As I assemble my thoughts about the DIY MFA idea, I thought it might be fun to consider how we all became writers in the first place.

 I became a writer at this little school pictured on the left.  This is how it happened.

I was in first grade.  It was library time and I had slipped away from the picture book area to the section with floor-to-ceiling shelves that housed the “big kid books.”  I pulled a book from the shelf (I believe it was Lloyd Alexander’s The Black Cauldron) and stumbled my way through the first sentence or two.  Sliding the book back into place, it occurred to me: I could read this book.  I looked around the room and thought: I could read all of these books.  (OK, with some of them I might have needed some help sounding out the words, but still.)

That’s when panic struck.   If I read all the books in the school library, there would be no books left to read and I’d be bored forever.  You must understand, while the library was rather small–nothing more than a large room with bookshelves–to me it was gigantic.  I thought the books in the school library were all the books in the world.

Back in the first grade classroom, our teacher Miss H must have noticed that I was out of sorts because she asked me what was wrong.  I told her and she nodded.

The next day, Miss H introduced a new activity for the classroom.  It was nothing more than two plastic paper trays–one filled with blank lined paper, the other empty–and a metal canister full of sharpened pencils.  Miss H explained that we were to write stories on the blank paper and draw pictures for a cover, then place them in the empty tray.  Each day she would staple the pages together to make a book (a real book!) and she would read them to the class at story time.

Immediately my fears of reading all the books in the world subsided.  After all, if I ran out of books to read, I could just write my own.  And then I could read them.  I would never be bored again! (Ah, the beauty of a first-grader’s logic.)

And this, my friends, is how I became a writer.

How did you become a writer?  Was there one particular incident, person or place that helped spark your writing?  I love hearing how writers became writers, so please share!

I recently graduated from an MFA program in creative writing, and as I have blogged previously MFA programs, while valuable, are also flawed.  Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad I had that experience and would not trade it for anything.  I do, however, realize that not all writers are as lucky as I was to be able to do an MFA.  For some it’s the geography–there just isn’t an MFA program conveniently located in their hometown.  For others, work/family/life make going back to school complicated.  And let’s not forget the budget issue; MFA’s aren’t cheap and writing isn’t exactly a career that guarantees piles of moolah.

Which brings me to the point of this post.  For some time now I’ve been tossing around a crazy idea: What if there were such a thing as a Do-It-Yourself MFA in Creative Writing?  The advantage of a DIY MFA is that writers can complete the work at their own pace, tailor the writing/reading/study plan to their specific genre or interests, and anyone could do it regardless of geography, logistics or budget.

To that end, I’ve decided to do a series of posts about DIY MFA (just in time for this Blogfest)!  Stay tuned for more posts about how to put together your own tailor-made MFA writing program.

Disclaimer: DIY MFA means you don’t get that shiny piece of paper at the end of it all and the clouds will not part and a beam of light will not anoint you a “Master of Fine Arts in Writing.”  So if you’re into pieces of paper, beams of light and so forth, I suggest you get your application together and go for the real deal.  But if your goal is to improve your reading and writing skills, work on craft and challenge yourself, then maybe a DIY MFA is for you.  Curious about what goes into a DIY MFA?  Read on.

Ingredients for a DIY MFA

Books:  If you want to create a DIY MFA you’ll need access to books.  That means if you’re living on a desert island with no libraries, bookstores or internet, you’ll have a hard time putting together a DIY MFA.  Then again, if you’re on a desert island with no libraries, bookstores or internet, you probably wouldn’t be reading this anyway.  As you put together your DIY MFA, one of the things you’ll need to do is develop a reading list.

Critique Partners:  You’ll need at least 2 trusted readers to whom you can send writing for feedback.  The beauty of this is that with the internet at your fingertips, you don’t even need to be on the same continent as your critique partners.  Of course, face-to-face meetings are great, but it’s certainly not a deal-breaker if you must do critiques via email.

Time:  You will need to set aside some amount of time each week (even if it’s only an hour or two on a weekend afternoon) for your writing.  Honing your craft takes time and you must protect this time from interlopers.  This is the advantage of being in an MFA program: if someone starts getting in the way of your writing time you can just say “sorry, got schoolwork.”  In a DIY MFA you’ll have to protect your writing time on your own.

Community:  Perhaps the most valuable aspect of going to an MFA program was the opportunity to meet other writers (both emerging writers like myself and established writers).  My MFA program required that we attend a minimum of 8 readings each semester and I think that is extremely important.  In a DIY MFA, you don’t have a built-in set of readings sponsored by the school to choose from.  Instead, you’ll have to hunt down readings and literary events for yourself.  Some places to look: your local bookstore or library, poets.org (they have a great events calendar), and literary associations.

