This is the second time in as many years that the month of April finds me waiting to hear back from the last of the various M.F.A. programs to which I applied. Last year I applied to a total of six, and was rejected by four. The remaining two disqualified me because they claimed to have not received some of the myriad materials necessary for me to be considered. Now, I accept at least partial responsibility for this turn of events. It was an oversight on my part not to follow up and make sure that everything had arrived prior to the due date. However, that being said, the two remaining programs had no trouble cashing the checks for the “processing fees” that I sent them, not to mention the fact that they had all of my contact information (address, email, phone number) yet they neglected to contact me by any of these to let me know that there were still items needed to make my application complete. I acknowledge that it was not their responsibility to do so…yet calling or writing an email would have taken all of two minutes. Now, some might respond to this by saying “well, these programs receive thousands of applicants, they’re not going to have time to contact each and every person whose materials weren’t received.” Maybe you’re right. But I would counter by saying that they didn’t do it for a different reason. If they feel that all the application materials were not received, then that’s actually one more prospective student that they don’t even need to consider, thereby eliminating one of those many thousands. From a standpoint of saving time, it’s actually in their best interest not to call or write, so they can still collect the “processing fee” without having to read the writing sample, or look over the G.R.E. scores, or read the letters of recommendation, because one of the six or seven required components of the application never arrived. And this is even assuming that it was negligence on the part of the sender. It is not too much to assume (and I know this from personal experience, this being the second year that I have attempted to coordinate with these grad programs and their representatives over the phone) that the materials actually did arrive, but were just misplaced, having been put in the wrong file, or sent to the wrong department, or having fallen behind a radiator, never to be seen again. I spoke to a receptionist a few weeks ago, in trying to confirm that everything had arrived this time, who sounded like she was about a hundred and twelve.
So what am I driving at? M.F.A. programs in Creative Writing are a racket, and their admission process is a farce. Look at it this way. Say you already know how to write creatively. The least bit competent professor in any Intro To English Writing class at any cut rate college around the country will tell you that creativity isn’t something that can be taught. It is a gift that can be shaped and nurtured, but if it isn’t already there inherently, it isn’t something that’s going to be hammered into you by continual conditioning, like the memorization of elements on the periodic table. You either have it or you don’t, and the only reason you take Creative Writing classes at all is to learn how to avoid cliches, learn what is thought of as proper story structure, so you can know when to use it or not based on the conventionality of the story you want to tell, and to be able to bounce your writing off of other students so you can get feedback and gauge the skills of the competition, if there is any. Why, then, should another degree be necessary, if you don’t plan on teaching, but instead plan on doing what it says right there on your first degree- writing? What doors do those letters M.F.A. open? It’s a rhetorical question only up to a point. Writing, like just about any other career where creativity and strong personal drive are prerequisites, is mostly about raw talent; the rest of it is who you know. Connections, connections, connections…if you don’t know the right people, and the right people don’t know you, you’re just another anonymous face in the crowd, with calluses on your hands and a manuscript in a drawer. That’s what M.F.A. programs are all about. They’re meant to bring you into the forefront, the spotlight. They’re meant to help you, if you’re unable to help yourself.
So how is it, then, that an M.F.A. program accepting maybe five to ten out of ten thousand applicants, makes the crucial decision as to who those five to ten will be? That’s a question I’d really like an answer to, because honest to God, I couldn’t tell you. Is it the G.R.E. score? The writing sample? The letters of recommendation? The grades during your undergrad? Let’s give the bigwigs who make the decisions the benefit of the doubt for a moment, and assume that there’s no favoritism being shown, which is to say the possibility that even prior to grad school, it’s all about who you know, or who Mommy or Daddy knows. Let’s say it’s a combination of all of these things, and they’ve narrowed it down to only a few hundred of the most qualified applicants. Well, hell, you still have a few HUNDRED qualified applicants, and now how do you choose between them?! There simply isn’t any logical way to do it! Do they draw names out a hat? Do they throw darts at a board? It gets to the point where it must be completely arbitrary, and let me tell you, it’s not a decision that I would want to make. When it gets right down to the last few candidates, do they get out a magnifying glass and look over each application in turn, disqualifying this one because of a typo, this one because of a coffee stain? It’s a nightmare, every bit as much for those making the decisions, the ”deciders,” if I can borrow a word from our esteemed president, as those who wait fearfully at home in late March and early April around the country and abroad, with their fingers crossed, rushing eagerly to the mailbox each morning.
What is to be made of these rantings? Only this. Yes, I applied last year and again this year, so in spite of my objections, I must see something worth while about grad school. I probably see the same thing in it that I did when I graduated high school. I couldn’t have told you why I wanted to go to college. I just went because they told me it’s “the thing you do next.” I couldn’t have told you anything beyond that. Maybe I did it because I wanted to be spared a job in the food service industry, and I thought the degree would prevent that. But hey, look here, I finished my undergrad four years ago this month, and what am I doing for money? You guessed it, food service industry. In case you were wondering, I applied to a total of five grad schools again this year. Four of the five have turned me down. To know what I’m going to be be doing, where I’m going to be living, and what will be occupying my time in the next year, I am waiting to hear back from the one program that remains. I look at the letter of acceptance as a magic ticket, like it will wisk me up, up and away, to a better life. I desperately hope I get in. And because academia is a joke, and not a very funny one, I pray that I don’t.
