The Circle of the MFA: What I Learned 10 Years Ago, and What I'm Passing On (I hope)

Every January and July, I anticipate the photos and congratulatory notes for the newest graduates of the MFA program I myself completed in 2008. The two years I spent attending residencies at Stonecoast (at the University of Southern Maine) were pivotal for me as a writer, and in many ways, as a human being.

Almost coinciding with the news about this summer's graduates, I found myself talking about what I learned at Stonecoast and how that influences my work today as an instructor and thesis advisor (in the Bay Path University online MFA program in creative nonfiction). The occasion was an interview for the Bay Path Director's Blog.

Here's a bit of my response to a question about what I most want to tell students: 

"... I want to advise every student to savor every moment, to dive in deep to every opportunity the program puts in their path, because any MFA in any form is always over too soon..."

You can read the rest of the interview here.

Image: Flicker/CreativeCommons - ccdinges101

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- May 30, 2014 Edition

> Richard Gilbert, author of a new memoir, Shepherd, has some good advice on obtaining advance trade press reviews, over at his blog.

> This summer, three writers I'd had the pleasure of working with as students or coaching clients are beginning low residency MFA programs, and in the fall another is entering a full time program; so the advice for new graduate writing students in this John Vanderslice post is particularly timely.

> If you're not reading book coach and author Jennie Nash's How to Write a Book blog, you're missing out.

> Determined to crack that one important journal? Read how Laura Maylene Walter (finally) made it into The Sun. (hat tip Erika Dreifus)

> In the next month or so, I'll have an interview here with essayist/memoir writer Sue William Silverman, but I can't wait: her interview at The Artist's Road, about building a memoir from essays, is too good not to pass along.

> Wondering if Tumblr will help your freelance writing career? Some quick tips via the ASJA newsletter.

> Sure, I'm biased (since I'm the creative nonfiction editor) but I'll say it anyway -- there is some seriously good writing, across all genres, in the Spring issue of Compose Journal. Plus, a few excellent craft and business-of-writing articles, too.

> Perhaps by now everyone has seen the "Look Up" video exposing the anti-social effects of social media, texting, and cell phone addiction, but it's worth sharing. Extras: it's by a Brit, in rhyme, and hey, my teenager sat through the whole five minutes and pronounced it "cool". Pass it on.

> Essays that rise to the top of the submissions pile at Prairie Schooner have a few important things in common, according to assistant nonfiction editor Sarah Fawn Montgomery.

> In case you missed it, scroll down one post to the interview with Brain, Child magazine editor/publisher Marcelle Soviero...and leave a comment by Tuesday night to win a subscription and batch of recent issues.

> Finally, listen to Rosie Perez's passionate reading of the poem "Still I Rise" by the late, wonderful Maya Angelou. 

Image: Windell Oskay/Flickr, Creative Commons

Writing Reruns: Posts from the Past.

Over the last few weeks, I've noticed a bunch of new comments here on old posts. Which suggests that perhaps newer readers might find some value in some posts from the past. (How's that for justifying a too-busy-to-blog day?).

So what do editors really do with a pile of submissions? In which I feature excerpts and links from Peter Selgin's cop to how he manages his role as literary journal editor.

A Writer's Creed: Get What You Need. Maybe It's What You Want After All. In which I discuss how getting that MFA, or any good chunk of writing education, will disrupt life in general.

Point of View: A 10-year-old Explains it All. In which my son teaches me something. (Happens all the time.)

Writing the Seasonal Essay: This Time Next Year. In which I advocate getting a really big jump start.

Writing and Kids: Not So Mutually Exclusive. In which I get a little tough with writers who blame poor productivity on having procreated.

Guest Blogger: Susan Kushner Resnick on Putting Procrastination in its Place

Ten years ago, emerging from a second round of postpartum depression, I stumbled across Susan Kushner Resnick's memoir, Sleepless Days: One Woman's Journey Through Postpartum Depression. When I closed the book, I has one of those moments of realization that are incredibly clear and also painful -- I had to dramatically revamp my writing life.

The author's note said Susan was a fellow alumna of the journalism program at Syracuse University, so I emailed her, and in the course of a few exchanges (though I really had no right to do so) I unloaded my anxiety and frustration about not doing the kind of writing I really wanted to do. Susan wrote me back with a bunch of really good advice, but for me it all boiled down to one sentence: look into a low-residency MFA in creative nonfiction, and do it right away. I had never heard these terms before, but I printed out her email and kept it on my desk -- for another two years. But finally, I leaped.

