Life After an MFA
Or Reasons for Me to Get Out of Bed and Hope for the Future
by Rebecca Thomas

As a second year MFA candidate in fiction, I try not to think about spring of 2013, that scary year that I’ll have to leave the safety net of WVU and venture out into the academic “real world.” In fact, that thought alone is enough to make me hole up in my house and watch copious amounts of Jane Austen period pieces. In short, it’s enough to make me live in a world of denial, and I like my denial world to have Colin Firth in it. Luckily though, there might be a reason to turn off Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version, of course) and have hope for the future. The hope? With preparation comes the possibility of employment.

Every fall, our very own poet, Mary Ann Samyn, hosts a job talk about life after an MFA. Jobs are possible; you just need to know the market. The first step, it seems, is to understand your options. “Think about the kids of jobs out there,” Mary Ann writes, “community college, religiously affiliated college, liberal arts college, regional state university, flagship university, major private university. Study teaching loads (5/5? 4/4? 3/3? 3/2? Less than that??) and become more discerning about what particular schools are looking for (Hard-working teachers with or without publications? Published writers as an absolute requirement? Name writers? One or more of these?).”

It’s crucial to know how you can market yourself. What do your publications look like? Mary Ann acknowledges the importance of them: “Realize that without major publications (a book, or at least several good journal publications), you are probably not a viable tenure track job candidate at a four-year school with a creative writing program.”

Understanding where you are a viable candidate is critical. While the MFA is traditionally the terminal degree, not every university sees it that way. It’s important to “realize?, that many smaller liberal arts colleges and regional state universities are less likely to view the MFA as the terminal degree that it is,” Mary Ann writes. She continues, “Partly, that’s because these schools need people who can teach more than one thing. They’re not going to hire a fiction writer who only teaches fiction. You’d be expected to teach all genres and some field of literature and probably composition as well.”

After you’ve come to an understanding of what type of university to apply to, it’s important to get your materials together. Mary Ann suggests to “ask for letters of recommendation well in advance (and provide the recommender with some info about you/about the kinds of jobs you’re applying for if he/she is not currently in contact with you).” Get your cover letter in order. Mary Ann writes that “it’s wise to ‘customize’ the letter when you can do so honestly and interestingly. If you can’t, don’t. Think about what a school will want: a teacher, first and foremost. How is your letter going to convey this?” Along with a cover letter, start putting together your C.V (“If your tendency is to embellish, don’t,” Mary Ann says. “If your tendency is to downplay, don’t.”) Mary Ann says to “Consider designing a teaching portfolio: pedagogy statement, sample syllabi and assignments, proposals for courses you’d like to teach (be both practical—introduction to literature, creative writing in genres other than your specialty—and allow yourself some “dream courses”).”

She tells MFAs to “know that if you do want an academic position and you’re not ready for tenure track jobs (and even if you are), you’ll likely be required to teach a lot and show evidence that you have been and plan to continue to be a member of the larger community (the department and beyond).

Finally, Mary Ann reminds MFAs of the thing we should never forget: “Keep writing and keep your poems/stories/essays in the mail and aim to accumulate some publications.” As with all things writing, Mary Ann says, “Make sure you don’t lose sight of what you love? and let that enthusiasm/dedication/interest/passion come through in your work, your job letter, your teaching—all of it. That’s [her] best advice.”

I run through the list in my head, checking off things that I’ve begun, making notes for what to do next. As always, publish, publish, publish. But hopefully, or as the optimist in me insists, knowing, being aware, is the first step. It’s enough for me, at least, to turn off Pride and Prejudice, leave the house, and have some hope for the future. Well, I might just finish the second disk of Pride and Prejudice first. Mr. Darcy also gives hope for the future, too.