. . . I didn’t get into NC State. That makes eleven out of eleven Creative Writing MFA programs that have rejected me.

I don’t actually feel this reflects much on my writing quality, or even my quality as an applicant. Maybe that’s really egotistical of me, but there are so many other factors, especially right now, with the economy the way it is. Creative Writing MFAs are competitive at the best of times, and right now, everyone’s going back to school. Mom said she heard that schools are currently looking for people with “life experience,” and since people ARE going back to school, there are more to choose from. Besides all that, I’m an unconventional applicant: I wasn’t an English major, and I don’t write literary fiction. That’s why I sent out the initial e-mail asking all the schools whether they thought someone who writes YA fantasy would mesh well with their programs. Most of them said, “Well, we take mostly literary fiction, but any kind of writing theoretically could get in, if it was really good.” Only NC State gave me an unqualified “yes,” and they seemed to be the only one with a fantasy writer on the faculty – thus my high hopes for getting accepted there, until yesterday.

Oh well. I know my parents have thought about a number of possible Plan Bs. I haven’t thought much about it, honestly, but of course now I’ll have to. So we’ll see.

In an unusual convergence of what I want to do and what I need to do, editing Rabbit and Cougar has become important to my grad school applications. I’m going to use the beginning of it as my writing sample. This is highly convenient. I needed, for aforementioned sample, either a few chapters of a novel (I assume that, like agents, they want the first chapters) or one to three short stories. Not only is it nice not to have to edit another piece (or three) while I’ve already got one editing project going, but I feel my novels represent my writing style better than do most of my short stories.

I also recently wrote the personal statement for my applications. I had to mention that simply because it meant me writing about me writing about my writing. And now I’ve written about writing about me writing about my writing. And now . . . the madness must end!

Of late, I have plenty of reading time and am finally taking a look at some of the recent blockbusters and big names in YA fantasy. Not only am I curious as to what they might have in common and whether I can see why each is so successful, but I do like to see what other people are doing in the genre. I’m currently reading Eragon, and hope to try out Inkheart and perhaps The Spiderwick Chronicles and Twilight. Feel free to suggest others. I have already read Harry Potter, Narnia, and every book I can get by Diana Wynne Jones. I also, when the planets are aligned just right, read books written for people my age. I recently read From Dead to Worse; at some point, I will have to try some other non-YA works of fantasy. It fascinates me to see how experience (and discussions from Advanced Fiction class) makes me a more critical reader, much more able to find what specifically went wrong or right in a book.

To round out this rather general entry, I read a suggestion in Writers Digest that writers not make their blogs about writing. It made the very good point that some readers aren’t writers and don’t care about the how-tos of writing or the ins and outs of a writer’s life. Many people do care, hence the existence of Writers Digest, but some do not. I chose that subject for this journal because:

A. It is extremely relevant to me and what I do on a daily basis

B. It holds great interest for me, making weekly updates doable

C. For the “writer’s life” aspect, since I am living it continually, I cannot run out of material

D. I enjoy reading other peoples’ blogs and articles on writing

Besides that, I don’t see a clear alternative subject. If I wrote, say, nonfiction, that would be easy: the topic of my blog could be related to the topic of my books. The closest thing I can think of is general “medievalesque” research. This does not seem like a coherent subject. However, when I’m in England and hopefully have access to loads of historical sites, ruins, castles, etc., I may write some entries as “research profiles” to record interesting things I learn there. But as of now, I expect this blog to remain centered on writing.

Yet again, my main efforts this week went toward things only indirectly related to writing. First and foremost, I studied for the GRE, which I will take tomorrow. I’ve also been narrowing down my list of graduate schools to the ones to which I will actually apply. I was going to make that a list of ten, but it ended up being eleven.

The list.

As I’ve vowed to make this journal a record of not only my actual writing processes but my attempts to publish or otherwise further my writing career, it’s now time for me to talk about graduate school.

Because I want to be a professor of creative writing, I need to aim at a terminal degree. Technically, there is a Doctor of Philosophy degree available in the subject at some schools, but the Master of Fine Arts degree is widely accepted as the terminal degree in the field. Thus, I went into research mode to find MFA programs with an emphasis on teaching assistantships, without which I would have a terrible time getting a professorship. (Unless, of course, I manage to publish a bestseller before then . . .)

I got a book called The Creative Writing MFA Handbook: A Guide for Prospective Graduate Students by Tom Kealey. I found the writing a little rough at times, but the book has been excellent for practical concerns: it has step-by-step descriptions of the application process, suggestions for a chart to keep track of what schools ask for what materials, and – most helpful of all – a comprehensive list of MFA programs (and MA and PhD programs) in writing in the USA. (Also a much shorter list of programs abroad.) I should say “comprehensive,” as this website, suggested by a creative writing professor, seems to have some that his book lacks.

I made my long list first. I went through the book’s list, examining each school’s website to see whether it seemed like a place I would possibly, possibly go. (Read: Would I attend this school if it was the only one to which I was accepted?) Mostly, schools only got ruled out if they had no TAships at all. I ended up with a list of sixty; for each, I had written any important or interesting facts (“TAships very competitive” or “completely funds all students”) and the e-mail address of the program’s contact person.

Next, I drafted a polite e-mail asking whether my preference for writing mostly – though not exclusively – YA fantasy might mesh well with the program. I sent this to each contact person separately, both to avoid a long list of additional receivers and so that I could mention specific details in some of the e-mails (“I notice that at least one alum of the program, [alum’s name], writes for young adults”).