A final requirement for my MFA was to write an Artist's Statement, which contains this important line: "As with everything in my life, it began with a book." Susan's book. We recently reconnected. I can't remember exactly why or how, but it doesn't really matter because all of that time I never really felt disconnected.

Please welcome Susan Kushner Resnick.

Here’s what I’ve learned about working on more than one book project at a time: it enhances the craft of procrastination. Even if you thought you were impressively skilled at putting your writing last, as I did – you should see my clear kitchen counters, my every washed and folded towel, my tidy car interior – this talent can be honed by adding additional writing projects.


I figured this out as I began to corral hundreds of tiny yellow airsoft gun pellets from far under my couch. My son’s obsession of the month involved assaulting empty soda cans in our yard, then trailing the ammunition throughout the house. For a long time, I thought the sunny little balls were candy so I threw them away. But when my son requested a ride to the creepy hunting store to restock, I realized that I’d been tossing the arsenal. I decided to collect the strays instead. After all, a trip to buy new ones would take a lot of time away from my writing!

I flattened myself onto my belly and lifted the couch skirt. This was supposed to be the last of many “straightening up” tasks I’d been at that morning, despite having free time and the word WORK written in my datebook. As I reached under the couch and through the dust, I saw that I had reached the pinnacle of avoidance. Pathetic.


How had I fallen so far? I have rules and strategies designed to prevent time burning. I’ve followed them for years and they’ve allowed me to maintain a writing career while raising two relatively sane teenagers (the gun is a phase!), staying married, and occasionally seeing friends.
How could I have forgotten?


In this case, I blame paralyzation. Somehow, I’d gotten myself involved in three book projects at the same time. This was a very good thing for my identity (I guess I really am a writer if I’m straddling projects), but not so good for time management. When I wrote WORK in my datebook, I didn’t specify which work.

Do I plunge into Project Past, getting my 10-year-old book on postpartum depression reprinted to coincide with my testimony to the state legislature about the need for mandated postpartum care?

Do I stick with Project Present, a marketing plan I’ve created for my second book, which comes out in January?

Or do I take notes for/organize research for/manage translators for Project Future, my third book, which really isn’t a book at all yet, but just a big box of notes?

Or, do I clean up airsoft pellets?

We all know the default answer. We know that it’s easier to clean or shop or cook or rake than it is to open the proverbial vein and write. Writing is complex and fraught. Housework is simple and straightforward, not to mention immediately rewarding. With housework you aren’t digging into yourself. It’s literally a surface activity. And if it gets interrupted by an actual crisis – big or small – who cares? When writing gets interrupted, when we have to cauterize that vein that took so much effort to open, it hurts.

Still. We aren’t in this business to avoid pain. We writers woo pain. It’s part of the fun and most of the challenge. So I will forgive myself for getting daunted by multiple projects. And I will remind myself of the rules.


*Set Deadlines: As a freelance writer, I struggled when I didn’t have a professor or editor waiting for my work. Then I realized I could fill that disciplinary role myself. Since I was trained to never miss a deadline, it works. I usually set my goals according to season: I’ll have this chapter done by the end of summer, I’ll begin that outline before Thanksgiving break, etc.

*Remember Your Long Term Goal: Everyone’s long term goal is different. I’m committed to being a role model for both of my kids, but especially for my daughter. I don’t want her to remember me as a woman who sacrificed her passion to take care of others, or to think that’s her fate.

*Think About Your Deathbed: I know, it’s a cliché. But do you want to lie there and realize you didn’t reach your writing goals because you wasted time cleaning? Or do you want to die knowing that you really tried your hardest, no matter how it turned out?


*Don’t Look Under the Couch: Just don’t. Look into your stubborn writer’s heart instead.

Susan's forthcoming book is Goodbye Wifes and Daughters, an account of the 1943 Smith Coal Mine disaster in Bearcreek, Montana. It's available for pre-order from University of Nebraska Press.

Gold in Them Notebooks, Part 4

Welcome to the fourth in a series of posts on what I find while taking a random cruise through a pile of notebooks from my MFA program.