Check back for more posts about the DIY MFA.

Dear loyal readers,

How I’ve missed you and this (virtual) space.  My apologies for the almost-week-long hiatus but I was struck down by a nasty summer flu and spent the week in a cough-medicine-induced stupor.

Well, that was until Sunday.  After that, the worst of the flu had passed but I got hit by writing paralysis (which often happens if I’m away from writing for too long).

Which brings me to the subject of this post.  What do you do when you need to get back on the horse?

I often have a hard time figuring out what to do and tend to wallow a bit too long in my non-writing.  Usually, a deadline will crop up and I’ll be forced to produce something which breaks the cycle, but now that I’m done with the MFA, deadlines are a lot more flexible and self-imposed.  This scares the besneezes out of me because it means I don’t have someone else helping me get back on the horse… I have to get up all on my own.

 So tell me, what do you do when you need to jolt yourself back into a writing routine?  I know, I know… BIC (Butt In Chair) and all that, but do you have any tricks to get yourself past that initial paralysis?

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a short anecdote.

The Alf Incident
When I was a kid, I used to ride; I went to riding school, even won a couple of ribbons at a show or two.  One day, as I was practicing my jumps with a horse aptly named Alf, I learned the true meaning of the phrase “get back on the horse.”

See, Alf and I had a slight difference of opinion: I wanted him to go over the jump and he wanted to go around it.  Instead, I ended up going headfirst into the jump (thank goodness for helmets!) and ended up on the ground.  My riding teacher insisted I get back on immediately and ride around the ring a few times, show Alf who was boss.  Apparently Alf was boss because as soon as I got on and tried to canter around the ring I lost control again and ended up getting thrown into the ring fence.

After a trip to the ER I ended up being perfectly fine, just some scrapes and bruises and a bad headache.  That double fall, though, terrified my parents and thereafter they refused to drive me to  riding school.  Dad joked that I could ride to my lessons, but seeing as I had no horse, that option was out.  Not to mention, that I had a slight communication problem with horses as it was, and I probably would’ve ended up halfway across Connecticut in the opposite direction.

 

1)  When your critique group says they don’t like your character, is what they’re secretly saying that they don’t like you?

2)  When a colleague points out a flaw in your manuscript, do you immediately reply with an explanation why that flaw isn’t really a flaw after all?

3)  You have 5 people in your writing group and they each have a different opinion about your WIP.  Do you try to rewrite your project so that it fits all 5 suggestions?

4)  When you send your manuscript to your critique partners, do you preface it by saying that the language is “coded” and that you’re going for something “post-modern”? (Meaning, of course, that if they don’t get it, it’s because they’re too dumb to get it and not because you were too dumb to write it like that in the first place.)

5)  A corollary to #4, when you send your manuscript out, do you preface it by saying it’s really, really rough and you wrote it in two minutes on your iPhone while standing in line at the movie theater?

6)  Do you refer to your manuscript as “your baby?”

7)  Do you find it hard to sit through a critique without your favorite comfort food?

8)  Have you ever cried after a critique but lied and told everyone it was because your hamster died?

9)  When your short story gets rejected by an editor, do you take it upon yourself to write back and calmly explain why said editor is utterly and completely wrong?

10)  You got critiqued by your writing group last week, got lots of suggestions for change and this week you come back with a manuscript that is… exactly the same.  No changes made.  Do you expect a glowing critique this time?

Count up your “Yes” answers and scroll down to see your score.

0 = You have a level head and you make the most of your critiques because don’t take anything too personally.  You take notes and you know when to incorporate feedback and when to let it go.  Keep it up and you’ll go far.

1 = OK, so you’re on the loopy side of normal, but you’re still pretty good about not letting critiques get to you.  Sure, you might need to reward yourself for a tough critique session with some ice cream or even a good cry, but that’s fine.  Just make sure you get home and close the shades before you do.

2-3 = You are a tricky one.  Let’s face it.  On one hand, you are a bit… how shall I put this… wacko.  The thing that makes it so hard for your critique partners to deal with you is that you seem completely oblivious to this fact.  Wake up!  Stop writing like a lunatic.  And start listening to what your critique partners tell you; they might actually be right.

4-5 = You are in need of a massive reality check.  Here it is.  Your book is not you.  Your book is not your child.  Your book is not a living being.  Get over it.  Now that we’ve made that clear, stop griping about how much everyone criticizes your work and focus on making it better.

6+ = Seriously?  You seriously answered “yes” to six or more of the above?  Wow.  I don’t know what else to say, but… Wow.  May I shake your hand?