This helped me narrow the list considerably, but was also somewhat unnerving. While many programs have replied, rather doubtfully, that anyone can be accepted if s/he has a fabulous writing sample, I’ve had a number of outright “no” responses. I find it rather funny that no one wants to touch not just genre writing but popular fiction. Some of this is academic elitism – and, in some cases, with good reason. I’ve read bestsellers with terrible writing. Many schools indicated in their replies that they felt ill equipped to work with genre or popular fiction, though. That, I think, is another key. A popular fiction author is either unsuccessful, in which case s/he may not be qualified to teach writing at the college level (or simply may not be an attractive candidate for the competitive job), or successful, in which case s/he may see no reason to take a teaching job. Professor Robbins is an exception to the latter rule, of course. At any rate, this means that the professors of creative writing at almost all schools write one of two perfectly admirable, but usually less lucrative, types of work:

1. Literary Fiction

2. Poetry

Some few of them also write nonfiction. Visiting seventy or eighty MFA program websites showed me this time and again – virtually no other types of writing appeared, ever. This, and some of my e-mail’s cagey responses that toss the word around, makes me wonder: What exactly do they mean by “literary?”

It is a slippery term. I’m familiar with informal definitions ranging from “well-written fiction” to “fiction that doesn’t sell.” The responses I got suggested “fiction that’s about more than that story.” (This is indicating, I assume, universal themes. You know, like the ones in Harry Potter? Oh wait . . .) Some also echoed the “well-written fiction” idea, indicating that any genre could be “literary,” while others drew a line between them “the focus of our program is on literary fiction, not genre fiction.” One suggested that writing could “transcend its genre and could be called literature — the way Walter Mosley’s Easy Rawlings mysteries transcend the mystery or detective novel genre.” (The same professor added “If your aim is to become an instructor of creative writing at the college level, you’ll almost certainly want to do some literary writing in addition to your work in young adult fantasy.”)

This makes me wonder whether my desire to become a professor will mean writing outside my real area of interest for two or three years. *Wince* I hope not. I’m young to pigeonhole myself, I know, and I do enjoy forays outside of YA fantasy, but I certainly can’t see myself writing long works set in the here-and-now without fantasy elements. This is a dilemna. Every school indicates that the most important part of the program’s application is a writing sample, usually two to three short stories or the first few chapters of a novel. All of my novels are YA fantasy; very few of my short stories – and none of the ones I see as mostly likely to get me admitted – are. So, I can either bet it all on the quality of writing in my novels, or I can totally misrepresent the way I most commonly write with my short stories. If I do the latter, what happens if I’m accepted? If I start writing YA fantasy there, will they think I pulled a bait-and-switch? Will I have to be a closet genre writer while going to workshops with short stories where people angst and live gritty lives of hopelessness and elegant metaphor? (Though, to be honest, I don’t think my literary fiction would be safe from comic relief and happy endings.)

I do not yet have my final list of probably about ten schools to which I will actually apply, but should narrow it down soon. My GRE is scheduled for August 19, and I’ve been reviewing for that. None of the programs require subject GREs, but several require the general test. Others note that, while optional, any supplied GRE scores may be used to help determine admission/financial aid/TAships. Generally speaking, I test well, and the sample questions on the GRE website make it seem about as difficult as the SATs. At this point, I’m actually pretty happy about taking the test – it’s one part of the applications package that’s straightforward and doesn’t require me to question my choices all that much.

I will keep this journal updated on my progress!

This past week, I came to a decision on a matter which highly impacts my immediate plans for professional writing. Since I hope for this journal to be interesting (and perhaps useful) in different areas of writing, including professional development, I will explain what happened even though it bears little relevance to my actual day-to-day writing.

My plans had been to attend Bath Spa University this fall for an MA in Writing for Young People. The program accepted me way back in fall of 2007, and I’d thought my plans were solid. This summer, my parents and I began to plan specifics (including travel, etc.), and found it very difficult to get hold of information we needed. The people with whom I communicated were pleasant and tried to be helpful, but continued to mail information that never reached me. I confirmed my address repeatedly and sent multiple e-mails – and made some phone calls – to let them know that nothing had arrived via courier mail. Eventually, I was able to find most of what I needed on the website or by e-mail queries. At this point, I determined that the one-year MA, with living costs and travel, would cost nearly $50,000.

After some figuring and some sadness, we realized that this simply would not work well. Not only would I end up with thousands in student loan debt, I would have a degree not sufficient to become a professor. I would still need to get an MFA. Not only would this mean more costs – my dad, an art professor, told me that it might actually be harder to get into an MFA after having had an MA elsewhere! He had this problem himself. And I couldn’t pursue an MFA at Bath Spa University, as they do not offer one.

In the end, I decided not to attend Bath Spa University this year. Instead, I will go this fall – with some close friends – to work in England for six months using this program. This will allow me to get a Britain fix – including traveling with my college roommate, also a writer, to sites mentioned in her novel, and possibly to see places from Dragons Over London, though I was mostly less specific than she about locations.

My new goal is to enroll in an MFA program directly, starting next fall. I am investigating schools now, and mean to apply soon.

Much of what made this situation tough was the similarity to one I encountered when applying for colleges: I was accepted by my first-choice school, Bard College, where I wanted to major in Creative Writing, but then could not afford to go. When I went to the College of William & Mary (which has no Creative Writing major), I majored in Chemistry, intending to become a Chemistry professor who wrote YA fantasy on the side. After two years, I realized that going the practical route was killing me. Though my grades were good and I liked theoretical chemistry, I couldn’t stand labwork. I switched to a Psychology major, hoping to use what I learned there to write the best possible characters.

This seemed like another incident of life telling me that, while I might be talented enough to follow my dreams, I do not have the money. It helps to know, though, that things came out for the best at W&M – I had a fantastic time, made wonderful friends, learned a lot, and would not trade my experience. Besides, I learned from the post-Bard fiasco. Hitting a wall doesn’t mean to stop trying; it just means to find another way to get where you want to be.