On the Dangers of Sacrificing for Your Art: Dan Moreau

The other day my wife and I had a serious talk, the kind of talk where both parties need to be sitting down, the kind of talk where tears are shed. The gist of the talk was this: Should I keep pursuing this creative writing “dream?”By dream I mean finding a full-time job teaching creative writing at the college level. For a long time, that was my goal. That’s what writers I knew did for a living and that’s what I enjoyed doing most outside of writing. Color me naïve, but it’s taken me almost a decade to realize that that dream, well, it’s a pipe dream. Not to say that I’ve given up, but that dream is becoming more and more unlikely given these two basic facts: I don’t have a terminal graduate degree and I don’t have a book under contract with a major New York publisher. I’m sure you could pick apart my CV and find other reasons why I can’t find a college-level teaching position, but those two glaring facts remain.

In the decade I spent pursuing that dream, I’ve made a lot of sacrifices. I took part-time odd jobs. I didn’t have health insurance. I couldn’t provide for my wife. I went back to school for two years and got a master’s in English with a creative writing emphasis. At the time I didn’t know the difference between an MA and an MFA, the all-too-crucial difference between a non-terminal and terminal degree. That one letter has made all the difference. That one letter has made me ineligible for many teaching jobs. I may not have the best credentials, but given my lack of a terminal degree I can’t even apply. Department heads have told me that my lack of a terminal degree is a problem. I want to tell them: It’s just one letter. I completed the requirements on par with most MFA programs. I took two years of workshops and literature classes and submitted a creative work for my thesis. But the real burn is this. This is what keeps me up at night. The program I graduated from is now MFA program. That’s right. My alma mater discontinued my degree. You can’t even get my degree if you wanted it. It no longer exists.

On the other hand, I know getting a terminal degree won’t solve my problems. There are plenty of unemployed MFAs and an MFA is by no means a guarantee to a teaching job. At the same time, I wish I had at least a shot at these jobs. I’m starting to regret all the effort, time, energy and money I’ve invested in my writing. As minor as my successes have been, writing hasn’t paid many dividends. I never got into writing for the money. But I always expected some kind of payoff, namely a teaching job.

This is not to say that I’ve given up on writing, not that anyone would care if I did. But what I would say is this: before you get an MFA, before you spend $20 on a contest entry fee, think seriously about what you’re sacrificing for your art. Is it worth it? I will continue writing and sending out my work in brown clasp envelopes to editors. But it’s time to wake up. It’s like a Janet Jackson song. What has writing done for me lately? I’ve dealt with a lot of rejection and spent ten years chasing a dream. What do I have to show for it now? A few journal publications. It’s always nice to get a piece accepted for publication but unfortunately that doesn’t pay the rent or put food on the table. Creative writing is a dream worth pursuing, but at least for me it’s time to quit tilting at windmills. I’m sorry, creative writing dream. It’s over. It was fun while it lasted.

Dan Moreau’s nonfiction appears in LAR Issue 7.