From a discussion during a nonfiction workshop about writing while feeling stuck:

•Try this: Keep writing this sentence, filling in the blanks anew each time: "Part of me wants _____, but part of me wants _____."
•When you feel you can't write about something, write at it. Write in pieces – individual sentences, paragraphs.
•When you have something (or even if you think you don't) make your margins very wide and print it out, with text running down the center of the page only, so you can write in longhand on the sides of the paper (especially transitions), then…get some scissors and literally cut and paste. See what happens.
•Ask yourself if there is a part of you that is hiding behind the stuff you are not writing.
•Forget about explaining a concept like "forgiveness" – do it with scene, image, moment, emotional clarity.
- Richard Hoffman, memoirist and poet; Writer in Residence, Emerson College.

You can read the first three MFA notebooks posts here.

Gold in Them There Notebooks, Part I

Over the last month or so – the time when I would have, in previous years, been prepping for and then attending the summer residency portion of my MFA program – I've been nostalgic. Missing the anticipation and nerves and frantic reading and critiquing leading up to the intense 11-day session, and longing for another chance at the mother lode of knowledge, camaraderie, motivation, and magic which made up each day.

This week, while in the middle of a massive office reorganization project, I had the chance to unearth the notebooks I filled over the two years I spent in that program. There's one from each residency, and one from each semester in between. Residency notebooks are filled with notes from faculty seminars, peer workshops, visiting author talks, guest lectures, and graduating student presentations, as well as tidbits culled from conversations during lunch, carpool rides, and evening coffees. Semester notebooks include advice from my faculty mentors on my work-in-progress, and ideas for the annotations I needed to produce on a dozen books.

Opening those notebooks brings up many mixed emotions, but the overriding sense is one of finding treasure. Sure, I have already acted on much of the advice, incorporated many of the tips and techniques into my writing process, and clearly remember some of the best-phrased counsel. But I was amazed at how much I had either forgotten or filed away in a far part of my brain.

Rather than read through each notebook from beginning to end, I thought it might be more fun, over the next few weeks, to open them up in a completely unsystematic and arbitrary way, and see what I'd find. And, I'll blog about it.

First up -- from a seminar on vision and a possible approach to the prewriting process:

Get a huge sheet of paper or white board. I call it a Chaos Board. Write down all the key words about your subject. Have absolutely no order. Write words, prompts, ideas. Sketch in visual things too. Keep it uncensored. Use placeholders if you can't think of the exact idea. Make sets and subsets. Make word webs, by drawing connecting lines between words and phrases. Notice the high traffic areas. - Debra Marquart, author of The Horizontal World: Growing up Wild in the Middle of Nowhere

A Writer's Creed: Get What You Need. Maybe It's What You Want, After All.

About six months ago, a new acquaintance, a would-be MFA student, was complaining about being too broke to apply to nearby schools that didn't offer funding; unable to relocate to take advantage of programs that do offer funding; and unimpressed with the low-residency model. What to do?

I'm sympathetic to this dilemma because it's one I faced several years ago when the traditional programs I could reasonably commute to didn't offer much in the way of funding, and in one case offered me a "scholarship" that sliced the tuition, but only down to a level that made me gasp instead of pass out. I didn't think I would get enough out of a low residency program, and at the time (and I don't think it's changed much since) no low residency programs I could find offered funding that would substantially reduce costs. Eventually, I realized that for me it was going to be low-res or nothing (as is the case for many other mid-life, mid-career folks) and I found a low residency program to suit me, one that was more-or-less reasonably priced (in comparison, friends), got a loan and got on with it.

Which is what I told my new acquaintance. Leap, I said. He wasn't ready and wanted to know if he could get at least some of the literary training he longed for without disrupting his family, job, and home, or going broke, or both.

I told him there was good news and bad.

First the bad: Want to seriously write? It's going to be disruptive. You are going to need to steal the time, from somewhere – family, job, home, hobbies, sport, friends. I've yet to meet or read about any successful writer (and I’m defining success broadly here, not in best-seller terms) who describes their transition to becoming a dedicated, serious writer as a smooth one which pleased everyone around them.

