To MFA degree…or to not?

Remember when writing was fun?


I’ve seem to forgotten that lately. Back in my college days, Writing Workshop was fun. I spent those three-hour classes just letting go. I wrote my heart on the page and I felt free. I felt so relaxed and in-tuned with my inner self, that now four years out of college, I seem to be having a hard time remembering those days.

Sometimes I’ll have my moments in the sun. I’ll write a few pages to a story I haven’t touched in a while. I’ll write a new poem. I’ll come up with a new story idea. I might take a week and work solely on one project, (for once.)

And then by next week it’s all trashed again. Remember those bills I got to pay? That work or job I don’t want to go to? Those places I want to travel? Those mountains I want to see?

What will I find in the shadows of the mountains? Is the California sun really as bright as it looks on TV?

I keep telling myself that writing is my dream, but more than lately I feel like writing seems to be what I’ve been using as an excuse to get to those places. Can’t be a best seller if I don’t write…right? Can’t make money if I’m not a best seller and everyone knows that you can’t travel without money.

Sigh. I’ve just been so bored with life lately. Nothing inspires me. I love being busy, but when I’m not…suddenly I have a hard time breathing. I never knew that a person could get anxiety just by simply doing nothing?

Someone would think that with all this down time I should be using it to write, but sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough life experiences to write anything remotely interesting.

Now that brings me to my next thought: What if I went back to grad school?

I’ve been toying with the idea back and forth to get an MFA (Master of Fine Arts Degree) in Creative Writing and I spent some time today reading some pros and cons to such a venture.

Some people argue that the MFA degree in some areas has become so structural. That you often become influenced by the program that your writing changes as a result. It changes because you’re told that the world is looking for a particular type or style, while other people argue that it’s not really worth the debt that you’ll be potentially putting yourself in. It’s no secret that college in the U.S. is expensive.

Others say that yes, the MFA degree is for those that are looking to get back in the craft, (or it used to be,) to fine-tune writing that already has great potential.

Whatever the reason, an MFA could…inspire. Or put me in more debt.

The pro for me would be getting out seeing new places of the world, and getting back into that writing world, which I not only dream about lately, I yearn for it.

The con would be uprooting my life that I have now, a boyfriend, leaving family, a lack of money and where would I work while getting a grad degree?

But I can’t seem to get rid of that distant dream that has always been beckoning me on the horizon. Although an MFA degree might not be particularly useful in the job industry, (I mean, honestly, what English degree is nowadays,) it would be wonderful just being back in a college environment again. Oh, I miss it. I really do.

And I could always pursue journalism, or something.

What do you guys think? Where do you stand on the whole MFA issue?

I figure if J. K. Rowling can go without…that means something. But it doesn’t mean that someone can’t benefit from going back, right? Hmm. Certainly deserves some thought.

A New Poem and 200 Followers!

Just wanted to send a quick thank you to Arisa Mameda for being my 200th follower! I never thought even 199 people would be interested in this blog, and I almost gave up on it at one time. Although, the process is going slower than I thought it would, it IS growing…and I couldn’t be more proud. Thank you everyone for reading!

And for a treat, here’s a poem I wrote back in my college days. I was at my prime creativeness back in those days.

It’s actually quite appropriate considering I was reminiscing about my college days at work today and about my British lit teacher who I had such a big crush on back then.

Now you can see how much (more of) a dork I was back then…but ah, he was my muse. 😉



I thought about asking him to lunch today,

apologize for my lack of enthusiasm

Tell him that I love him and whip out my book

and beg him to read Paradise lost to me.


I thought about how that might look though

Sitting there across from me

Dreaming about running my fingers through your hair,

me leaning forward as far as I could–


I might wonder what he’d look like if he wore contacts

what he’d look like in a setting

not lit by fluorescents


If he might have a woman somewhere— anywhere

Someone he’s made promises to

Wonder if he’s gay.


Does he have an older brother?

A house full of sisters waiting to welcome him?

Their arms open wide, a pair of pudgy arms—


I might want to know what brought on his devotion

of ancient poets—why Chaucer excites him?

Why he gets lost in Paradise Lost?

Why Beowulf does not intimidate?


During class his radio voice washes over me

and lulls me into that dream-like place

that I just left twenty minutes before.