As I embark on a new teaching assignment, I’m grateful for any reminders that I’m also still a writer. The pandemic has taken its toll on many areas of our lives, and I for one have barely written lately as my story well appears to be dry and my energy is drawn outwards into the creation of educational materials for both my day job as a university instructor and a side project intersecting tea, writing, and witchcraft. That is to say, I feel far removed currently from my own work as a fiction writer, so it was nice to see this shout out from Tor.com in their list of short fiction recommendations for December 2020, where I was surprised to see my story “Separation Theory” from the most recent issue of Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet included.
Thanks to Tor and to all the spec-fic loving weirdos hanging out there/in there somewhere in the ethersphere~ – Kristin/Corin
So, you’re a writer. And you’re serious about it. You’ve heard about this thing called an MFA. You’re doing research, trying to find out if it’s right for you. In doing your research you’ve stumbled upon this article by a recent MFA grad. This MFA thing, you ask, what’s it really about? What am I in for? Hopefully my rundown below can help clarify a few things.
Things to do and consider before applying for an MFA
Research the faculty. I cannot stress this enough. What books have they published? What styles are they partial to? What basic stats are represented?—gender, age, ethnic background, areas of study. How old is the program itself? Who founded it? These are the people who will make or break the experience for you. They are making every decision regarding your experience. Forget the rest of the marketing materials on the school’s website. Research the faculty.
Talk with alumni. They’re the ones who are going to be frank with you. If you’re wondering where to find them, scour the university’s website, also MFA Twitter is particularly active, and we’re writers, we love to talk! Sometimes in great detail. Many of us are happy to share our good and bad experiences with you.
Are you a person of color? LGBTQ? Seeking an MFA past your twenties? Research is all the more crucial. Not all MFAs are friendly spaces for underrepresented student populations, and it’s fairly easy to spot the ones that aren’t with a little digging. Some institutions will cull you into their program for diversity points, then fail to support you or your work. This is particularly problematic for Black students in this very white, male-dominated industry—please take a moment to peruse the #BlackintheIvory tag on Twitter. If you can, visit the campus, talk with current and past attendees, find out what their experiences were like. If possible, perhaps juxtapose “traditional” students’ experiences (Read: white, fresh out of undergrad) with those of non-traditional students—their stories will often be vastly different.
Do you write literary fiction or speculative fiction? Does it matter? At an MFA, hell yes. The literary industry sees these two things as binaries based on the commercial market—and MFA programs do, too. Traditional MFA programs are literary programs—that means realism—divorce, alcoholism, deep introspection into your relationships with your parents—warning: aliens, dragons, magic, etc. may confuse your faculty and peers. If you write primarily sci-fi, fantasy, horror, etc., look specifically for any mention of speculative fiction or genre-bending on the program’s website, ask questions about genre when contacting faculty or alumni. I found it a bit odd that my MFA program primarily treated spec fic as if it were a different beast altogether, one they had never encountered—had they lived their whole literary careers without reading classics like Frankenstein, 1984, TheLord of the Rings for fuck’s sake? My spec work was accepted, even lauded at times, but not always understood in workshop by faculty or peers who were unfamiliar with genre nuances, and there was no one on the faculty who really specialized or had any experience with genre work—my bad in part for failing to do more thorough research. Some MFA programs cater specifically to spec fic writers and might be friendlier places—and no, it shouldn’t be binary—my work was often cross-genre, a hybrid between literary and speculative—again this false binary stems from the marketplace—but that’s the way it is.
Know that these programs are typically a little behind-the-times. For some institutions, that’s putting it mildly. Your professor may not have read anything new since their 1991 copy of The New Yorker. Tenured faculty sometimes do the work of staying up-to-date, sometimes they don’t. Some of their syllabi are outdated, some attempt to be diverse and current with different levels of success. Again, research the faculty, and/or reach out to them via phone or email. Try and gauge whether they will do the work to support your work, that is being written here, now—not 30 years ago.
Other key questions to ask
Are they funded? How much funding will you receive? Does fully funded really mean fully funded? Do some calculations and compare the estimated salary to the cost of living in the area. Remember to account for taxes. As a grad student, you will be paid poverty wages. I survived by having a second job. Personally, I do not think an MFA that isn’t funded is worth it, going into debt over an MFA was not an option I even considered, but it depends on your financial situation.
Do you get teaching experience out of the program? Do you want teaching experience? Besides the friends, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the two years of teaching experience my MFA gave me was the part of the program that was worth the most to me. If you don’t want to teach—don’t apply to a program that will make you teach, although some programs that fund you through teaching will also have alternate work assignments involving research and office work, but these can be in limited availability.
