On (Not) Writing (Maybe): Working Through the M.F.A.

A few weeks ago, I did an informal poll amongst those in my M.F.A. program: how many people were full-time students and also had full-time jobs? The (very) unscientific results revealed that most people were solely concentrating on the degree, while others were working part-time, typically in a graduate assistant position or tutoring. I was left feeling a bit unsure. Had I made the right decision working full-time while completing my degree in three years? I had put off this dream of pursuing an M.F.A. for so long that I felt impatient to finally be here, ready to dive headfirst into the events, the writing community, the readings, my writing, and my cohort. I was finding that while I wasn’t struggling to keep up with the work per se, I was losing some of the free time that everyone needs to recharge and relax, the time creatives- and anyone really- need to produce. Was it time to face the fact that I would need to either find a part-time job or drop back to a part-time course load?

According to a 2018 report from Georgetown University’s Center on Education and the Workforce, “76 percent of graduate students work at least 30 hours per week.” Not surprisingly, the study found that those that worked were more likely to be “Black, older and female.” Ding! Ding! Ding! I had hit some sort of trifecta. It was clear then. I would need to quit my job and throw myself into my studies. I had just started typing my notice of resignation when an email reminder came through from my bank about my upcoming mortgage deduction. On my phone. From a phone company that expects payment each month. I sighed in frustration and took a deep breath- of the warm air provided to me by the nice electric company because they are paid in full for my usage. Not to mention the internet that allows me- as long as my payments clear- to attend school virtually in the first place. I quickly deleted my resignation letter before I hit send by accident.

So. Quitting was not an option. I started feeling sorry for myself. Then I remembered all the writers who worked while producing their masterpieces. Stephen King held a variety of jobs while attending college and after graduation before his big break with Carrie. Octavia Butler woke up at 2:00 AM every morning to write before heading to work. Toni Morrison also woke up early every morning to work on what would become The Bluest Eye before heading to her job editing textbooks. (There must be something in the morning air for Black women huh? Alexa, set an alarm for 2:00 AM!) All these famous writers were making me feel…even more sorry for myself. Obviously, if I cared enough, if I was passionate enough, I would find the time to get shit done. Isn’t that we’re told? We find the time for the stuff we value. It only takes twenty-one days to create a habit. What I needed was a self-help book!

Five hours later, I managed to pull myself out of the rabbit hole that is the world of self-help. Shudder. I know more than I ever need to about that industry. And this is how it happens. I’ll sit down to write or read or do a homework assignment but instead, I’ll allow myself the distractions of TikTok videos or playing with my dogs (they’re really cute though!) or watching the news or- y’all get it. How is it possible to find time for the mundane but struggle to respect the profound? Did I want this or not? I was allowing myself to get caught up in this weird headspace where I struggled to find quality time but when I did, I resented that time for being so regimented, so laser-focused on production. I could find time in my day. Granted, not a lot, but I could have it all. I could read, write, work, get involved, have free time, and play with my dogs.

More importantly, I needed to allow myself the space to not be perfect. Make a plan to write every day and then fail? That’s okay! Regroup and recharge. For me, writing has always transcended the explainable. I write because I have no choice. I write to make sense of my world. I write because it brings me joy. It is not an activity I ever want to treat like a mere checklist, that I approach grudgingly, that I slog through, that I complete and think “thank goodness that’s done!” Yes, I would love to write professionally, to make it so that I actually do what I love. That may not happen- and that’s okay. I have to ignore the statistics, the naysayers, drown out a world already created to lessen my voice- Black, female, queer, poor. I have to trust my instincts, believe that my path is perfect because it is created by me for me and is uniquely mine. I encourage anyone reading this to find that path and revel in how it’s been created solely for you, by you, and thus is perfection. Happy writing!

Serenity Marshall is currently pursuing her M.F.A. in Creative Writing at Old Dominion University. She is the mother of two Chiweenies. You can follow Serenity on Twitter @WritebySerenity