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MFA Applications III: The Writing Sample

The writing sample matters. Know what to send, what not to send, when to send it, and for whom to ask for help. Read this guide—the competition is stiff.

Also known as The Only Thing That Really Matters in an MFA application, the writing sample is where you should be putting all your creative energy. It should represent your best work. But can it actually be made better in the few months leading up to application deadlines?


With MFA admissions folks, it’s more about seeking out and recognizing potential, rather than about expecting perfectly polished work. There’s got to be something at the heart of the work that’s purely you and speaks to the latent powers of the Future You after two or three years of intensive schooling.


But make no mistake, it’s got to be good. Competition will be stiff.


This guide in the MFA Applications series is a particularly tough one, because the writing sample is the most important piece of your package—yet it’s also the most personal. So what advice can I give you? Gleaned from personal experience, instructors, professors, articles, and program directors, here’s a shortlist of things to keep in mind.

Quality, not Quantity

Don’t push the 40-page limit if you have an absolutely clean 20 pager that you love. Or a 15-pager, for that matter. The risk is that a more mediocre second writing sample might let the air out of your transcendent shorter piece.


Receiving Rejection

You may only get into a few schools, or you may get into none, but don’t take it personally, and don’t give up on your writing. After you reach a certain level of competence, the admissions process is more a question of taste rather than a lack or abundance of technical skill. In other words, a work may be great, but not up the reader’s alley. All things being equal, admissions readers (like all first-line-of-defense readers) are going to recommend a piece they love, rather than a technically-proficient piece that doesn’t make a personal imprint.

The Importance of Feedback Pay for it if you can afford it, as long as the reader is someone you trust, or try to get it for free from friends, but good God, man, don’t submit without at least a second pair of eyes giving it a once-over. And not just for typos, but for content, flow, thematic power, characterization. Misplaced commas or misspelled words can be a huge irritant, but it may not be a deal killer if you’re the second coming of Michael Chabon. Stories that don’t make sense, or lack well-rendered characters, are a different case all together. In addition to yours truly, there are a number of people and consultancies that provide reading services—just ask Google. If you can...


Solicit feedback from someone whose sensibilities are similar to yours—someone whose suggestions consistently hit the mark without interfering with your story's intent.


This is very important. You don’t want the edits to change the core of your story, its meaning, the thing that makes it important to you. You’ll feel bad about submitting it, and if you don’t get in, you’ll always wonder if it’s because you sold out on the advice of someone you didn’t trust, whose instincts were different from your own.


Following Rules

This one was easy for me, being the anal retentive, OCD, rule-follower that I am. 40 pages means 40 pages. Times New Roman means – guess what - Times New Roman, not Courier. Paperclips don’t mean staples.


Pretty Words—Meh

Some, maybe many, maybe all, admissions readers aren’t content with beautiful passages and evocative descriptions. You need to strike an emotional chord. Magazine readers, agents, and editors say the same; in order to grab your reader, the work has to speak from deep inside your heart. Evocative and emotional resonance is important to demonstrate—because it’s harder to teach than the purely technical stuff. If you can come in with a unique voice and gutsy, emotional chops, someone's going to like you.


MFAs as Readers

It's true. Most—but not all—schools employ their currently enrolled students for a first pass at the appallingly-named "slush pile." I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Maybe some good stuff slips through. Or, one positive aspect of this process may be that the reader on the other side may not be too different than you. You’re relatively new to writing, and you’ve recently discovered you want to do it for a living. Your first-round audience may be, in fact, very much like you, therefore making your work more "relatable." But you and I know relatability is itself a fiction. No two MFAs are the same. Oh well. Either way, it is what it is.


Don’t Write Only for an Admissions Audience

That said, it’s not wise to write purposely for your audience, unless it’s true to your personal style. Don’t pretend to be dark because the director has a reputation for loving literary horror. Don’t keep it short only because a faculty member is a pioneer of flash fiction. And certainly don’t riff on styles of notable alumni only because you think it’ll catch their eye.


Write stuff that means something to you.


You can’t fake a love for your work, nor can you imitate someone else’s style with the same panache with which you deliver your own. And every reader is on the hunt for a sample that’s fun to read, beautifully and meaningfully rendered, and unique to you as a candidate.

 

Above all, I recommend getting on it ASAP. You need time to draft, edit, rewrite, get feedback, and repeat as necessary. You’ll want to plan ahead out of consideration for your readers, too. Don't ask your supporters to move mountains only because you’re procrastinating, you’ve lost track of time, or because you planned poorly. This is especially true if you’re asking the help of your busy friends on a pro bono basis.


Story coaches can get expensive, so if you’re going down the professional route, you’ll want to give the coach a clean draft, give her time to respond, and work out a revision schedule so she can comment on a second draft. Then when application deadlines start coming round, you can complete a final draft based on a couple rounds of feedback, at least. If you want to do more than a couple of major rewrites, you’ll need to pull the entire schedule in by a few weeks or months, depending on how quickly you can produce. Personally, I'm a slow writer, so I'd err on the side of more, rather than less, time. Once you lay out the schedule, it may appear to you that time is running out. And you would be correct.


It’s time to get serious!





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