More bad news: It's going to cost you. Maybe you don't need to fork over a tuition check the size of a house down payment, but you know what? If it's top quality instruction, guidance, coaching, and advice you are after – and not just that you want to spend more time writing – there's a price tag, even outside the MFA. Really fine writing teachers who take on private students or who teach in non-academic settings or non-degree programs have value and are priced accordingly.

A little more bad news: Debt is bad for a writer. I'm learning this first hand right now. Sign on for those student loans and sure, you get to pursue the MFA without working three jobs at the same time. But six months after graduation, those loan payments begin. True, they can be spread over 10 years, and as my husband keeps trying to explain to me, an extra monthly payment that's less than the combined cable/broadband/phone bill is manageable. Most months. Unless the entire economy tanks, throwing both of your self-employed incomes into a tailspin. Like now. The point is, if you are worried about paying for that MFA, if you find yourself having to take on work that's soul-sucking but better-paying just to whittle down that MFA loan – well, I can tell you that's not a great way to feel post-degree. But I wouldn't trade those two MFA years either.

The dilemma is, now that I finally feel I'm ready to write full time, my family's financial outlook isn't ready for me to do so. Maybe it's just me, someone who abhors debt, who pays off entire credit card balances every single month, who won't buy a car unless I can put down 50 percent and also get 0% financing. I'm sure others have much higher tolerances for debt. But a writer who is emotionally burdened over cash flow (hey wait, doesn't that describe most writers?) is not in the best of all possible creative places. But enough about me. I'll get the loan paid off, maybe later rather than sooner.

Back to my friend. Here's the good news. If the MFA is out of reach financially, or logistically, well -- forget about it. Concentrate on what is possible and create your own "program" to elevate your writing. I'd build it around having at least one traditional type of workshop-style "class" going most of the time. Writing coaches, authors and MFA-level instructors are all around, teaching a course or running a workshop here or there out of their homes, a writing or literary center, or community colleges – why? To supplement their writing income, or because they want to teach but don't want the administrative burden of a traditional faculty position, or because they just like the independence.

My friend located three excellent, well-published writers who teach privately, all less than 90 minutes from his somewhat rural town, at various price points, but all within his budget and right for his skill and craft level. He's starting his first workshop with one of them next week. Meanwhile, he's found a literary festival near his parent's house, with free workshops and lectures, so he's combining that with an overdue visit. He joined two writers' organizations, in two different cities, and one smaller one much closer to home. He's applied for workshop scholarships at two writing conferences, and is just now thinking about a few low-residency MFA programs in cities where he has relatives or friends who can offer free lodging. Last month, he attended a reading, lingered afterward, fell into conversation with the author, who offered (yes, without being asked or begged) to read the first chapter of his novel-in-progress and pass on some tips.

All good. But there is some bad news. The money he's spending on the workshop was supposed to be for a guys-only weekend to watch his old college football team. His wife tells him his writing life is cutting into their time together after the kids are in bed, not to mention how he's monopolized the basement corner she'd once planned to turn into a craft studio.

See? Disruptive. Good for him.

After the MFA: The 8-Week Report

I promised an "after the MFA/what's next" post and now that eight weeks have blown by, it's time. Like all seminal events, the MFA now seems both a lifetime ago, and as if it just ended this morning.

First, the good news. It feels quite good to have accomplished something this important; mind you, I should clarify, something this important to me. An MFA is not important to a lot of editors, potential employers, friends and of course, it's not important at all to the world at large. But it was (is) to me. Checking off – and enjoying -- one of the bigger items on my life list, yeah, I'm savoring that a little bit.

A little more good news: While deadlines will always be my friend, keeping me productive and focused, it's great to not predictably turn into a lunatic precisely every third week when the mentor packet is due. [Turning into a lunatic once every 28 to 33 days anyway is another story.] It's wonderful to have control once again over my reading list (the stack of books earmarked "to be read after the MFA" was getting dangerously, depressingly large.

