UCF–little did I know you’d become my home away from home. I’m cool with that.
Perhaps you have read my previous posts about all the reasons you should and should not get an MFA in creative writing and despite your better judgment have decided to forge ahead and enter the academy. Huzzah?
That gives you just a few months to get those applications ready and submitted since most schools have a deadline of December or January. (P.S. Did you know you’ve just taken on a part-time job that will actually cost you money? It’s a fabulous introduction into the sort of life you can expect to lead as a writer.)
But before we can even start talking about applications, we need to discuss choosing which programs to apply to. The best way for me to talk about that is to share my own experience and what I learned along the way. My journey began in Columbia, South Carolina, home of the University of South Carolina. When I decided to get an MFA, I just figured—duh—I’d go to USC. Then I learned that USC’s MFA program requires 30 credit hours of undergraduate upper-level coursework in English. In other words, I needed an English degree. I was okay with that. I knew a BA in English with a concentration in writing could only make my grad application writing sample stronger. And I’m a giant nerd, so any excuse to spend more time in school was fine by me.
After my first year as an English major, I met with Elise Blackwell, then the director of USC’s MFA program. She did the best thing she possibly could have done—she shared some very difficult truths with me in the kindest way possible. She informed me that USC typically has 100 to 120 MFA applicants in fiction. They typically accept four. As in one, two, three, four—that’s it. Four people. I saw my super awesome plan to get an MFA from USC crumbling around me. I clearly had not done enough research. There was a very, very good chance that I would not be accepted, which meant I would then have two choices. The first was to not get an MFA. But what the hell was I going to do with a BS in geology and a BA in English?! The second choice was to relocate in order to get an MFA, which was going to be a hard sell for my then-fiancé Kit who had a job in Columbia that he liked very much. Not surprisingly, I left Elise’s office in full panic mode, the existential crisis that lasted for the next year and a half only just beginning.
But Elise pointed out something very important: MFA programs can be incredibly difficult to get into, especially if you want funding. (And who doesn’t want funding?) She suggested that I apply to between eight and twelve programs, “based on what you can afford.” Eight to twelve programs?! Between application fees ($75-$120 a pop, depending on the school), fees to have your official undergraduate transcripts sent ($15-$25, again depending on the school), and GRE fees ($160 each time you take it), you could be looking at spending about a grand just on the applications. With no guarantee that you’ll get in anywhere.
After my conversation with Elise, I started to do some research and learned that you are statistically more likely to gain admittance to Harvard med school than to most creative writing MFA programs in the country.
I was like, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” Maybe that’s how you’re feeling right now. Sorry.
I decided eight applications was all I could afford (and even that was a stretch). I knew I would still apply to USC (I hadn’t give up all hope…just most of it), but how to choose the other seven schools?
My first stop was to check out program rankings. I discovered the Poets & Writers list and Seth Abramson’s articles over at Huffington Post. There’s been a ton of debate over how useful, fair, and realistic the rankings are. Do a Google search. There’s a lot to be said for the backlash. And Poets & Writers decided just last year to stop publishing rankings. However, the rankings showed me which schools had programs, how long the programs were (2-3 years), and what funding was like. It also helped me figure out which programs were considered “good.” Sure, we could quibble over whether #3 is really better than #4, but in terms of the most respected programs in the country, the same names kept popping up, whether it was in a list of rankings or talking to other professors and MFA students or on blog posts that I read. This lead to decision/lesson #1: Don’t just apply to a bunch of top-tier programs. Because everyone is applying to top-tier programs. The odds are against you.
I decided to mix it up. A blend of ranked and unranked programs that fit other important criteria (which I will get to). Seth Abramson’s rankings led to other articles of his, most importantly his ranking of the 25 most underrated MFA programs. Which led me to the University of Central Florida. Sure, I’d heard of the school before. I have family in the Orlando area. But I had no idea that UCF had an MFA program. And it was pretty good? Bonus. Add it to the list. The take-home message here? Decision/lesson #2: You need to do a lot of research to figure out which schools have MFA programs and what those programs are like. It’s time-consuming. But you don’t want to sell yourself short because you only applied to programs with name recognition.
