Do You Need An MFA to Write?
It’s a question that many writers face: do I need an MFA to write? There’s a long answer and a short answer to this question.
The short answer: no.
All that any writer needs to write is the desire to want to write and the willingness to learn and relearn about the particular work in progress. That is what writers do. They create a series of pillars on which the overall narrative is propped up to reach some finality. the whole process requires a great deal of deconstructing and reconstructing to get it right.
If anyone is willing to engage, again and again, in this process, published or otherwise, then I’d say that they’re a writer who is, indeed, writing.
The long answer is a bit more complicated.
While an M.F.A. isn’t required to write, I do think that it has certain merits when it comes to writing. I also think that there issues that arise within MFA programs and the writing it produces. Stephen Marche touches on them a bit in his essay “Winning the Game You Didn’t Even Want to Play.” It’s a deeper discussion, one that’s best to do on your own, with yourself, and with others who have been through an M.F.A. program.
The Mixed Sentiments on M.F.A. Programs
The question is similar to one I asked Jeannie Vanasco, author of Things We Didn’t Talk About When I Was a Girl. We met to discuss my final project for the Theory of Creativity class she teaches at Towson University in the Professional Writing program — a traditional M.S. degree that focuses on the styles of writing. After explaining how I’ve wanted my MFA since I started writing, but have doubts about the usefulness of the programs, she shared her experiences with me.
Since it’s her story to tell, I won’t get too deep into it. In short, she attended two different programs. One she loved; one she hated. She admitted that each one was helpful in different ways. But the one she loved, the one that offered her the most benefit, was the one she was able to dedicate more time outside of the classroom to her writing.
If you ask other writers about M.F.A. programs, the responses will vary from high praise and gratitude to disregard and contempt.
Some writers complete work they’ve already had in mind or have been writing for years, published afterward with acclaim and a hefty paycheck. Others struggle because they’re stretched too thin, working one or two jobs just to pay bills and feed themselves, if there’s extra cash leftover. And there’s no way to know where you’ll fall on this spectrum until you’re there.
But if there is anything good to say about MFA programs that most can agree on, it’s that it does allow for a writer to dedicate themselves to their work. In modern society, where free time is often in limited supply, the system tries to provide a haven for writers to explore their ideas and discover who they are as creative individuals.
Of course, even this varies from program to program.
Where You Go Matters More Than Prestige
When I was a fledgling writer, I had this grand dream of relocating to New York City; there I would pursue my MFA at New York University, land a publishing deal after graduating, make a name for myself. It’s a dream that countless others have had. Some do manage to make that dream a reality, but the reality is often not as fulfilling as the dream.
The reputation of NYU is unchallengeable at this point; the same can be said about the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. That prestige is what draws so many writers to those programs, and often allows for those writers to be published by major publishing houses. It’s a byproduct of “the MFA beast,” as Chad Harbach calls it in his essay “MFA vs. NYC.”
What writers drawn to the prestige of those schools like moths to a lantern overlook is that there are so many other MFA programs out there. They may be smaller, but is small such a bad thing? Small tends to mean more intimate classes, which often translates to a more beneficial experience where there is much more one-on-one interaction between teacher and student.
There’s also the fact that at smaller, lesser-known programs (with staff that are actively publishing and participating in some spectrum of the literary world) it might be less competitive. That’s not to say that writers can get in without sending in their best work, but rather that the number of applicants is likely to be far lower.
A story from The New York Times published back in 2015 took on the topic of MFAs. “Why Writers Love to Hate the MFA” starts by interviewing Lan Samantha Chang, the director at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, about the recent surge in applicants to the program, which only accepts 50 candidates. That year, she received 1,380 applications.
Vanderbilt University’s MFA program receives anywhere from 650 to 700 applicants each year. While they only accept six students per year (three fiction and three poetry), the overall pool of applicants is much lower. And their program is fully funded, which might be arguable the most important caveat of any MFA program since it allows the writer that much more time to invest into their writing.
To MFA or Not: A Decision Worth Questioning
No one writer will know what is best for another. Just as a workshop won’t perfect the writer’s novel. It all comes down to weighing the benefits of each decision made up to that point and beyond. And I’ll I can do at this point is to speak from my own experience.
My writerly dream is to remain a dream. No longer do I seek to be involved in the MFA programs at those prestigious schools. It’s not that I don’t believe in myself as a writer. It’s that I value my growth as a writer far too much to be relegated to the back of the classroom while the professor swoons over the top writer in the class — which happens more often than not — leaving me to question my purpose for existing at all. It’s just not something I wish to do.
After being fired from my job back in March of 2021, I decided to pursue a higher degree and applied to both Towson University and the University of Baltimore, which offers an MFA program, both of which accepted me.
The reason I chose Towson University, which is an M.S. rather than M.F.A. is that I, someday, want to get my Ph.D. in creative writing. The M.F.A. being a (mostly) terminal degree was a dealbreaker for me. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be getting my M.F.A. at any point in my life.
Once I earn my M.S., I plan on taking the projects I’ve started with and further fleshing them out in an M.F.A. program to give it the necessary attention and space these ideas deserve. For me, I’m using it as a means to supplemental all the I’ve learned so far as a writer as opposed to depending on it to become one.
