On My Alma Mater Dissolving its MFA in Creative Writing

A few days back, I learned that the M.F.A. in Creative Writing program from which I graduated in 2004 was being eliminated. Of course, this saddened me. People often point to defining periods in their lives, and for me, the three years I spent in that program helped shape me in so many ways.

Entering the program, I was, by far, the weakest writer of the bunch. That much was clear to me after the first week. I remember my first workshop class, and I was humbled by the work of my peers–not only those further along in the program but also those who were first-year folks such as I. Nonetheless, my peers and professors offered me what I needed most: honest criticism aimed toward my betterment as a writer. And because the criticism was honest, it was, no doubt, difficult to hear at times. How can I forget, for example, the time that one of my peers, Terry Ruud, spent an hour and a half of his Friday night with me seated at his table as he went through my story with line-by-line edits and comments?

I learned the discipline of writing, I learned the craft of writing, I learned the skills of reading as a writer. And I did this in a close community of professors and peers who took writing seriously, who continually set aside their preferences and tastes, and all with the end goal of improvement. I received so many book recommendations, so many author recommendations. Many of favorite writers (Tim O’Brien, Ann Beattie, Richard Ford, Louise Erdrich, Ron Carlson, Billy Collins, Ted Kooser, Mary Karr, Mary Oliver, Annie Dillard, etc., etc., etc.) I first discovered via my MFA program.

In magazines and online posts, I’ve read plenty of horror-story articles about bad MFA experiences, and I can only say that my experience was anything but that. It was glorious.

I’ve published several of the poems that I wrote during my time there, and just last month I received an acceptance for another one (nine years after it began in an MFA workshop). A novella that served as the anchor piece of my dissertation (a short-story collection) was originally drafted as a story in another MFA workshop.

Finally, the program may cease, but its impact upon me and the memories I made will not cease.

Music Appreciation #2

As I said at the start of the series, I’m not attempting the impossible task of ranking these musical artists.  This entry is focused a more recent musical discovery I made.

God Is An Astronaut

What?  Did he mistype that name?  Nope, I did not, dear reader(s).  I discovered this band while using Pandora as I was steadily compiling a station of instrumental rock.  I then found all of their albums on Spotify, purchasing three of their albums shortly thereafter:

“All is Violent, All is Bright” (2005)

“Age of the Fifth Sun” (2010)

“God is an Astronaut” (2008)

I’ve always been a fan of instrumental music, especially classical and jazz, but I was intrigued to hear a band structure a song as a more “standard” rock composition minus vocals.  But I should add a qualifier.  The main guitarist, Torsten Kinsella, uses vocal effects, “singing” at various points.  And he has about a billion different guitar effects’ pedals that he uses.

Image

Here’s a nice pic of his collection from which he drew for their newest album, Origins, which was released at the end of August.  The new album, just as their previous work, is emotional, melodic, and cinematic.  They can rock, but they can also be soft and subtle.  Another important aspect of their music, is that all of us (the wife and the kids) can agree on it.  A band that can satisfy four different listeners must be doing something right.  🙂

So where might you start?  I’m glad you asked.  Here’s a couple of my favorite GIAA tunes:

“Echoes” from God is an Astronaut

“Remembrance Day” from All is Violent, All is Bright

A full concert from 2011.

Here’s my favorite song from the new album: “Red Moon Lagoon.”

Music Appreciation #1

So the blog is in desperate need of regular updates with meaningful (to me, anyway) content. I realize this. I’m going to start regularly posting pieces that are directed toward both influential writers and musical artists, and in no particular order.

THE BYRDS

I’m not 100% positive, but I’m pretty certain that I first heard their rich harmonies and ringing guitars in my dad’s elementary school classroom.  I was 3 or so, and for several years after, whenever I went to my dad’s classroom to “help” him (cleaning chalkboards I’m sure, among other tasks), I regularly asked to hear The Byrds on his record player.

“Turn, Turn, Turn” is, of course, my favorite song of theirs.  On that same album was my other favorite song, “He Was a Friend of Mine,” a reference to JFK.  My dad would also play the Mr. Tambourine Man album, with its title song probably my third-favorite Byrds’ song.

I haven’t listened to The Byrds much since that early time in my life, but their arrangements, their vocals, their sense of melody has stayed with me.  And whenever I happen to hear them randomly on the radio, I’m taken back to that classroom that smells of chalk, of wood floors, of dust, of memory.