My do-it-yourself MFA consists of:
– formal and informal writing groups. with friends, and writing fellas, former co-workers, professors, and more. We read. We write. We speak our words, sometimes. It can be in a huge mansion or a intimate living room or a bookstore. It can involve treats. And tea. And coffee.
– my writing class with Minter. Always. It happens by scholarship, it is received with gratitude.
-Reading more books like what. Cut out the drivel, the fatty tv shows, and just read. It’s one of the best MFA’s not-money can buy you. I have read more than three books in the past month. Doesn’t sound like a lot until you understand that I also watched mad shows, took care of three kids, and didn’t clean my house.
– Writing hundreds of words on a semi-regular basis.
Writing plus reading plus community equals an MFA. According to DIY MFA, a rather charming website community and resource guide. Also recommended.
– doing research studies on narrative artists and writers that I am intrigued by and admire. This list includes many contemporary fiction writers, visual artists, and more. Also includes some classics. Much reading on all of them.
Stay classy, brain. Let’s get an education.
After reading an elephant’s ton of writer’s blogs, online literary magazines, twitter feeds, Facebook messages, writer’s advice posts, celebrity gossip, and so much more, I realized some things.
1) I’m over-consuming media.
2) I’m on the computer way too much.
3) I’m not creating anything. The balance of input and “inspiration” to creative output is like 70,000 to 1.
4) I do want a blog. I do like putting thoughts out there , in a very specific manner. But I don’t like thinking about who is reading it, trying to figure out what my angle is, etc…. I want a public blog as a writer and explorer of human nature, as part of the documentation of this world and our stories. I like confessions, to a very fragile degree. I like reading writer processes. And I am in the midst of another do-it-yourself writing/narrative art MFA year. I am parenting, in not the best of stressed ways. I am stress eating. I am thunking my heart out on the floor.
So here. I’m just going to use this as my mental cabinet of fodder and cray cray. Writer-style. Narrative art style.
In some universe, I’ll put every goddamn site I signed up for in a big silly list on the side of one website and make it all real-like. In this universe, I will clean my pans, make the house smell like Nag Champa, and pray to the gods of all that is good that I just make it one more day. And the day after that. And the day after that.