Saturday, June 07, 2008

the two-year itch

Amazingly, May 20 was my two-year anniversary of graduation. Two ... years. Clichés about how strange that feels leap to my mind, but I’ll spare you. We’ll just say it feels pretty strange.

So maybe that explains what I’ve been up to lately, on the sly, almost without telling anyone.

I’ve been investigating an MFA program, much to my own surprise. A Master of Fine Arts degree? I’ve said so many times that I’m not interested in one—for so many reasons.

I felt ready to do my own work; I wanted to write the book in my head. I could motivate myself, so what’s the need? Besides: I’ve heard that MFA professors tend to scoff at genre writing. For better or for worse, that’s what I’m writing right now, and too much scoffing might kill me.

But a couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across a website I hadn’t visited in a while, for a program that has intrigued me before: the Seattle Pacific MFA in Creative Writing. Maybe it’s just the photos and the fonts that attract me: I admit I’m a sucker for presentation. But I think it’s more than that, too.

As I prowled around the website, reading about the degree requirements and philosophy, I began to itch to go back to school. As in: stuffing binders with looseleaf paper, knowing my way around a campus, and best of all: having someone else (someone much wiser) tell me what assignment to turn in. My writing would improve! I would hear good criticism and bad criticism and remember how to tell the difference! I could network with other writers! This could be brilliant.

The other lovely thing about this degree? I could be qualified to teach writing at, say, a junior college.

The idea of a salaried position based on writing… enough to make me salivate.

So I had a fit of imagining my way through graduate school, doing the work, attending the lectures. And then I was wondering about teaching—something that still makes me laugh, because I never, ever, ever, ever, ever thought I would be remotely interested in teaching. Ever. And here I was, desiging my first syllabus in my head.

Right now, my MFA fever has cooled a bit. I’m still curious about it—I know I have so much I need to learn, and I wonder if I really could teach, if I’d be any good, if I’d even like it.

But the more time I’ve spent with my book, the less time I spend wishing for another degree, more qualification, something more stable. I had a good writing week last week, and this week has gone well, too. (And this despite all the wedding planning that has taken over the Langefeld household!) I keep learning how to write from my book itself. Most days, it really does feel like falling off a cliff. I look at the book, and I look at myself, and think: Somehow, we’ll make this work. And then plunge in.

Maybe I want an MFA as proof, of a sort: See, I can do this! See, I’m qualified! Look, I’m even teaching! But maybe, if I finish this book, and—Lord willing—finish it well, then that will be proof enough.—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 06/07 at 09:57 AM
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