Low-Residency or Full-Residency? Are you older and financially stable enough to pay for your MFA?—Probably a low-residency. Are you fresh out of undergrad?—Probably a full-residency. That’s the tea. Somewhere in-between? Again, research and find out what might be the best fit for you. (Not sure what these terms are?)
Have you been accepted into an MFA program? Congratulations! Now you get to decide whether or not you actually want to go—it’s time for Phase II of your research. The high of the excitement of acceptance can often compel us to take whatever’s offered to us, but at least in a full-time program, this is going to fully encompass the next two or three years of your life—treat it with the utmost care and consideration.
Grad school is hard. You’ve heard it before. Do you like lots and lots of work? Do you want to be fully immersed in the world of the MFA? Between classes, teaching, and school-sponsored literary social events that were more or less mandatory, I personally found zero time for a life outside the MFA, though having one would have been a great asset to my mental health. Finding the time for self-care, even maintaining a proper eating and sleeping schedule became a failing uphill battle during grad school—the first year I got sick more times than I can count, and my stress levels were through the roof due to a combination of work and social pressure. Also, workshopping with the same group of people for two or three years can be amazing or it can be a nightmare depending on who’s in your cohort. I highly recommend taking courses at a local college first to at least get a taste of a more formal workshop space, as compared to writing groups which may be a bit more low-key. Imagine workshopping with the same group of people for years, reading and critiquing their work over and over and having them critique yours. Some in your workshop may be the best readers for your work you’ve ever encountered, but a few drama queens/kings can ruin a workshop space fast, and guess what? You’re stuck with them.
Do you need an MFA? Are you wondering where you might begin your search for the right program? See this post. My verdict—the world is changing rapidly, we all know that. The publishing industry is evolving, more indie and DIY opportunities are available. My personal experience, sample size of one at one institution—a traditional, full-residency MFA is not on the cusp of change, but rather a pillar of a decades-old institution which abides by very traditional writing standards and modes of operation while trying to understand and incorporate more progressive ideologies at a surface level, but again, just my personal experience at my MFA. It really depends on your goals—do you just want to write a book? I actually had zero time to work on either of my two novels-in-progress during my MFA—I turned in a collection of short stories for my thesis because my workshop more readily catered to short stories over novels, something I did not know going in. Do you want to workshop your writing with the same group of people for an extended period of time? Do you want to make friends in the literary industry? Do you want a Master’s degree so you can teach at the college level?—This was my primary motivation for attending an MFA, and in that regard, I got what I came for. What I also got were lifelong friends and some beautiful, cherished memories, along with a deeper understanding of the craft of writing and of the industry. What I got were some faculty members who understood and supported my work. What I got were some faculty members who did not understand and support my work. What I got was a rigid, underprepared administration who made things like interdisciplinary studies, understanding the logistical parts of the degree, and filing complaints difficult. I will not go into some of my more alarming experiences with my department here—that is for another article, saved for another day. Just know that I was alarmed—and that is a soft word choice—by the systemic issues within the university I attended.
All in all, would I do it again? The jury’s still out. I do know that two years ago, I wish I knew then what I know now, and hopefully, by passing some of that knowledge on to you—you can make a more informed decision when considering an MFA.
My short story “Rabbit’s Foot” is out now in Mojo, a publication run by MFA graduate students at Wichita State University. This story got me into my own MFA program at OSU—a place where I’m learning, thriving, and working harder than I ever have. While MFAs aren’t for everyone—and I’m in the camp that doesn’t believe you necessarily need one to be a successful writer—it has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life so far, largely due to the network of people I’m privileged to be working with, and the challenging but rapid growth opportunity of teaching college English right off the bat.
Interested in an MFA? My advice—research, research, research. I’d also advise against programs that aren’t fully funded. Many funded programs are notoriously difficult to get into, but depending on your economic situation (and if you’re a writer, odds are it is indeed a situation), you might not want to go thousands of dollars into debt when considering the potential financial payoff of the degree you’re seeking. For me, the payoff of the experience so far is largely untethered to my career and finances—I am rewarded in so many other ways.
A great resource for checking out what different programs have to offer is Poets and Writers MFA database. Be sure to research the faculty, too, they can make or break the experience for you.
Back to “Rabbit’s Foot.” This story is about a mixed-race stoner kid who befriends a man called Pigeon at the retirement home where he works. It deals with complicated morality, among other things, and is set in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, where I grew up.
“Pigeon hasn’t said a word to me in five days. But that’s not unusual.
By now I know the signs so he doesn’t have to bother with talking. A slap of his wide palm on the side of his chair means dim the lights. That clucking noise he makes in the back of his throat means close the window. A grunt means change my fucking man diaper…” [read more >>]
Writing a book is one thing, editing another, and publishing yet another thing entirely. Throughout roughly the past ten years of my life, during which I’ve considered writing my career (monetary input notwithstanding), I’ve gathered some information and experience that may be helpful to other writers. Here are answers to some common questions about what comes next after you complete that first draft, and how to get it ready to share with the rest of the world.