Still more good news: Rather than feeling my world has shrunk with the loss of the on-going writing community an MFA provides, I feel rather an expansive sense of possibility. Having writing acquaintances, and in many cases, good friends, in far-flung locations, involved in such a varied assortment of creative endeavors, well think of the opportunities for interaction, feedback, collaboration, support and comradeship.
And even more good news:
♦ My family is glad to have me back, mentally. When I'm writing or on deadline, I still close the office door (which translates in my house to: If you come in or knock your hair better be on fire), but the person who emerges every few hours is less stressed. ♦ It's a good feeling to know that my kids, both starting new schools this year, watched Mom set out to do something difficult, at age 46, and despite setbacks along the way, she finished what she started. Not that they'd ever admit it, but I know it's somewhere in each of their subconscious.
♦ I can get to all of those writing projects, which over the past two years I'd mentally labeled "after the MFA" and at the same time, my writing confidence has never been higher, a happy confluence.
♦ I can accept assignments that would have once conflicted with critical end-of-semester requirements, say yes to projects extending beyond a semester's timeframe, and book the family vacation without regard to the scheduled dictated by the MFA's residency.

And now for the not-so-good-news: What the hell is it again that I am supposed to do now?

Actually, I might have gotten this feeling a full 8 weeks back, not too long after pomp and circumstance stopped playing, except for one of those "good problems" life sometimes throws at me.


Here was the plan: Attend final MFA residency and graduation; take week-long family vacation in Maine (deferred two years, need I say why?); spend rest of summer hanging with kids -- take a breather, completely reorganize office, and make tidy lists of things to do in September. Work on the resume, but keep things simple. Of course I'd write, but I'd let my mind wander, sketch out only really rough drafts, play with poetry, decide which nonfiction book proposal to write first (I've narrowed it down to two!), and read anything my literary heart desired.

What is it they say again about making plans?

Even before leaving New Jersey for the final MFA residency, the owner of a website I do some editing and research for asked me to help develop a new editorial model and build and edit a news blog – interesting project, additional income. What could be wrong? Just the timing. I'd need to start right after the family vacation.

Which I did for a few hours each morning while the kids played Wii before heading to the pool. Then a writer I like, with a new gig editing a cool website, asked if I'd do a personal essay on a subject dear to me. I said yes, of course. Days later, another writer friend, also with a new editing job for a promising new print magazine, asked for an essay on another equally interesting topic. Yes again, of course.

I am NOT complaining, folks. No freelance writer with any sense complains about being ASKED to contribute to media ventures they admire, by people they like. In fact, I was – am -- grateful. It was a little more than I wanted to cope with in August, but what the heck, the kids had some camp programs going and what's a little more Wii and Nintendo time anyway?

That's when an artist asked me to evaluate a book project and outline editorial, marketing, and publishing options. In between, a piece of narrative nonfiction I'd submitted to a (paying) literary journal was accepted and the editor was keen to work on the changes before her college students returned. Yes, and yes again, of course.

Again, NOT complaining. At this point, all work = more cash saved toward paying down a larger chunk of the MFA student loan, thus lowering payments when they start in a few months.

Still, there went all that planned ruminating, rest and reorganization. Oh, I worked on the resume, and I made some lists. I thought about my next moves and even set up September and October coffee dates with writers, editors and others kind enough to let me pick their brains and bounce ideas. I did not reorganize the office. Come to think of it, I have never crossed off "completely reorganize the office" from any list I've ever put it on at any time in my adult life.

It wasn't the end-of-summer I'd planned, it wasn't the way I'd envisioned relaxing after the exquisitely wonderful grind of the MFA. It's all okay. In fact, had I not gotten so busy, so "distracted", I might not have realized that "I'll get started on the next phase of my life after the kids go back to school in September" is not in fact a viable career strategy.

So, the kids have been in school for three days now and I'm not in all that different a place than I thought I'd be. Maybe the personal work projects are not so neatly lined up as I'd hoped. The lists are not as ordered and color-coded and deadline-oriented as I'd planned.

But the good news is that, except for a two-week period when outside deadlines simply made it impossible, I kept writing. The creative stuff, the this-might-make-it-into-the-memoir stuff. New stuff. Revisions. Half-a-notebook of ideas. This is not insignificant. Scads of MFA-grads let the writing go.

So, eight weeks after the MFA, I’m doing okay.

I just need to know: If I try, say for an hour a day for the next three months, to "daydream" about what's next, will I feel as good as I thought I'd feel had I gotten those 5 weeks of summer-time R&R? Nah, probably not.


Best use that hour to write, huh?

