensions as on-campus programs.
Your MFA program will have a tremendous impact on your writing career. It behooves you to research your options well, and then to apply to as many schools as possible that meet your criteria. The perfect school for you is only perfect if you can get in, and you may be one of 50 applicants for 10 places in the program.
If you have other questions regarding MFA programs that you’d like me to address in future articles, mention them in comments and I’ll do my best. Or email me and I’ll reply as promptly as I can.
More from Edward Robson, PhD:
Points Will Be Deducted if it Rhymes. | by Edward Robson, PhD | ILLUMINATION-Curated | Medium