What do I do after finishing my first draft?
Edit, edit, edit. Preferably after you’ve given your manuscript some time to breathe, a couple of months, maybe longer—it really depends on what works for you. When you’re ready to dive back in, make sure you take the time to look at your story from a macro level—Are my characters consistent? Does the plot flow organically? Are there any continuity problems? Is this really the best POV for the story? Is my voice consistent?, and a micro-level—meaning sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, consistency in naming conventions, etc.
Edit the whole damn thing, then edit it again. Join a critique group. If you don’t know where to find one, try Meetup.com, night classes at a local college, your local bookstore, or online. Take the good feedback, leave the rest.
Edit it again.
Think you’re done?
One more time.
And it won’t be your last. If you’re serious enough to seek a publisher, you’ll be editing the manuscript a few more times with them. If you’re self-publishing, seriously consider hiring an editor (if you’re looking for an editor, try upwork.com) before you publish, no matter how good you think you are. If you’re really experienced and have workshopped your full novel with other eagle-eyed, experienced writers, then perhaps you don’t need an editor before attempting to publish, but it (usually) never hurts.
How do I publish?
There are dozens of articles out there on how to get your book published, and what works for you will depend on a number of factors such as who your audience is and what you want and expect out of having your book published. Are you in it for the money? For fame? If so, you’re in the wrong industry, my friend. Yes, big successes do happen, but they are few and far between. Are you in it because you love writing, love your story, and want to share it with other people? Good. Keep reading.
A friend of mine has this quote oft attributed to Hemingway framed on her wall: “Write drunk. Edit sober.” While I’m not much use writing drunk and do most of my writing and editing sober (though the occasional glass of wine, can, of course, spark sheer brilliance at times), there is something to be said about the parts of our brain, our hearts, our spirits, everything that makes us, that get kicked into high gear during these seemingly contrasting components of the writing process: writing and editing.
When my writing is at its best, I am writing from the heart. I am expressing something universal that I’ve always known is there, and I am not thinking about it too hard. A meditation teacher in a group I attend was recently discussing the idea that the heart has a brain—how the heart, in essence, has thousands more neurons than the brain, and these neurons can sense, feel, and learn. As I am a science fiction writer and not a scientist, I often share pseudo-scientific information I find fascinating, so feel free to research this on your own and try to debunk it if you must—but the idea that the heart knows things, and even more, knows things innately that the brain would have to think hard about to understand, is something we’re all familiar with.
My writing is most enjoyable—and I believe most successful—when I’m not really thinking about it, when I’m writing from my heart and spirit.
In contrast, editing is an experience of the inferior head-brain, a left-brain exercise that can feel more like math than art. It is a labor of love, but make no mistake, it is labor. It may be different for you—I know some writers who love editing. For me, yes, there are moments of clarification, even wow moments within the editing process, but for the most part, it is Work. It is spending ten minutes wondering whether to leave in or remove a comma. It is moving a paragraph or chapter to a different spot, connecting the pieces, then moving it back again. It is realizing a character’s dialogue isn’t realistic, or that the character lacks the catalyst to perform the action they are doing. It is reading through your entire manuscript for the fifteenth time as the words on the page began to blur, it is tossing and turning in bed, it is solving plot problems in the shower, it is self-doubt, it is asking ‘why am I doing this?’
Is it, perhaps, because of love?
Yes, it is.
I love writing.
But I do not love editing. I edit because I love writing.
Writing gets me drunk on love, gets me into a heart space. It keeps me sober, keeps me wide-eyed, keeps me on my toes, keeps me learning.
Today The Rise of Saint Fox and The Independence is officially released into the wild. Thanks so much to everyone for their support, especially the brilliant team at Unsolicited Press for all the time and hard work put into the book’s creation and promotion, and to Erin B. Lillis for the rockin’ cover art (and upcoming audiobook version)! Putting this book out into the world has been a goal I’ve worked hard towards over the past few years, and to see everything finally coalesce has been so fulfilling.
Some early review snippets:
“Reyburn’s speculative fiction rebels, recoils, and launches debates across the table.” – PR
“An absolute gem! Corin Reyburn writes speculative fiction to be read with great fervor.” – wordybirdy
“If rebellion is what you like, then you will LOVE Corin’s book. I read to the end and wanted more!” – Miriam L.
Want a rebel playlist to go with your rock n’ roll revolution? Saint Fox and The Independence is all about the power of good music, so here’s a YouTube playlist of some hot tunes that inspired the book.