Guest Blogger Gina Vozenilek on slush piles, sports, journal editing, and MFAs

Note from Lisa: When I very briefly met Gina Vozenilek last year, I was struck by what sounded like her very cool job because at the time I was looking for a home for an essay about my former life as a hunter/jumper horse show competitor. Later, it was a pleasure to have Gina edit my work, and I was pleased too to discover her writing and that we had each written about some of the same mothering dilemmas.

Please welcome Gina Vozenilek.

When Lisa asked me to post on her blog while she labors in the final throes of her MFA, I was simultaneously honored and jealous. I met Lisa briefly at the NonFictioNow conference in Iowa City in the fall of 2007 and know her through her words, which I first admired as an editor at Sport Literate Magazine. Her essay entitled “A Well-Jumped Fence,” which we published this spring in our “Winners and Losers” issue, really stood out from the pile. I thought I might muse a bit about it from an editorial perspective, assuming that if you are reading Lisa’s blog, more likely than not, you’ve got submissions in slush piles all over the place, too.

But first to the jealousy bit. I can’t help marveling at a mom finishing an MFA. Kudos! A mom finishing a sentence is pretty noteworthy in my book these days. I have four kids myself and usually feel entitled to someone’s congratulations if my family all has two clean socks and three squares a day. I dream of finding the time for my own literary art in a world dominated by cartoons and crayons. Being a freelance writer and editor seems to suck up every artistic minute I can squeeze from a day. I realized with a start just today as I sat at the public pool, chauffeur to the kids’ swim lessons, that if I started an MFA program now I would not be finished by my 40th birthday. [I’d be happy for some suggestions on good creative nonfiction programs in the Chicago area, or low-residency options anywhere.]

Lisa’s essay is about the forward movement of life, simultaneously away from old passions (in her case, equestrian competition) and grounded in them. Her work appealed to me as a mother. She evoked some feelings I have had myself: how I traded in a sporty stick shift for a minivan and drove away from my PhD program in English at Iowa. “I love that my sons want to know about this part of my pre-Mom, pre-wife life,” Lisa writes of her horse memories. Similarly, I need my children to know that there was a “before” to their mother.

But as an editor, just the resonance of Lisa’s theme alone would not be enough to recommend her essay for publication. I don’t suppose writers get lucky merely by hitting on editors’ favorite ideas. It was the art of her writing that did it for me. She executed her theme and packaged those memories, without sap, in a solid wood tack box, the artifact of the life she left behind:

“ …in addition to equestrian equipment, the tack box held a former me—someone who could judge distances, calculate strides, and evaluate footing, while holding the reins to a 1,200-pound horse, galloping fast toward a four-foot fence; a mediocre though competent rider, but an excellent horseperson, someone who aspired and achieved …the tack box, kept all those years, serving no obvious or useful purpose, is really about passion, and about once-in-a-lifetime.”

Many times as an editor I read things that are well written at the sentence level but poorly realized on the larger scale, or vice versa. Editing for a publication topically interested in sports presents a further layer of complication. It’s an unusual niche; perhaps the writer is a sportsperson first and a writer second. So my eye is trained on the superb writer who has a story to tell through the vehicle of sport. I don’t care a jot myself for horses, but the tack box Lisa uses as a motif throughout her work proved to be a treasure chest of literary nonfiction.

As a postscript, I’d also like to say that Sport Literate’s fall football issue and contest is in production, the winning essay having been selected by Creative Nonfiction’s Lee Gutkind. But we are taking submissions for our spring general issue, and I welcome you to give us a read and send us your essays and poetry.

Still in Residence

It's just past the halfway point in my final MFA residency and while I'm far too exhausted both mentally and physically to post anything lengthy or terribly insightful, here's a quick rundown, some random thoughts.

- Best seminar so far? Today, one given by visiting writer Jamie Cat Callan on what can be learned from scriptwriters and the classic structuring devices they employ. Her presentation was completely engaging, fun, far too short even at 90 minutes, and packed with usable insights; so glad my equally interesting fellow Stonecoast student Ann Rosenquist Fee lobbied for Callan to join the residency.

- That master class workshop I was leery about because it was being led by a poet? Terrific.

- That presentation I was worried about giving? From where I stood, a success; one reason -- I had a good time, so good I ran out of time way before I ran out of material. That's when I knew I could breathe.

