RSS…applying to grad school
Jul 23
As my undergrad studies drew to a close, I scrambled to prepare for postgraduate life. I intended to continue my creative writing career with a Master’s of Fine Arts degree. I registered, took, and earned a decent score on the GRE, the test required for most grad schools. I filled out my application for the writing program, collected samples for a portfolio, requested the necessary letters of recommendation, and got everything turned in one day before the deadline. Then I coasted for a couple of months. I expected to get in. I felt I had made a positive impression on my instructors, enough to give me an edge in the esoteric process that selection committees go through to choose the elite members of their graduate programs. I didn’t even consider applying to another school. As the summer progressed and I went about my quiet routine, I didn’t really think about it much. I simply figured that I would receive my acceptance letter, request my financial aid, and go about my business as I had for the previous four years.
I received a letter from FSU, thin, nondescript. I ran inside to share with my wife the good news. She waited as I read the one page letter silently, watched as the childish grin faded from my face. “Looks like I need to start looking for a full time job,” was the first thing I said.
I sat in front of the computer for hours examining help wanted ads, not really getting excited about any of them. I thought what the heck am I supposed to do with a degree in creative writing other than write and go to college? As a student I would often fantasize about being in front of a class. I remember analyzing the teaching styles, both good and bad, of my most influential instructors. I remember thinking that it could be something that I could, would be good at. I love learning. Why not share that with students? And then I got to college, switched my major a half-dozen times, and forgot about it. But as I sat at my desk in front of my computer scouring page after page for jobs that I knew would leave me unfulfilled, the idea of being a teacher began to take more and more of my mental space.
I don’t believe in fate, but I do recognize convenient coincidences. Our neighbor at the time, a young woman, was just finishing up her beginning teacher training in our county. I inquired to her about the process of getting certified and she gave me some pointers on where to get started. With excitement, I turned to go register with the department of education. Who knew all one needed to get a temporary certification to teach in the state of Florida was a bachelor’s degree and an application fee? But as I flew up the steps into our house she called me back. “You can try talking with individual principals at all the schools in town, but it won’t really work.” She had poked a hole in my rapidly inflating hope balloon, and she saw it’s baby blue girth begin to sink. “What you need to do is apply for available positions on the county’s website, and then register for the teacher hiring fair. That’s where they will fill all their empty teaching positions.” The hole was plugged, but the balloon still hovered a little lower than before. “It’s two weeks away, so get moving. And show up early, it will be crazy.” With her help and endless amounts of encouragement from my wife, I got it done, and got a job. And in my second year I even got to teach creative writing, my dream job.
My plan was always to re-apply to grad school and get into the MFA program. My wife finished her undergrad and got accepted to her MSW program, and so we decided that we would take turns. Time passed, and I just finished the fourth year at my school. Though I love teaching, writing has always been my true passion. I completed all the necessary education studies to get my full certification and shunned the absurd redundancy of studying for an Ed. degree. My literary elitism drove me ever onwards toward the MFA, hell, maybe even study in film. But never education.
This summer I was invited to participate in National Writing Project’s Summer Institute at FSU. As a teacher of English and writing, and having heard the praises of this prestigious program, I enrolled. It is an interesting method of professional development that employs a model of teachers teaching teachers. It emphasizes the value of research based writing instruction and interaction with our peers. Over the month long program while working with other teachers and honing my own skills as a teacher, it became clear that I am pretty good at this teaching gig, and might be in it for the long haul. One of the best aspects of the Summer Institute is its dedication to pairing teaching method with personal writing time. A simply fact became clear: I can be a writer and a teacher at the same time. In fact, gaining credibility as a well established, well educated, experienced teacher could actually facilitate my writing goals. In fact, over the past year I have developed several ideas for education focused articles and research projects that I can develop into publishing opportunities.
A large impediment, however, is that I lack credibility in my field, not having an education degree or research history. So I swallowed my literary elitist pride, approached one of the leaders of the Summer Institute, and asked her how I might use some of these amassed education credits towards my Master of English Education degree. She knew my goals of attaining the MFA, smiled at me knowingly, and said simply, “Just get your Ph.D. in writing afterwards.”
Why didn’t I think of that?
Over the next week I scrambled to gather all the necessary materials. I wrote a crafty letter of intent, collected my necessary letters of recommendation, wrote a fresh resume with all of my education credentials and experience, called in a few favors since the application deadline had already passed, and by that Friday had applied. I am truly excited, more so than I have been about my career in a long time. I am confident about my opportunities as an educator, I am confident in my ever developing skills as a writer. I think I may have stagnated for a long time, never really coming to grips with the true disappointment that I felt in my rejection. I always told myself that it was the fault of my delinquency in turning in my MFA application so close to the deadline, and I never pursued it further. My wife is wonderful in that she has always pushed my in my endeavors. “Do you still want to be a writer?” she asks as I lounge on the couch, a dozen incomplete pieces of writing lingering in my computer. “Have you met your submission goals this month?” she asks as I begin a new writing idea, leaving another incomplete. When I told her about my intent to start this new plan, she smiled at me, excited, proud. “Please, keep on me about my writing,” I told her. “That is still my goal.”
So, now here I am in the summer, waiting for that letter once again.
Rated four and one-half stars for the possibilities of the future, making goals that are attainable, and being excited for the things to come. Would have been rated a perfect five stars if my acceptance were a sure thing. But then where would the excitement be?
graphics borrowed from Married To The Sea
