Showing posts with label MFA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MFA. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

End of an Age

So now I'm graduated. After two years, a lot of fun, hardship, and other bits in between, I am a Master of Fine Arts. How's it feel? Same as always, but different.

I guess the big thing that everyone says is, "well it'll feel different when you don't have to send out a packet." True. But at the same time, I have to keep going, keep writing, but now without deadlines, and that's (for me at least) the true test of my experience. To me, the only difference between a student and a "professional writer" is that students still feel the need for implanted structure; something to force them to do what they want to do--to write. Supposedly, by the time we graduate, we should feel that deep-gut need to write on our own rather than on someone else's timetable. Or at least that's how I see it.

In that vein, I think I'll probably be successful. I have a dedicated time of day (4AM - 7AM) to write every day, and for the most part, it seems to be working out. Plus too, there are other opportunities for "packets:" submitting stories, job hunting, setting up reading/lecturing gigs.

I guess the trick for me will be to keep my goals pretty high, yet attainable. Currently, I'm looking to finish Not an Autobiography this year. I'm also hoping to snag a teaching job before the year's out as well.

I'll end with some fun statistics:

Before grad school: 2 publications, maybe 4 rejections, 6 total submissions

During grad school: 4 publications, 68 rejections, 90 total submissions, 2 contest wins, 1 runner up, 1 Pushcart Nomination

For the visual folks, I paper my office's closet with all my rejections:


















And here are the acceptances:
So as you can see, it's a long tiring road, but that, I guess, is the magic of a graduate program like Spalding. Before I started, I wasn't writing all that regularly, and I wasn't seriously trying to get published beyond the couple stories that college workshops polished up all nice and pretty. But as I progressed through the program, I began to develop a stronger sense of my goals as a writer, as well as an academic. And I found as each semester waxed into the next, my neurosis about having to write and then going upstairs and staring at a blank screen slowly disappeared. So while I may be spending a lot less time in front of the computer, the time spent here feels a lot more productive than the time I used to spend here, and that, I suppose is a good thing.

So all in all, having a MFA isn't all that different, other than the fact that I can apply for a real career with it, and it's conditioned me into a more structured writer, and helped me net some publications, and meet wonderful new writer friends, and well, I guess it was a pretty good idea afterall.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Live from Louisville

Emilie Simon:



You know, you'd think that since I'm in IT I'd be much more net savvy, but I missed out on the rise of the internet. I don't own a cellphone, and hope not to, nor do I Myspace or really YouTube...but slowly, like an old man, I'm learning the new technology of the time, and as you can see above, I've found the point to YouTube: watching music videos I want to see, unlike my highschool days and MTV where I spent my precious 30 minutes before the schoolbus hoping that Garbage's "Only Happy when it rains," or Collective Soul's "Shine" would play, because if they didn't, if I had to be subjected to fucking "no diggity" or Destiny's Child, I knew I would have a shitty day. Needless to say, I had a lot of shitty days in high school. I think if YouTube existed then, and I had a computer then, I would have enjoyed high school, I would have bee popular, and I wouldn't be live in Louisville now, because Popular people are generally too happy to be introspective enough to feel driven to the forced isolation of the writerly life.

Oh and I miss my wife and daughter immensely right now. Right up to the point that I don't care about using that adverb in the preceding sentence. In my defense, how could I not miss pumpkin butt: