Master of Fine Arts (Fiction)

Under Construction

The Institution

The Application Process

The Costs

The First Year

The Second Year

The End or Not:

The Post-MFA Survival Guide: Or, How to Set Goals Without Dying of Existential Dread
Congratulations, Antoinette! You did it. You survived two years of relentless workshops, mesmerizing webinars, passive-aggressive peer critiques, and the crushing realization that literary fame is as attainable as a 100% vaccination rate. Now, you stand without a parachute at the precipice of the writerly abyss ready to swallow you in its competitive maw. Your Significant Other, your receptionist, friends, sisters, the weird neighbour with the binoculars, and Mof the Doodle all expect you to hatch a plan beyond "I think I'll write a novel and hope someone notices." You count your pennies and make your accountant shudder in awe at your folly: Earnings from writing in 2024: $820. Costs for MFA for 2024: $13473.97.
Welcome to post-MFA goal setting: an elaborate exercise in convincing yourself that your degree was a strategic career move and not just an expensive way to avoid drowning in the boredom of being a member of the bourgeoisie. Really? You really thought an MFA would bring you closer to winning the Booker? Child, you weren’t even shortlisted for the CBC Non-Fiction prize. Get real. Really.
Connections: The Delicate Art of Literary Schmoozing
Connections in the literary world are to success what ketchup is to fries. And by connections, I mean the unholy blend of networking, occasional grovelling, and strategic flattery. The writers who claim "It's all about the work" are either liars or already have a Governor General’s Award. The real question is: which connections do you, dear Antoinette, a fresh MFA survivor, need to nurture and develop? Let me help you with my list of infinite wisdom, built from bitter experiences gathered during my pilgrimage on the lone road of writing woes:
  •  Agents and Editors: Because someone has to champion your genius. And don’t think just because an agent asked for your manuscript during your pitch session, that you have bypassed the elitist system of agent representation with your charming pitch. Remember what I said about getting real. Poor thing, you.
  • Professors and Mentors: Because they have power, wisdom, and, most importantly, contacts.
  • Other Writers: Because writing is lonely, and no one else understands your tax deductions.
  • Readers: Because publishing into the void is just sad.
Specific Steps for Successful Schmoozing:
  • Attend literary events—yes, even that poetry reading in that café with the roaches in that dodgy part of town where the only seating is upcycled crates and poor quality pot.
  • Email past professors/teachers/mentors/janitors with updates that subtly scream, "Remember me when you hear of opportunities!"
  • Engage with fellow writers on social media—like, comment, share, and pretend to be deeply moved by their Substacks, Insta, Threads, Tweets, Facebooks, Websites, and so on and so forth.
  • Submit work widely, not necessarily because you’ll get published, but because rejection builds character. Or leads to jumping into the abyss without a parachute. But for the desperate jumping tendencies, come see me. I’ll give you Prozac. No better psychological parachute has ever been invented than Mr. P.
Skills: Because Apparently, Writing Isn’t Enough
Despite spending years (okay, two) honing your craft, it turns out that being a good writer isn’t the sole requirement for success. Who knew? There are other skills to build, including:
  • Self-Promotion: Otherwise known as "the dark art of marketing yourself without seeming desperate."
  • Grant Writing: Because the Canada Council for the Arts has money, and you’d like some. And by the way, you’d also like to know who got that big grant thingie that you didn’t apply for because you were working and missed the deadline.
  • Public Speaking: Because readings are inevitable, and you have to learn how to project your voice above the snoring coming from the front row. And please. Please. Do not dress like the average frump, and for everybody’s sanity, get rid of the grey in your hair. The starving artist trope is out of fashion.
  • Editing: Because sometimes, other people’s work pays the bills.
Specific Steps for Self-Promotion and Making Moola:
  • Take an online course in grant writing or, better yet, trick someone into mentoring you.
  •  Force yourself to do Instagram live readings to Mof the Doodle. At least that way, you’ll have an audience of one.
  • Volunteer as a beta reader or editor to sharpen your skills and possibly make enough to fly business class.(See bourgeoisie above.)
  • Read every book on marketing written by people who clearly enjoy selling things. Sleep with The Business of Being a Writer under your pillow. Bless Jane Friedman.
Supports: The Things Keeping You from Flinging Yourself into the Abyss (without a parachute, blah blah blah)
Writing is lonely. Publishing is brutal. The existential dread is relentless. Therefore, it’s crucial to have a support system built with concrete and rebar. The key supports you need, dear, dear Antoinette, include:
  •  Financial Support: Because "starving artist" is a branding gimmick, not a career plan. And who will pay for your roots and Botox?
  •  Emotional Support: Because impostor syndrome is real, and it whispers cruel things. At least you are ahead of the game: you already have an Emotional Support Animal. Look at you go!
  • Professional Support: Because even geniuses need editors.
  • Community Support: Because hurtling into the void is more fun with friends. And even though your neighbour is weird, you need him for shovelling snow.
Specific Steps for Support, emotional or otherwise:
  • Do not give up your day job. You need it to give your writing some le-gi-ti-ma-cy.
  • Join a writing group that is more "supportive critique" and less "disdainful dissection." Yours is fine. Don’t aggravate them with your existential wailings.
  • Apply for every grant, fellowship, and residency that exists. This way you will have no time to write and, therefore, be unable to fail. Keep journals about Yoga, Medical Expenses, Recipes, The Weird Neighbour, Writing Practice, Funny Adverbs, Bees, and Beautiful Conversations. Attend sleep-inducing webinars on pseudo-psychological woo-woo. Ditto the above about time and writing.
  • Identify a trusted group of humans who will stop you from deleting your novel in a fit of self-doubt. See above about writing group.
The Next Big Writing Project: Because Apparently, You Have to Keep Doing This.
What’s next? A novel? A memoir? A series of deeply ironic haikus? Whatever it is, it requires a game plan.
Specific Steps for Writing the next GOAT novel.
  • Do your research, it goes smoother when it happens on a beach somewhere. Avoid falling into the clutches of Crypto Kings and the Dark Web.
  • Set deadlines that you will absolutely ignore but feel guilty about missing. Guilt is essential to perpetuating writerly angst and infusing your work with...angst.
  • Establish a writing schedule that lasts a full week before collapsing under the weight of reality.
  • Figure out what caffeinated beverage will sustain you this time around. Stop your snobbish Starbucks fetish. Homebrews are in.
And there you have it: a foolproof, completely infallible post-MFA goal-setting strategy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rework my Artist Statement for the fiftieth time because, apparently, "Just trying my best" isn’t considered professional and will get me a B for my assignment.

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