- Got to work with a performance coach, William Steele, a USM theater professor and professional actor, in preparation for my upcoming reading. Actors know so much writers can use when it comes to reading aloud. About phrasing. Pacing. Rhythm. Peeling the emotions off the page. Volume control. Eye contact. So much.

- You know how, when someone introduces a writer they begin with, "It is my pleasure (or honor) to introduce…" Well, I found out this week – that's not just a line. It truly was a pleasant (if nerve wracking) honor to stand up in front of a packed room and give an introduction for my final semester mentor, the incomparable Barbara Hurd, who read from her new book of essays, Walking the Wrack Line. (you can read an excerpt here)

Hope you are enjoying the guest blogs that have been (and will keep) popping up here while I'm busy and slightly crazed. Next report from me will likely include the word graduation. Sniff. And, hooray.

Getting Ready....To Finish

It starts tomorrow. The final residency of the MFA degree, and I feel….well, a dozen different ways. I won't bore you with all of them, except to say it's a most exquisite and painful mix of accomplishment and trepidation, confidence and insecurity. Perhaps, as the residency progresses, I will be more able to put it into words (hey, isn't that what this whole creative nonfiction thing is all about anyway?).

Meanwhile, here are a few things I am looking forward to during the eight days at Stonecoast:

- Being "in the mix" once again, surrounded by fellow student writers of varying genres, backgrounds, goals, and ways of looking at the creative world – the conversations and camaraderie are priceless.

- Soaking up -- well, everything, but especially the unique blend of advice, technical know-how, experiences, anecdotes, wisdom and encouragement of the interestingly varied faculty.

- Without the need to attend every evening reading, to fill out evaluations
verifying attendance at a set number of seminars, and the awful anxiety of the "mentor lottery," I'm hoping that the stress level may be notched down a little.

- It's the last residency. I have LOVED nearly every minute of my MFA low-residency experience. LOVED it. Along the way, I've mused how great it would be to have another year or two in the program, and yet the timing now seems exactly right. Time to reenter my life, albeit from a richer vantage point, but it is time. My kids, husband, friends – and my checkbook – want me back.


And here's what I'm dreading:

- It's the last residency. Sure, we have our own little writing communities at home, but there's something entirely distinctive – matchless really – about coming together with roughly the same group of artistic individuals every few months and more or less checking in on one another. To slake somewhat my itch to get away every once in a while and take an immersion bath in writing, I know I will attend conferences and the like, and maybe even an alumni event. It will be wonderful; and absolutely not the same.

- I've signed up for both a master class workshop for graduating students (led by a faculty member who is primarily a poet – talk about intimidating) and to be an assistant for a second workshop (with a new and interesting faculty member) for non-graduating CNF students. Doesn't sound much like a stress-free schedule, huh?

- Graduating students are required to give a one-hour presentation on a topic of their choosing, and to give a 20-minute reading of creative work. I've selected a topic that's comfortable to me: Submit (and Publish?) vs. Craft Development – It doesn't have to be one or the other. And I've never been worried about reading to others. So why am I a rattling nervous ninny?


So, here goes. Maybe on the 7+ hour drive – with two books on CD and a stopover with relatives along the way to distract me. -- I'll stare down my nerves and come up with a plan to both savor the week and say goodbye without too much melancholy. What are the odds, do you suppose?

After the MFA: T minus 25 days. Or, what was I thinking?

The countdown has begun.

Twenty-five days until the MFA is completed. And today I'm in that I can't wait till it's over / I never want it to end stage.

Meanwhile, freelance writer Daisha Cassel interviewed me for a piece in today's Wall Street Journal online about attending graduate school in midlife. As usual with short newsy pieces, there wasn't room for but one quote, so I took a look back at the answers I gave to Daisha a few weeks ago. Her asking me what I was thinking about before the MFA, gave me a chance to begin the process of preparing for after the MFA.

Here's an edited outtake:

On whether the MFA was something I had thought about for a awhile, or a sudden decision….

I thought about graduate school in my late 20s and again in my 30s -- business school or journalism. Then later I toyed with the idea of an MFA degree for five years before doing anything about it. When I turned 45, it suddenly became urgent.

On whether I was planning a career change…

I worked as a freelance equestrian sports journalist, and then in public relations agencies and as a freelance feature and business writer. By the time I was in my early 40s, I was doing part time research and limited freelance writing while raising young children, and looking ahead and wondering what my next move could be.

