MFA Spring 2006: I Fell In to a Burning Ring of Fire…

Thought those of you following this blog might get your own little taste of schadenfreude by considering my student workload this spring, which comes on top of my full-time job where I am manager, supervisor, editor in chief, accountant, trainer, chief bottle-washer, marketing maven, and ‘umble grant-writer.

You will never hear me say I didn’t do something because I was too busy, or because I am an administrator, no matter how seemingly small that “something” is. Those very words curdle my blood; they trivialize whatever it is the person didn’t do. We’re all busy, and we all do important work–all of us, no matter what it is.

These days, though, being a student on top of being a manager/editor does create interesting challenges and choices, particularly since this is my last full semester before I enter the summer of my major project, and I do love school–as I remind myself every Tuesday and Wednesday night, when I drive 40 miles north in rush-hour traffic for my three-hour class at Hogwarts.

This semester I feel every small decision is momentous. Should I revise an essay that needs CPR, or write fresh meat? Take class reading to the Y, or enjoy the Sunday Times Magazine? Do I watch the new episode of Seventh Heaven, or park myself in my office to reread Woolf to glean just a little more out of an essay? (Yes, I am a Seventh Heaven junky. I live with a minister; we watch minister’s shows; maybe I’ll milk an essay out of that someday.)

Then there is the crucial moment every morning when the alarm goes off and I can roll over for another hour’s sleep–or get in early and do personal writing. Making the second choice is easier when I think of it as a lifestyle change that enables me to find time to write. (I’m not a morning person, but I am a morning writer.)

One of my choices for this semester was to take a literature class with a heavy workload fairly ambitious for a program designed for working professionals. (Every semester we take one workshop and one lit class.) As my lit instructor says, he wants to be sure we’ll get our money’s worth. I read a lot over winter break, which gives me a running start. But even with that I feel the semester breathing down my neck. Sure am glad I cleaned my office, got my finances together, and otherwise prepared for one last trip to Hogwarts!

Writing requirements, now through May 10:

One workshop proposal, eight short imitations of writers we’re reading, three short (3-5 page) critical papers, one long (15 page) critical essay, three new or seriously rehabbed essays for workshop (10 to 20 pages each), one major revision of one of those three essays, 24 feedback responses for student essays shared in workshop.

Reading requirements, workshop:

My workshop instructor–let’s call him Firenze–hands out some small pieces, but he’s not the sort to make us choke down Agee or Sebald. Last year he had us read Into Thin Air; this year it’s all writing, all the time, except for a film review and the small scattered pieces we’ll explore.

The workshop experience is the meat of the MFA program. (My lit instructor–let’s call him McGonagall; wrong gender, right world-view–says otherwise, but I’m sure that’s to get our attention.) With eight other students in workshop, submitting three times, most weeks I have three student pieces to read and then carefully critique so that the student will have my written feedback and I am able to intelligently discuss the strengths and challenges of student work in class. I get a break of sorts when we have a short class due to a reading we need to attend–yes, our presence is expected–or when I’m turning in a piece myself.

Reading requirements, lit class:

McGonagall ladles it on, not that I’m complaining. Some of his assignments are retreads for me; In Cold Blood is a hat trick, and “Notes of a Native Son” is whatever happens in hockey when you have four in a row. Still, every instructor’s approach to the literature is different, and though I’ve poked fun at how often we see some works, there is value in approaching Baldwin from so many angles. (Plus, I cannot tire of “Notes of a Native Son.” Every time I reread it, I find something new to admire, another angle of connection, another subtle triumph of structure or style.)

I try to read every assignment twice through before class, first for the story (which can be done in the break prior to the semester) and then for the craft, which needs more immediate and close attention. I usually begin my reading with a search in the Gale literary databases and book review sources to get a sense of the author’s critical reception, particularly for the piece under consideration. (That’s not expected; it’s just something I like to do.) Woe to the writing student who arrives in class with a pristine, unmarked book; it’s a rough evening when you haven’t read the material.

If you studied any of these works in English class, forget everything you learned there when you look at this list. We don’t read these works for what they mean, but for how they mean. We spend a considerable amount of time in class disassembling these works to see how they tick.

I’ve starred the books I read in advance, either over break or in an earlier class or lifetime.

Feb 1: White, “The Ring of Time”; Rich, “Split at the Root,” Woolf, “Street Haunting”
Feb 8: Hoagland, “The Courage of Turtles”; Baldwin, “Notes of a Native Son”*; Fisher, “Once a Tramp, Always”
Feb 15: Suleri, “Meatless Days”; Ginzurg, “He and I”; Tanizaki, “In Praise of Shadows”
Feb 22: Orwell, “Such, Such Were the Joys”
Mar 1: McPherson, A Region Not Home*
Mar 8: Woolf, A Room of One’s Own*
Mar 15: Spring Break
Mar 22: Capote, In Cold Blood*
Mary 29: Capote Part Deux
Apr 5: O’Connor, Stop Time*
Apr 12: Silent Spring (I have read this, but it’s been so long; it’s my spring break book)
Apr 19: Rodriguez, Days of Obligation*
Apr 26: Vintage Didion; The Year of Magical Thinking* (Whether I star Vintage Didion depends on what McGonagall assigns; I’ve read most of the essays in it at some point)
May 3: Didion Part Deux
May 10: Turn in papers, go have beer at local pub, laugh with my friends, cry because I’ll never get this experience again, then go home and–I was going to say “sleep for a week,” but Thursday morning is publishing morning at MPOW, so I’ll pull myself together for a day and then (shhhh! Don’t tell) sneak that Friday off as a special Lady’s Day, complete with fresh highlights, a movie I alone want to see, a meal I alone want to eat, and a long, long time at the Talbot’s sale rack.