Category: Higher Ed

On Directing a Writing Conference

~ plainswriter ~ Leave a comment

In my position as an assistant professor of English, I have the privilege of directing the Windhover Writers’ Festival. I already serve as editor of Windhover: A Journal of Christian Literature, and the festival is an extension of the journal, a festival held every February at my school: University of Mary Hardin-Baylor.

This is my second year at the helm of the festival, and my third year editing Windhover. The festival is a time-consuming responsibility that involves a year of planning before the intense three days of the actual festival. I enjoy serving as director for many reasons, but I’ll list just five here:

1) Bringing great writers to the campus to give readings and lead workshops. It’s a treat to read the works of talented writers and then meet them in person.

2) Seeing my vision for the festival become a reality. It’s one thing to edit a journal and bring together different voices in print, and it’s another to bring together different voices and hear them read aloud.

3) Watching my students interact with the festival attendees and featured writers. It’s special to read students’ responses, to hear their reactions, to participating in such an event.

4) Meeting the festival attendees, some who have attended for years, others who are attending for the first time. It’s exciting to meet new folks just as it is encouraging to see the familiar faces.

5) Experiencing an event wherein both writing and faith are taken seriously. It’s stating the obvious, but I’d say there are not many places where this occurs.

And even as I’m processing those intensely joyful three days, I’m already thinking ahead to next year, making plans.

On My Alma Mater Dissolving its MFA in Creative Writing

~ plainswriter ~ 2 Comments

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.

Done With School (Sort of)

~ plainswriter ~ Leave a comment

Now I can write about whatever I want: there are no assignments from other professors, no assigned books to read.  I can read whatever I want to.  That freedom is overwhelming and scary.  With the exception of three years off while my wife attended graduate school, and the one semester I took off while working on my master’s degree, I had been in school continually from age 5 through 34.  That’s crazy.

Of course, I still measure my life by the semester, by the yearly academic calendar, but gone are the assignments that I have to complete for any kind of grade.  As a professor, I have my share of paperwork to fill out, I have reports to write, I have assigned tasks to complete, but nothing like having to read Lacan and to be expected to discuss his ideas in a coherent manner.

In some ways, it’s a little sad being finished, partly because I’ve always enjoyed school, partly because I miss the conversations with my professors, both in and out of class.  There’s also the camaraderie one experiences in grad school, as the workload creates an environment of mutual suffering.  Just kidding.   Perhaps that’s true for some people, but I didn’t often complain about the work I did in grad school, even at the doctoral level.

See, I took my current job after having finished three years in my program.  I saw the ad, wavered for weeks on whether to apply, finally did, and then was offered the job.  However, I still had to take one more class, take three written exams, orally defend my exams, and construct and defend a dissertation.  Because I had been ahead of the game, I already had a solid idea of what would be in my dissertation, a collection of short-fiction.  So when people asked how my first full year was, I said I didn’t have an accurate picture; I said I’d know better once I was no longer both a student and a full-time professor.

I survived the first year, mostly through God’s grace, and also from the grace, patience, and encouragement my wife exhibited.  Through the toughest stretches, I was determined not to be one of the people who land the job but never complete the degree.  I’d come too far not to see it through, no matter how strenuous it might be.

So come this fall, I’ll start to experience what it’s like to be a professor, without trying to finish up a Ph.D.  I can’t wait.