
by Jennifer Brown
With the exception of one workshop—and I’m not “up”—I’ve completed year one of my MFA program. And what springs to mind is this: Thank god it is a three-year program! If it were two years, I’d be moving on to my thesis and thinking about graduating, and I’m not even close to ready for that. I feel like I’ve just now become adjusted, just now learned how to read closely enough to participate fully in class, just now learned some of the basics of writing decent fiction. I still feel very much like a beginner and I am glad I’ll have an extra year to work on technique before I move on to the novel that will be my thesis.
The most important thing that has happened this year is that I’ve realized how bad I am. You can’t spend large amounts of time every week devoted to reading the likes of Hemingway and Faulkner and come away thinking you are a “good” writer. You just can’t. But the great thing about the realization that you aren’t any good yet is that you can move on from there—you can get your bearings and learn and improve and even reach for the stars. Knowing how far you have to go is knowledge—and that is a great thing.
As far as my writing is concerned, it has improved 100 percent, and I’ve learned more in one year than I had hoped to learn over the course of the whole program. I’m still struggling terribly with the idea of story, but I’m finding my “voice,” and liking it. I’m enjoying the creation of elegant sentences and working with the great art of description as much as I’ve ever enjoyed anything. I’m confident that getting a handle on how to tell a story will come with practice and lots of reading. I am to write a novella this summer and I’m both excited about it and terrified. But at least I feel I have the tools to do it.
The decision to go through an MFA program was probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.






