I've been doing a lot of soul searching on this subject, and I have to say that I just can't help but be what I am which happens to be a writer. Last year about this time I applied to as many MFA programs as I could afford. That ended up being five, which is a horribly small number but so was the number in my bank account. I was rejected from them all. That was a little soul crushing, I'm not going to lie. For as long as I can remember I've been telling stories. I remember telling stories to my little sister because neither of us could sleep so we might as well be creative. Mind you, this was AFTER we would make up our own bedtime stories with Dad! I've just always been attracted to the creation and sharing of stories, so to be so firmly denied by five MFA programs was heart breaking.
So, after some hoop jumping and because a few very wonderful and amazing faculty members liked me (who knows why!) I got into SIUC's MA program instead. The advice most new writers hear is usually along the lines of "if you can do anything else in the world and be happy do that instead." This MA program was my attempt at doing something else. I couldn't tear myself away from literature, so why not major in literature instead of trying to write it and see if that makes me happy. Good plan, right? Well, no, not really. Because the truth is, it really doesn't fill that little space in my heart that is only shaped for fiction writing. My inner storytelling seems to resent all of this English analytical business. I really just don't enjoy tearing apart other peoples stories and molding them to fit my theories as to what sort of symbolism their use of color is throughout their novel. One semester down and I'm not really proud of anything I've written for these classes. I received all A's, isn't that nice. It's just not the kind of writing I feel fulfilled doing. So now what?
Well, now it looks like I'm going to have to join all of my fellow writers on that uphill climb of mount Successful Publishing. By the looks of things, not many people make it to the top these days, but apparently I caught the same derangement as every other writer and I just have to try. Why does anyone climb a mountain really? Because it's there and because they are compelled to climb it.
I just don't feel like my self in this literature program. I look around at my colleagues and I see that they honestly enjoy all of this, but for me it's like pulling teeth. I sit in front of my computer and pull out my hair just to slowly ooze out paragraphs of analytical crap. I don't even believe my arguments, which makes getting A's on these papers even worse. I feel like an impostor and at any moment SOME one at the table is going to see through my clever disguise and call me out. "You, there, at the end of the table. You read pop fiction, don't you? You can't be one of us, you're a fan of Stephen King!"
It's not like I'm NOT a fan of literature. As a child I ate up stories by Louisa May Alcott and Jane Austin. I still love reading Melville and Hemingway, and even in the sixth grade I would read Shakespeare's comedies over and over again because they were hilarious. It's not that I don't like literature, it's just that I think I appreciate different aspects of literature than my fellow English MA students. I love good, well-round characterization, or clever plots; I love stories that seem to suck you in so completely that when you are finished you feel as you just got back from a really good trip out of the country. I appreciate how the author endears some characters to you or how you end up liking a character in spite of yourself. I like it when the authors weave worlds around you that are so real you miss them when your done. I appreciate, no, I love a good, well-written story. These observations are the observations of a story lover, but not really anything an academic article could be about, at least not by an MA student. A writer could probably write an article about another writer's technique, but I'm not sure I would ever be able to teach a class on such observations if I am not an MFA student.
So, where does this all leave me? It seems to leave me sitting here praying I can get into an MFA program sooner rather than later, and it really has me considering dropping the whole MA racket altogether. Plenty of writers worked mundane jobs while writing in the evenings and praying for success. I don't define myself by my profession, so I could be perfectly happy working at some Starbucks because I know I'm more than just a barista. I'm a writer.
