Scott D. McLean, MD

For the better part of a year I’ve been thinking about an MFA in writing.

I have my reasons: fame, prestige, shortcut to the “influencer” merit badge, and all that. I write now, some, but some adult supervision would fix me right up.

How to start, how to plan?

After discussions with acquaintances and random strangers who hold this terminal degree (now that’s a bad adjective, given the medical connotations, as well as the thermodynamics), sad hours of sifting through MFA websites, and reading opinionated writers who simultaneously love and hate the MFA thing, I have decided to look very closely at 8 low-residency MFA programs. Low-residency seems like the best flavor, next to mint chocolate chip. The bi-annual residencies and student-professor interchanges sound exciting. The general time-burden – an intensive program designed to be done while you have a full-time job –  seems perfect, as retirement (shuffleboard, naps, fishing, sleeping late on Tuesday morning) is penciled in to be my full-time job.

To scrutinize these 8 MFA programs, here is my plan for each:

1. Attend a virtual open house.
2. Read the work of three faculty.
3. Interview one faculty member.
4. Talk to the program director.
5. Challenge program director to a game of Words with Friends.
6. Talk with a current student or a recent grad.
7. Then winnow the field to 4 programs, gather forces, and apply.

Shooting for a start date in early 2025.

If I can do 2 of these 6 for at least half the programs, I figure I’m in good shape. Already attended one VOH (virtual open house) and will attend another soon. No details or specifics about the eight MFA programs, but when I matriculate next year, I’ll let you know who was in the running and what program I chose. This may involve the use of tournament-style darts. Or I’ll detail how I failed.

 *  *  *  *

My reading this last week has included Land & People, a 110-page book of poems published in 1993 by my late friend, Albert L. Watson, III. When he was alive, I don’t think I knew how to read his work. Now, better.

I think Al would tell me I do not need an MFA. Maybe he’s right. You see here a photo of him. I took it many years ago when we were on a walk near St. James School in Washington County, Maryland.

This poem I picked because it was shorter than the others and I thought you may not have the patience. Maybe you do. In that case, my apology. If you want to see more of his poems, message me.

Nailing Shut the Homestead Farm is about New Hampshire, hard times, times past.

Nailing Shut the Homestead Farm

He has loaded what he had to pack

from el to barn; no coming back.

She has searched the rooms, a slender yield.

He scans at last the yard and field:

Good-bye for him long after dawn;

for her not long enough to tell

her home good-bye; good-bye the well

that glimmers in its shaft of stone-

the well sweep gesturing alone-

its shoulder and its upraised arm.

He is nailing shut the homestead farm.

The vacant house will face the lane

too humble for “Come home again.

Forget the frost; forgive the stone.

I cannot go on a house alone.”

They cross the dooryard, latch the gate,

pass by their infant under slate.

Maples wait beyond the wall,

impatient to recover all.