This time last year I had already made my decision on what MFA program to attend. I was addicted to the chat boards where a bunch of anonymous hopefuls all obsessed over the ins and outs of every aspect of every program. The minute I made my decision though, I didn't need that instant fix of checking to see what my fellow hopefuls were obsessing over at any given moment.
And now my sympathy goes to those who are as racked with nerves as I was. But I am also questioning the value of an MFA degree. This isn't a case of I came, I saw, I fretted. I've been fretting over this ever since I knew an MFA was a possibility. And the fret grows to new areas of fret when I read the high minded essays currently circulating the po-world over the pursuit of a degree in poetry. A fellow student compared the MFA opportunity to a conservatory of music, a comparison which I truly admire and feel encompasses the spirit of my particular program. We are here to read and write and have good conversation with other writers. It isn't something particularly academic. Which, if it were, would pose a huge problem to many students. We don't do "academic papers." I can imagine the sense of panic that would ensue if we were suddenly expected to treat poetry and fiction like we were pursuing an MA degree.
I still fret over it though. This is something that once you have, you can't suddenly get rid of. I will never be a poet who didn't graduate from an MFA. I will be held to standards in keeping with that, whether the expectations are higher or lower. There is no other decision I would have made, even though sometimes I do think romantically back on my days as a secretary, when I had loads of time to simply write. Wallace Stevens would have approved of that I think.
