[Note: For anyone who's not already aware of the meaning of the acronym "MFA," it stands for Master [university-level degree] of Fine Arts.]
The last section I'm going to quote here is this, as what follows it are six, specific Exercises:MFA PROGRAMS
If you get really serious about writing, you might at some point want to consider enrolling in a graduate writing program. There are two kinds of these: the traditional, two-year MFAs and the newer low-residency programs. Traditional programs are: 1) total-immersion, so you'd be living as a writer in an academic community of writers and, 2) generally oriented toward turning out "professional" writers. The thrusts of the low-residency programs vary. Some are as academic as traditional programs but others, Pacific Lutheran's, for instance, devote themselves exclusively to helping their students become writers.
You'll find the student bodies different in the two types of programs, too. Though the traditional ones can attract a mix of ages, the average is probably in the twenties. The low-residency ones, on the other hand--because they meet on campus only once or twice a year and the rest of the time work with a mentor by mail--draw a somewhat older group, the details of whose lives would have made a physical move impractical.
If you're thinking about either of these routes, here's the deal. Don't get an MFA because you want a job teaching writing. That isn't impossible, but it's also not likely, because there are many more graduates than jobs. And the jobs there are don't pay well, either, so unless you have a deep vocation for teaching, you're better off doing something else and writing in the time that's left.
If you do think you want to teach, here are some things to consider. While teaching feeds some people's writing, others find it drains them. It does drain me, because I use the same energy to teach poetry as I do to write it, so when I'm actively teaching, I can't work. When I taught Computer Sccccience, I had no problem with that, because teaching CS drew from a different place: biceps versus triceps; riding a bike versus running.
Besides that, if you teach writing full-time, though you'll find some of your students' poetry stimulating, more often you'll find it completely unchallenging, and that can do you harm. For one thing, the Muzak-y drone of beginning poems may dullyour ear. For another, it may tempt you to be satisfied with less than your own best work, just because anything you write is such an improvement on what you're getting from students.
If, after reading all this, you still think teaching writing would suit you, keep in mind that publication is as likely a way to get a teaching job as going the MFA route--that was how I got mine. I teach in a low-residency MFA program, which, as an aside, I find stimulating rather than the reverse, because the campus part of the program is so short and because I've always loved working one-on-one.
Okay--if what you want from an MFA isn't vocational but substantive, it's worth thinking about. But before you go one step farther, look in the mirror. Are you anxious to please? If so, is there any chance you might change the slant of your writing (and this would be subconscious) if you were sure that doing that would get you praise from your teacher or other students? If the answer to either of these questions is ye (and be honest), it isn't necessarily definitive if you don't know who you poetically are yet anyway. But if you're anyplace near what you think is your voice, and if you're at all insecure, I don't think a program is for you. It's too likely that you'd lose your spark, too likely that you'd migrate to the middle.
On the other hand, if one of the following describes you, then you may benefit from a program: You're a beginner, but you know who, independently of poetry, you are. Or, you're not a beginner and you're sure enough of your poetic identity that you can stand up for yourself when you think you're right and you're open to changing your mind when you think the other person is right.
If you fall in the above categories, then a good program, traditional or low-residency, can do a lot for you. First, it will give you a community of like-minded people--which is a wonderful feeling, because suddenly you don't need to explain. Second, if it's a good fit, it can move you toward your voice faster than you could have moved alone. But you do need to understand that no program can teach you to write. Only practice can do that, and a lot of reading.
Here's what to think about when looking for a program. First, consider the management. A select few programs are so toxic they should be designated as superfund sites. An acquaintance of mine, who got his MFA from one of those programs, told me that he'd been so devastated by the experience that he hasn't written anything since he left--and it had been three years. This sort of thing happens when teachers foment such a competitive atmosphere that instead of helping each other out, students spend their energies thinking about how they can shoot the competition out of the water. Or when they so overtly favor certain students that everyone else in the class ends up feeling invisible.
