Year (of MFA) in Review

When I started the MFA at Lindenwood U., I started blogging again so I could reflect on my MFA experience. I had good intentions (and you know what they say about those…!) of starting from the very beginning. Oops. I’m about to finish my fourth class in the program, coming up on a year since I applied.

The program is organized into eight-week-long terms, two fall, two spring, and one summer, and I began in the second fall 2023 term. Going forward I plan to write a post after each class, not as a review of the program/class/professor, but as a way to crystallize for myself how each class has (hopefully) moved me forward in my writing. But at this stage, before the end-of-summer break and before the new school year starts, I’m thinking back on what I’ve done so far.

Getting Oriented

Lindenwood requires an orientation class, ideally toward the beginning of your program. I was glad that in my quickie decision to apply, I was able to get in on the orientation class first thing. I’m sure in any kind of MFA program there’s a learning curve, and it’s helpful to have a “starter” course to set expectations and show how we do things around here. But in an online program it was especially helpful to get comfortable with the platform and have an introduction to some of the teachers and the design of the program.

One good-news/bad-news of online education is that it depends heavily–I would even say MOSTLY–on the other students. In a real-life classroom, a good prof can carry things even if the class is not super participatory. In online school, it helps a lot if a teacher is active in the “classroom,” but ultimately they are only one person–it’s the other dozen or so people in the “room” that make it or break it. Admittedly, this can be frustrating, but it can also be awesome. Thankfully my orientation class was very active and was composed of people from a variety of backgrounds and places doing all different kinds of writing (this is one of the best parts of online ed!!). I think an MFA program especially benefits from the number of English/literature schoolteachers pursuing the degree; they bring so much to the virtual table.

Stretching into Fiction

The other requirement of LU’s program is one of three “craft foundations” classes: Fiction, Non-Fiction, or Poetry. Students who declare a genre focus take the foundations course in their chosen genre. Those of us who don’t choose a focus can take any of the three. I took the fiction course (with fear and trepidation) because it’s the area I have the least experience in, and because in the past several years I’ve taken basic poetry and non-fic courses at some good community writing centers (The Muse in Norfolk, VA, and The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, MD). I knew a foundation in fiction was a piece I’ve been missing.

My favorite part of this course (and frankly, every course so far) was the readings. It’s hard to know if the teachers are actually good teachers; it seems to me that what it takes to run asynchronous classes online is a very different skill set than teaching in person. But even if I’ve felt “meh” about a teacher’s personal engagement, it’s clear they know their stuff, based on the material they include. I loved getting to dive in to literature that I’d never have discovered on my own, and it was even fun to push myself into some short fiction writing. My favorite piece to write was a one-page-ish very short story… which prompted me to sign up for an upcoming Flash Fiction workshop class, something I’d never have considered before.

Back Home in Non-Fic

The first week of my third class, a course in non-fiction based on the book The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick, felt like coming home after a meaningful but slightly stressful trip to Fictionland. So far this has been my best course in terms of teacher involvement. (I’m curious how much teacher engagement is related to student engagement–do students tend to be more active on the discussion boards if the teacher is more active? I have a hunch the answer is yes.) I also loved the structure of this course. I wish more classes took this approach, with a smart “guide” like Gornick for a foundation. In an in-person class, teachers would create their own content, lectures, etc.; that doesn’t work the same way in an online class (especially asynch, without Zoom meetings and presentations). It seems to me that starting with a reliable book allows a teacher to build around it with more focus on deep discussion, which seems to be the cornerstone of asynch learning.

This course had a lot of “good parts”: both teacher and class participation were high, readings were interesting and covered a huge range of perspectives and time periods, and it was worked into an overall structure that was very intentional (thanks, Vivian Gornick). Though it was not a workshop class, there were regular writing exercises (just no class feedback), and it’s the only class so far that required an academic-style thesis paper. I’ve looked at other MFA programs and PhDs, and even though this is “creative writing,” academic writing is still required to level up. One of my concerns about this program is the prevalence of casual writing submissions and lack of more serious scholarship requirements. I don’t plan to pursue a higher degree or a teaching gig after this (but never say never, I guess)–but at the Masters level I think academic writing is important, so I was glad to see it included in this course.

Realizations and Intentions

To be honest, multiple times this year I have felt grouchy about parts of this MFA experience. I miss real community; writing is a solitary-enough endeavor. I know it’s possible to find real connection online, but it’s hard work, and in short eight-week terms it may be nearly impossible. I’ve sometimes been frustrated by low participation in classes and by “lite” feedback from teachers. But every time I go Googling and looking at other programs and schools, I remember why I chose this in the first place. My reasons are still my reasons.

That realization means that I have to do what I need to do to make this program what **I** need it to be. (It likely also means I need to make the effort to find writing community in other places. And that’s okay.) Every class I’ve taken, even when I’ve been frustrated, has progressed my writing and my understanding of what I want to be doing. Every class has definitely increased my reading life–and that’s very valuable to me.

The MFA is a beginning point and not an end point, and I am starting to have glimmers of ideas for “someday.” For now, though, my intention is to make the most of this experience, and to keep sharing it and reflecting on it here in hopes of deciphering what it really means for me. I’ll keep watching for glimmers and trusting that one of these days I’ll be ready to follow them.