Then it was a matter of figuring out what was important to me. What did I need in order to make sure a certain program was right for me? Every applicant is going to have a different answer to that question. My list of must-haves likely will not match yours, but it leads me to Decision/lesson #3: Consider non-literary factors when choosing an MFA program. Here’s what I mean. First, funding was non-negotiable. I made the decision that I would not attend any program that didn’t fund me. You may feel differently about that. Second, I hate winter. I mean, I really hate winter. So no matter how great the Iowa Writers Workshop is, in the highly unlikely event of my acceptance to that program, I wouldn’t move to Iowa and deal with Midwest winters for all the money in the world. Additionally, some of the coldest places in America also have the highest cost of living. (This does not apply to the Midwest, but certainly New England, the PNW, and northern California.) In the South, it’s warm and cheap. Thus, I only applied to schools below the Mason-Dixon line. Third, considering I might have to move away from Columbia, South Carolina to get my MFA, I had to choose a location in a city large enough to offer Kit ample job opportunities. So while Georgia College and State University seemed like such a great program—and oh my God, who wouldn’t want to study in Flannery O’Connor’s hometown?!—there’s no way Milledgeville was big enough to offer much in the way of employment for Kit. Fourth, to say Kit was unhappy at the prospect of having to move away is a huge understatement. Like, the fate of our engagement became questionable because we were at such odds over moving. So I looked for programs in cities that might appeal to Kit. For example, I applied to the University of South Florida simply because Kit’s brother lives in Tampa. Perhaps, I thought, if that’s the only place I get in, I can convince Kit to move closer to Ted. (Interestingly enough, USF was my first rejection. And what a snarky rejection it was. So, you know, fuck USF.)
So after academics, after funding, my decision came down to location location location. That’s just me. It may be very different for you, but the key is to figure out what is most important to you—not just for your writing, but also for quality of life. Maybe you like corn fields and blizzards. Iowa might be calling your name.
Based on those factors, I had a list of about 14 schools, which I whittled down to my top eight: University of South Carolina, University of Central Florida, University of South Florida, University of North Carolina at Wilmington (Respected program near the beach? Yes, please!), University of North Carolina at Greensboro, Virginia Commonwealth University (another of Abramson’s underrated programs), Louisiana State University (Great program, great football, and oh so close to NOLA.), and Florida State University (I seriously, seriously love Tallahassee.).
Sure, there are some great southern programs that I left out. But looking at the number of applicants that UVa and University of Florida receive compared with the number they accept, I knew there was no way I’d get in. I mean, I’m good, but not that good. And as a Gamecock, there was zero chance of me wanting to move to Gainesville and be surrounded by all those damn Gator fans. (Kit, a Clemson Tiger, expressed relief for the same reason when I did not get into FSU.) So yeah, my college football preferences factored into my grad school decisions. It’s not always about the writing, folks.
There’s a lot of other factors you might want to consider. How big is the program? Is it two years or three? What other opportunities might you have to build your CV, such as teaching assistantships or editing a literary journal? What is the area arts community like? Do you need a big city, or do you like being a little out of the way? What is the cost of living in that area? How many faculty does the program have in your genre? Who are they? (Hint: you likely won’t find many household names among creative writing faculty, but program websites will show what and how much they are publishing. If a majority of the faculty is actively publishing, appearing on conference panels, or serving in leadership roles with organizations like AWP, that’s a good sign.)
The keys to choosing your list of MFA programs is to:
1) do a really honest assessment of your own work. Winter wasn’t the only reason I didn’t apply to Iowa. I knew coming out of my English program that I wasn’t as good as the other writers getting into Iowa. Even LSU and UNCG were perhaps a stretch. (Interestingly enough, those are the two places I got wait-listed.) We all have a certain arrogance about our work and our talent. If we didn’t, we’d never be able to survive all the rejection. But if too much unrealistic confidence leads you to apply only to the best, best, best, best programs, you might be very sad in the long run. As in not going to grad school sad.
2) balance your list between some of the big-name programs and lesser known programs that are also worthwhile. Sure, aim for the stars. If you dream of going to Syracuse or Brown, you might as well give it a shot. But don’t put all your application eggs in the same top-tier basket. There are a lot of great programs out there, but, like, who’s ever heard of McNeese State? Exactly. Your odds of getting in might be better.
3) figure out what is really important to you. Do you want an MFA so badly that you are willing to pay for it and live in a city that isn’t your favorite? Or are you particular about program size? Do you cringe at the thought of teaching undergrads? Whatever it is, it’s important, so don’t ignore those nagging wants and needs. No matter how good the program is, you won’t do your best work if you’re miserable. That’s how I wound up dropping out of that PhD program in earth science all those years ago.
4) do your research. The internet is your oyster. And talk to your creative writing professors. They often have the inside scoop on certain programs. David Bajo (who happens to be married to Elise Blackwell and also happens to have a new novel out) told me about another student of his who wound up at UCF and that it was a quality program. That certainly gave me some confidence regarding that choice. And while the University of Texas at Austin was on my list, due to good funding and a great location, a professor told me that a lot of people drop out before finishing. In other words, steer clear. Your professors are experts on this stuff. Use them.
5) balance that checkbook. This is about to get real expensive real quick.
After all that, the fun part begins. If you consider it fun to obsess for months over 20 pages of your writing, take standardized tests, hit up your current professors for recommendations hoping that they like and respect you as much as you like and respect them, and stalk registrar office employees to make sure your transcripts have gone out. Are we having fun yet?