I think I knew from the outset that an MFA in creative nonfiction is a somewhat indulgent degree; it won't exclusively get one hired for anything other than an academic job and while I'm considering teaching, I'm probably most interested in magazines, literary journalism and publishing. The MFA was more for the development of my writing muscle. I wanted a big, dramatic new challenge.

On the financial impact a degree may have on a career….

I am counting on earning an income by writing, which is more or less what I've always done. But no one needs an MFA degree for that. Still, I found the experience of working through a tough program to be good training for developing the mindset for a second career at this stage of life. Speaking strictly financially, I could earn more by returning to pubic relations rather than writing.

On full- vs. part-time vs. low-residency and how to juggle…..

I did the low-residency Stonecoast program at the University of Southern Maine. Two weeks on campus, five times over two years; then one-on-one faculty mentoring, with deadlines every few weeks for writing, reading and annotations.

I continued to freelance, but found that the program took more of my mental energy and time than I anticipated, so I scaled back on work, though I think it's fair to say I got a bit over-invested. I decided early on that I would dive in 110 percent and make it a priority; not everyone is emotionally, logistically or financially able to do this and so I know I was very lucky.

I kept thinking, if I want this program to help effect a huge change in my life, I had better give myself over to it completely, and so I did and it's paid off – both in pushing my work to the point that it has been published in some good places (the New York Times, literary journals and anthologies) and in completely revamping how I think of myself -- as a writer, not just someone who happens to write and get paid for it.

On combining grad school with family obligations….

When I was gone for residencies, my husband ran the house, cut short many work days, and took the boys along with him when necessary. Several of my friends pitched in too.

During the two years I was in grad school, we had a running refrain in our house, "Mom's doing schoolwork…" followed by: make your own lunch, help your brother, find a ride, figure it out yourself! I think it's been a good experience for my sons to see that education can happen at any age, and that one can change.

On balance….

As for "balance," I'm not a huge fan of that word. I doubt it's truly possible. I think at times in your life, especially when you've made a choice to pursue something, other stuff simply has to get jettisoned. I concentrated fairly singlemindedly on school for two years. It's ideal if the people around you support that; my family did, but I think they will all be slightly relieved when it ends.

On the differences this time around compared to the undergraduate degree…

Maturity is wonderful in any situation that requires prioritizing, and grad school is a fine example of that. It helps to be good at pushing aside distractions. Also, when I went to college (Syracuse University, B.S. in journalism), I never saw a bill. So student loans are new for me. The financial realities were also a factor in how aggressively I attacked the program – I wanted to get every dollar's worth.

On age (mine and other students)……

I think in general in low residency MFA programs, the average age is close to, or sometimes even over 40, and in my particular program, I was pretty close to average age. That's actually one reason I steered away from the "brick and mortar" grad school program I was admitted to, because when I visited it seemed populated by people in their 20s or early 30s.

On the challenges of a low residency program in terms of motivation, faculty involvement and participation…

A low residency program requires a self-motivated, self-disciplined student. I had already worked independently from a home office for 16 years. But it does require that you make much more of an effort to stay connected to faculty and other students; you must begin to grow and nurture your own colleague network while in the program and it's important to establish and maintain good relations with faculty members beyond what is required. It's not for everyone.

Finally, advice for returning adult students…

I wouldn't put it off for some future "better time." Life will keep unfolding no matter what. My father died during my first semester, my mother became ill during my final semester, and my sons kept growing and needing things all along – breaking bones, choosing a high school, you name it. But we all got through.

And don't let age discourage. You are going to be two, four or six years older one day anyway; why not be two, four or six years older AND have a degree?

So, 25 days from now, I'll have that degree. I'm a better writer than I was when I entered the program. But the degree doesn't make it so. The experience of working on that degree – that's what's priceless.

When people (who don't write) ask me what jobs – other than teaching -- the degree will qualify me for, I've said honestly, "Not much. It's a really indulgent degree, sort of like a honeymoon I decided to take after I fell in love with writing again."

The honeymoon will soon be over. Like all wedding-related hoopla, I guess it's what happens next that will determine if, after all the expense, drama, time and energy, the day-to-day reality lives up to the honeymoon -- kind of like marriage, only this time, the relationship is between myself and my craft.

Stay tuned.