Scott D. McLean, MD

Very close to the summer solstice and half way through my one-year voyage between a full-time clinical genetics practice and something to do with writing. These Gap Year posts are my secret diary (OK, not secret secret).

Writers seem to be in their meeting season, though that may well be a year-long pastime. Recently I was at a local gathering of published authors who, on hearing that I, a newcomer, am interested in a low-residency MFA, enthusiastically tarred and feathered the idea that an MFA is necessary, advisable, or enjoyable. They made many fine points and shared their hard-won insights. I asked if anyone had an MFA, and a single hand went up. She had been quiet but, when asked, came to the defense of the terminal degree with clarity, balance, and grace. A few days later the director of one of the MFA programs I’m interested in called me to see if I had any questions, which I did. We talked for almost an hour. Upshot = I’m still planning to apply next month for a start in early 2025.

Meanwhile, the Gap Year needs a gap week or two. My high-energy alter ego has over-scheduled me. Submission boot-camp Tuesday nights, my regular monthly Veterans Writing Collective on Wednesday, and this coming weekend the Writers’ League of Texas Agents and Editor’s Conference, during which I will pitch my prescriptive nonfiction book to two agents and hang out with thousands of writers in Austin. Then in July a weekly craft seminar/workshop on fiction. Slowly I’m starting to build a writing community, meeting a few people every few weeks. I even made business cards! I’m also slow at reading, writing, and learning. The road ahead looks long and dusty. I’m taking a deep breath.

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We are also in awards season. End of school years, from pre-K to PhD. Seems like 3/8’s of the world is graduating or finishing this grade or that grade. There are ceremonies and accolades. Some people win the awards. Some do not.

For you winners: good job.

For you who did not win: OK. Fine. Most of you are probably happy for the winners and happy that at least you walked the stage. We are proud!! However, some of you, perhaps even those who look happy and gracious, secretly (sure – secret secret) suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous committees that failed to see your true mettle. You could have been a contender! But no.

You have the option to languish in every negative feeling there is and justify it with brilliant logic. Syllogisms! Do you really want that? Next you’ll be going into politics. Take a step back, see the impostor for who he is, and move on. Volumes are written on this topic. You may wish to contribute, but for today please remember. There is another path to the waterfall.

By the way: good job.

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To close, one of my favorites, memorized when I was 15, and a poem that alarmingly seems frequently mentioned in commentary on our current states of affairs.

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

 Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)