A master of fine arts in life-filled writing
"A master of fine arts is seen as a terminal degree," says Wikipedia. "meaning that it is considered to be the highest degree in its field... the MFA, while an academic program, centers around practice in the particular field." Indeed, MFA programs in writing have as their goal only practice: at most of the finest institutions, students must take a few courses but the degree hinges upon the completion of a short piece of writing, an 80-page novella "suitable for publication," a short book of poems. There is much to appeal to writers who can't help but slide their fingers onto the bookstore shelves where their own volumes will someday appear: two or three years in which to hone the craft; the constant hum of the brains of other luminary modern writers and luminary writers-to-be; the whir of competition; the access to top agents and publishers; the satisfaction of winning admission in a highly selective program; once completed, the respect earned and due.
But, for a great many of those whose vocation is the knowledge, I must write, an MFA is out of reach. Especially for those of us, mothers and fathers of young children, tethered with constance (not chains) to a domestic life. A life that is of our choosing; a life that does not contain the space for years of institutional practice, even such a seductive one as an MFA in writing. We could not, however, give up that dream.
And so, we set out on our own, secure in the knowledge that we contain the judgment, the discipline, the intellect to collectively administer an MFA in life-filled writing, and a little room at our kitchen tables for a stack of books, a pencil, a little time each week (each day?) to read, practice, discourse with one another. Our aim is to soon open the program to other applicants who have similar amounts of talent, dedication, and room in their lives. We will require a nominal tuition ($50-$100, perhaps) to support our costs and to symbolize investment in the process; we will admit other students (both remote and local) based on a demonstration of writing talent and commitment. Applications will be available soon and admissions will be continuous. Contact us at the email addresses in the sidebar if you want to get involved before we post applications.
Our program will grant the highest degree in the field of noninstitutional writing. Each student must assist in the design and co-instruction of at least four courses, which will run for 16 to 20 weeks each. Each course must include two to 10 participants who will agree to meet weekly, complete assignments, and participate in critique of each others' work. These meetings can take place in person, or online, or some combination (for instance, a few meetings in different cities with notes and writing exercises posted online after the meetings have concluded for all the course's student/instructors to read). There will not be writing "tracks"; we believe that poetry, fiction and non-fiction prose, and playwriting are so continuously intertwined that choosing between them is a hopeless and useless construct. Each student will deliver a finished work at the conclusion of the program, to be posted online for other student/instructors to read, and at that time a degree will be granted. As we are not now, nor do we ever expect to be, accredited, this will likely not be useful in gaining a teaching degree at NYU. However, we intend for it to be exactly as rigorous and worthy as any top MFA writing program.
We have established the reading list for Course One, Hearing and Seeing and will be adding to the assignments as we create them. Our first class meeting was January 26, 2010. We encourage your input. This is a cooperative program; a program in process; a program with all our greatest expectations.
the kitchen table MFA : an introduction . january 25 . 2010
Our Kitchen Table MFA, AKA the Homeschool MFA, the DIY MFA and the Peripatetic MFA is an experiment in non-institutional learning. We have drawn together with the desire to become the best writers we can become. Unable, unwilling to sacrifice our commitments to our children, our homes, the lives we are living, we read, we write at tables next to children doing homework, at night after they've gone to bed, in the late morning while the bread rises, in the few minutes before the bell rings and they get out of school, aware of the preciousness of time, unwilling to squander a moment of it. We are determined to learn from each other and from every book we read, to hold each other accountable and bring out the best in each other, to strive together and inspire each other. We want to grow more confident with the voices we have and with that confidence have the freedom to explore what those voices can do. We understand that the experience we have, the proven need to write and to find ourselves in writing, the children we raise are not liabilities to us as writers but strengths. We welcome others but ask that they take this as seriously as we do. -- Mara
We have both been searching, for months or perhaps years or perhaps lifetimes, Woolf-like, for a more scholarly life. For both of us, the ideal of the MFA is a candle lit in the window, a constance of passion, an achievement we cannot help but desire. But. There is this gorgeous, rich life of ours: the children who are, after all, a far more worthy achievement (life! humanity! better than just three letters); the husbands, who unlike our biological family we chose; the city in which we live, love. There is money, which we do not have in quantities great enough to squander on a pursuit of yet another degree. Instead, we resolve to pursue the knowledge, the discipline, the company of talented writers, the support of like minds, the sight through others' eyes, the consumption of truly honorable words alongside our oatmeal, words taken in the midst of life-filled lives. So we set upon this journey, at our kitchen tables; we are hungry, we are full. -- Sarah
