Not Like an Egg on a Spoon

There was this guy in my MFA program, and he did this thing that some writers do that I hate hate hate.

Here it is: you’d be talking to the guy, thinking you’re having a normal conversation, and then you or someone nearby would say something he found interesting, and he'd respond, “Oh, I’ve got to write that down before I forget it.” Then out would come the little notebook, and he'd actually do it. He'd write down what he'd heard with the utmost self-satisfaction at having captured ... whatever. 

Like the world was his zoology experiment, and we were all just rare macaques for him to observe and report upon. Totally annoying.

I’ve been advised a number of times to always carry a small notebook so I can jot things down in case inspiration strikes. I don’t do it.

I do my best thinking when I’m out walking or riding my bike. Somehow the motion kick starts my brain. For a long time, I’d get these ideas for stories or plot fixes or whatever, and I’d think I’d have to rush home and write it all down before I forgot the details. It reminded me of that birthday party game -- the relay race where you’ve got to carry an egg on a wooden spoon without dropping it.

But then I stopped doing that because somewhere along the line I realized something: good ideas are not that fragile.

OK, admittedly I do still write things down occasionally -- things that occured to me while I was out for a walk -- but I certainly don’t hurry along with that egg, trembling and fearful that I’ll drop my good idea on the pavement before I get home, and it'll be ruined. Maybe I just believe in a survival of the fittest sort of approach when it comes to spinning fluffy new ideas into actual books. If it’s a good idea, I’ll remember it. And if it’s a truly great idea, capable of sustaining an entire novel, it’ll persist almost to the point of my needing a restraining order against it.

This is not to say that I don’t respond to inspiration with the appropriate respect and, rarely, with a sense of urgency, it’s just that I don’t freak out about it. And if I’m talking to someone at a party, I, you know, simply talk to him. I’m not there to study and record behavior, to treat people like they're fodder for my work. Bleh. I don't care how great a writer you are. Who wants to be around someone like that? 

Geez, now I'm wishing I’d had the nerve to rip that little notebook out of my MFA chum’s hands, throw it on the ground, and clog dance on it while shouting, “There. Observe and write about that, Thoreau.” Of course then he probably would have, and I’m sure he would have turned it into a very funny story. You just can’t win against these writer types.

Em Eff Eh?

I’ve been wanting to write about this topic for a while. That is, the writing MFA. I see this question come up regularly on writers' forums. To get one, to not get one. Bottom line: are they worth? And by worth it, I assume people mean, will this get me published?

I have to say, most writers seem to think they are downright worthless, total waste of time, won't get you anywhere. I’ve read agent comments to this effect as well. Some agents seem to take special pride in form-rejecting any query in which an MFA is mentioned.

So let me jump right in and answer the question, was getting an MFA worth it? Actually, I should probably rephrase it to, was getting an MFA worth it to me?

Easy answer there: Absofreakinglutely.

Now, when I went to get my MFA, this was back in the mid-1990s, there wasn’t this thing I’m seeing of late: the low-residency writing program – which is an idea that I find intriguing and probably an option I would have chosen if I’d been able to. My MFA was a straight-up graduate program, meaning we had requirements outside the writing department. I took graduate classes in literature and philosophy, and we had that standard post-grad language requirement, so I also had to finish a class in translation. This is perhaps a long way of saying it was hard. (And for the record, don’t mean to be all secretive here, but I went to Columbia.)

Next question: Would I recommend other writers get an MFA?

Yes, I would. I mean, come on. Devoting a couple years to studying writing, getting the unvarnished truth about your work, and meeting fellow writers who can become life-long friends and critique partners? That is a pickle barrel full of awesome.

But you know what else I would recommend every writer do? Oh, let’s see, how about you take a trip around the world by catamaran. Travel alone through Asia on horseback. Spend a summer as an apprentice to the world’s greatest butcher in Tuscany. Spend a year painting landscapes in Tahiti. And while you’re at it, be sure to get your hands on the new Ferrari Scuderia F430, cuz it is sweeeeet.

Let’s be real. The average middle-class, post-college human cannot afford an MFA. And that’s really what’s at the heart of the “should I get an MFA” question. The MFA is undeniably a luxury item. And when we get to the point of saying such luxury items are required to be a writer, then we’re venturing into the Realm of Wrongness, a realm that is already stuffed-to-brimming, mostly with people who wear track suits and say “it’s all good.”

How was I able to do it? Loans. Lots of them. That I am still paying off and will be for a long while. Even considering that, I still think it was worth it, but that’s probably because I’m someone who doesn’t fully understand how money works, and someday I will probably end up living in a nursing home that bears a striking resemblance to a ditch.

So to be clear, my opinion on the MFA is this: Anyone, in any situation, with any life experience, and any degree of education, who is devoted to improving their craft can become a writer -- and probably a darn good one. Art is nothing if not egalitarian. And frankly as much as luxuriously cool experiences would help build your chops as a writer and artist, so too would living in a trailer park working your way through a series of husbands or spending a decade in a Turkish prison because your roommate stuffed opium into your backpack as you were heading through customs. Do you need an MFA to become a successful writer? No, of course you don't. But if you CAN get one, why wouldn’t you?

Of course if you had to choose between MFA and that Tahiti thing I mentioned -- Tahiti would be a perfectly lovely substitute. The Turkish prison thing? Well, I suppose it would be a lot cheaper and probably far more impressive in a query letter. You got me there.