Sarah Ali

Founded in 1964, the three-year program at the University of Massachusetts offers degrees in poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. It provides partial funding through teaching associateships, which include a full tuition waiver, health benefits, and a stipend of approximately $24,000. Some students receive nonworking Rose Fellowships or MFA Fellowships, which carry stipends of approximately $26,000. Incoming class size: 20. Application deadline: December 15, 2021. Application fee: $80. Core faculty includes poets Peter Gizzi, Ocean Vuong, and Dara Wier and prose writers Noy Holland, Edie Meidav, Sabina Murray, and Jeff Parker.umass.edu/englishmfa

I applied to twelve programs, casting my net widely, honestly hoping that even would wait-list me.  I applied directly out of college and at the eleventh hour, so I narrowed down where to apply based on three factors: so-called prestige, funding, and GRE scores. I had a naive understanding of what an MFA even meant, so I didn’t consider Out of twelve, I was accepted to five, and wait-listed at two. Close to $900 for twelve programs.  In the end, I was deciding between UC Irvine and Amherst, and chose Amherst for a number of reasons. For one, it offered the most funding and granted me an additional fellowship for my first year, approximately $17,000 and a reduced teaching load, on top of the graduate teaching fellowship. I visited Amherst for the Juniper Festival and instantly loved the atmosphere—Amherst and the surrounding areas are quaint and very literary, and it felt special to have a poetry program so close to Emily Dickinson’s house. Ocean Vuong was also a recent addition to faculty, and I was relieved to see at the festival that so many POC were admitted alongside me. We had the chance to talk to current students about the climate of the program and appreciated their candor about the realities of being a writer of color in a predominantly white program and region. UMass wasn’t, and still isn’t, a perfect program in that regard, but there was definitely some comfort in knowing I wouldn’t be the only writer of color, and that I wouldn’t necessarily have to face the trials of an MFA alone. I received full funding through a graduate assistantship, and I also asked for more money and received it. Before applying, I scoured the MFA Draft Facebook group and forums like the Grad Cafe for advice, and the biggest takeaway was to ask, ask, ask. Ask for money, ask uncomfortable questions, ask for mentorship. When I was deciding between UC Irvine and Amherst, I asked Amherst if it could offer more money to make its offer more competitive with Irvine’s, and it did. I expected an MFA to include heavy mentorship and a tight-knit community, but it often felt like I was navigating the system on my own. Amherst is a three-year program, with ten to twelve poets admitted each year. There were a lot of us, and only three poets on faculty, so it felt like I had to compete for eyes on my work. During any given semester, someone was on sabbatical or had just won an award, which was wonderful, of course, but also made faculty feel inaccessible at times. Also, the program certainly admitted writers of color but didn’t necessarily go beyond that initial step to ensure there were systems in place to support us or ensure we felt heard and valued as writers and as students. Many of my more thematic workshops felt like mini families, particularly those I took with Dara Wier. Ocean Vuong also hosted a welcome potluck for writers of color during fall semesters to give us a chance to get to know one another away from campus, which made things a lot more comfortable. I was surrounded by brilliant writers and teachers, but fostering community in a large program is difficult, and I was lonely more often than not. I was surprised by the number of opportunities for professional development. I was able to obtain an additional administrative fellowship to help plan programming like the reading series and teach a digital storytelling course in the community, and there were constantly calls for additional teaching opportunities to gain real-world experience. And, of course, COVID-19 made the second half of my program entirely virtual. Western Massachusetts is unimaginably beautiful. The environment was so conducive to writing, to dreaming. I miss it constantly. Every word out of Ocean’s mouth was like scripture, and I was able to graduate with three years of teaching experience through the writing program and pull together a manuscript I believe is slowly becoming a book. Despite all the program’s challenges, I wrote ceaselessly, and learned how to continue writing beyond life in an institution. I was incredibly lonely—looking back, a big program was perhaps not the right choice for me. I shrink in larger settings and in spaces where I feel I must compete for time and attention, though I definitely learned, at least a bit, how to advocate for myself. Before my MFA I had read very little. The MFA taught me to read widely, to read even more closely that which I am resistant to or uninterested in—leaning into disinterest teaches me to better articulate my own poetics. My professors challenged me constantly to push beyond like/dislike and engage more deeply with a poem or a collection. I’m immensely grateful for this complete revitalization of my reading practice. Peter Gizzi hands out a reading list at the beginning of his workshops, and every week we were required to read one book of poetry, write a response to it, and write a poem either imitating it or in response to it. This practice is one that has proved more generative and thought-provoking than I could have imagined. I would explore the region more, take advantage of the countless university libraries in the area, and focus on making friends outside of my program. I would apply more carefully, with more consideration of faculty and less of so-called prestige. I also would have focused on applying to smaller programs, where I think I would have thrived. I learned so much from this program—how to advocate for myself, how to better articulate my interests and poetics, how to protect my time as a writer and as a woman of color. Not everyone wants to come into a program and learn on the job how to protect themselves, though, so definitely consider what it is you want out of an MFA and how to best ensure you get that. Higher education is taxing, exhausting, and lonely, so be selective as you apply, and ignore prestige. Be wary of programs with no faculty members of color, of current students who give you vague and sunny answers when you ask them questions about the atmosphere of the program. Ask for what you need—money, an extra semester of funding, summer money, job opportunities, independent studies. Ask for it all. And most important: If your program requires that you teach, remember that you’re there first as a writer. It’s so easy to get caught up in the demands of teaching, but be protective of your creative time and energy.