So,
I graduated from FAU’s MFA program in the spring of 2012.
That last semester was full of applying to creative writing PhD programs (there
aren’t that many) specializing in creative
nonfiction (there are even fewer). After getting rejected from everywhere that
first round of applications, I had to do a lot of thinking.
One
thing I wish I knew when I was applying to PhD programs is the same thing I had
been told about submitting to journals all my writerly life—know where the hell you’re sending your work. For some reason
it didn’t transfer over to my frantic
lights-on/bar-closing-time pitches to any graduate school that had a program
that might be willing to take me. This approach resulted the aforementioned
smattering of rejections. After I had time to reflect on my rejections and
digest them properly, I actually researched some of these programs (like,
actually researched them for the first time) and was surprised to see
that the kinds of writing their faculty did and the kinds of writing their
alumni produced were nothing like the writing I was doing. This isn’t to say that their writing was better
or anything quantifiable like that, but it was different. And I
guess I wasn’t entirely surprised at that, but it
helped me get over the idea that the rejections were a matter of not being good
enough. This sort of thing isn’t a matter of good; it’s a matter of fit. And I found a place
where I fit, explained how I thought I would fit in my application, and saw my
first program acceptance the next year. The thing is, there are so few PhD
programs out there compared to journals that it might be wholly inaccurate to
say there’s
somewhere you and your work are suited for like you would when talking about
journal submissions. There might not be a program that suits your work. And
that’s
fine, but resist the urge to send your experimental hybrid work to a very
traditionalist program. And no, I'm not naming names.
The
worthwhileness of pursuing the creative writing PhD is, as with everything, a
matter of what you want to get out of it. I would say completely worth it in my
circumstances, as I would like to get some sort of tenure-track job one day,
but as you are reading this and no doubt already laughing, I say well fine, you’re right, I probably won’t get one of those. But I do get four
more years of what my MFA was—a time where someone is always telling
me to write, where I have a large writing project to complete, where I can get
eyes on my work, and where I am surrounded by talented artists from so many
different places. And I know that isn’t
something you need a PhD program for. You can find a community of writers
anywhere you happen to be. But there are some particulars about a PhD program
that are valuable to me: the rigor and expectations of a research degree, the requirement to not only produce creative work but also (in my particular program and dissertation) both a critical apparatus
and a section on pedagogy, the latter of which being a special focus of the
program I find myself in. This will hopefully make me more attractive to some
hypothetical hiring committee for a teaching job one day. And my English
department is operating under an “English
Studies” model, one where the various
sub-disciplines of English (Literature, Composition and Rhetoric, Creative
Writing, Pedagogy, and Linguistics) are represented and considered in an
interdisciplinary way. Taking a look at creative nonfiction through the lens of
a required linguistics seminar I took one semester offered me a somewhat unique
perspective on the field.
But
I guess I’ll find out how unique (or valued)
that perspective is when I find myself on the job market in two years. Those
are some applications I’ll be a little better about
researching for.
Mike
Shier holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Florida Atlantic University and is
currently in Illinois State University’s PhD program for
the same. Poems from Folie à Deux, a collaborative
poetry chapbook manuscript written collaboratively with Nicole Oquendo, have
appeared in Menacing Hedge and are forthcoming in Grist.
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