If the person in charge seems fine, then try to get a sense of the teaching styles of the faculty member(s) you'd be most likely to work with. Some well-meaning professors--and it's difficult not to do this--subconsciously guide their students towards their own styles. I've seen that a lot in art. My son's kindergarten class, for instance, turned out astonishing stuff. The only problem was that each kid's picture was a clone of every other kid's. On the other hand, gifted teachers, of art or anything else, can bring out the best in students as different from each other as chocolate and salt. Go to any school exhibit and look at the teacher's names on the students' pieces. You'll see what I mean.
Specifically, here's how to find yourself a good match. See if your favorite writers are teaching anywhere--but be clear that wonderful work doesn't necessarily translate into a gift for teaching. Then, check out some students who've been through those programs (any program will be glad to send you a list of its successful graduates). Ask them what kind of experience they had.
If you find yourself seriously interested in a traditional program, be sure to visit before you commit. Hang around the halls. Sit in on a workshop. How's the atmosphere? Does the instructor see the class as all about her? Would the kinds of comments she's making be useful to you? How about the feedback students are giving each other? Write down your questions to yourself before you come, so you can pay full attention while you're there. The bottom line, of course, is right-brained. Do you think you could be happy here? By happy, I don't mean do you think you'd get only positive comments. I mean do you think you could learn something.
ON CRITICISM
Whether you join an MFA program or a group or get your comments on line, when you first start getting critical feedback, it's going to be hard not to take it personally. With time, if you've made a wise choice, you'll realize that what you and the other members of your group are trying to do is to make each others' poems clearer, leaner, more beautiful. Still, there will be times you find yourself thinking, "But I liked that. But that was my favorite part." when that happens, take a deep breath, mark the comment on the page, then go home and mull it over. At the end of the day, you don't have to agree with anyone's comments--the poem is yours and non one else's--but it's important to keep an open mind, even when you think your critic is wrong.
When I have negative reactions to comments--and of course sometimes I do--I think about what I know from my other life, which is this--when I have an error in a program, as its author I'm going to be the last one to see it. That's because though I thik I'm open-minded, I'm usually subconsciously convinced that my code will work the way I thought it would. That's true of my poems, too, and it will be true of yours. Over and over, other people will pick out mistakes that in retrospect will look obvious even to you.
And speaking of finding mistakes--one spin-off of participating in a group may be that you'll discover you're terrific at diagnosing other people's problems. There's big satisfaction to that, more and more as time goes on. And no matter what, the more time you spend with other people's poems, the better you're going to get at your own. After a few years of this, you too may experience the sense of power a chef has when he's using a really sharp knife.
Here's the bottom line: when you show poems to other people, listen to what they tell you with as open a mind as you can. But, and this is important--in the end you should feel free to disregard their advice. Each person is his or her own animal, and if a giraffe tells you to do X, a zebra might well swear you should do Y instead. I do think, though, that if three people whose opinions you respect point to the same part of your poem and tell you there's a problem with it, then you should give that area serious consideration.
Of course, you can ignore your three people, four people, twenty people even, because as I've said (and I menat it), this is your work. On the other hand, you should understand that you are responsible for the well-being of tis poem. You birthed it, and your job is to teach it as much as you can, then send it out into the world. So if something is hard for you but good for the child, do it anyway. Then, when her plane takes off from your local airport and disappears into the blue, you'll be able to let her go. You raised her, and it's her world now.
My own, final comment is that I see nothing wrong with robust critiqueing and defending and the exchanges they engender. What I advocate for is kindness, respect, and agreement to the process. Not everyone comes to this delightful section of this wonderful forum because their focus is on becoming what they would consider a "writer," or a published writer; or a performing or published "poet." Many come to simply and sweetly share what they've written, for whatever of myriad other reasons that they've written it. Though I don't comment on all of them, I personally enjoy reading nearly all of the poems placed here. Each for its own reason of being.
~ Lizzy
[Edited to invert the order of two words in the last paragraph.]
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? I don't know what this offers, as I haven't read that section yet]