There’s not much that aspiring authors won’t do to increase their chances of a book deal. We engage in social media, join writing groups and professional organizations, hire publicists and formulate marketing plans, and even hit the conference circuit, and sometimes it feels like we’re still not doing enough. Add to that a hefty dose of insecurity about the quality of our writing or our professional network, and some writers begin to ask themselves, Is going back to school the answer?

The value of earning a master of fine arts (MFA) in creative writing has been the topic of scorching debates within the writing community. With the goals of improving writing skills, increasing career prospects, or earning the prestige associated with famous writing programs, writers of all stripes have pondered whether this is a worthy pursuit, given the time investment and potentially prohibitive costs. But the numbers seem to tell the story: now more than ever, both established authors and their aspiring counterparts are undertaking a postgraduate degree in creative writing.

The Rise of the MFA Program

“‘Explosive’ is the word routinely used to describe the growth of MFA programs in creative writing,” Cecilia Capuzzi Simon writes in her 2015 article “Why Writers Love to Hate the MFA” for the New York Times. “Iowa was the first, established in 1936. By 1994, there were 64. By last year, that number had more than tripled, to 229 (and another 152 M.A. programs in creative writing), according to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs. Between 3,000 and 4,000 students a year graduate with the degree; this year, about 20,000 applications were sent out.”

This same article also points to Stanford University professor Mark McGurl’s 2009 book, The Program Era: Postwar Fiction and the Rise of Creative Writing, which suggests that most of the “serious writers” since World War II have, in fact, earned an MFA. Dr. McGurl’s publication only fueled the MFA fire—resulting in a stampede of applicants vying for coveted places in notable programs.

The Benefits of an MFA Program

It’s safe to say that no writer labors under the delusion that universities are handing out book contracts along with diplomas—so why do people enroll in MFA programs? There are three primary benefits:

You’re immersed in a community that is completely focused on writing. There will be no other time in your life when pretty much every waking hour is devoted to thinking about writing, talking about writing, and writing itself. Everyone around you is there to do the exact same thing and will never be annoyed by the constant thinking, talking, and writing. (Even if you’d never get an MFA, you have to admit that this kind of sounds like writer utopia.)

You get dedicated time to write (guilt-free!). So many of us have to “steal” time to write—from family, from our day jobs, from friends and social engagements. Carving out this time for our writing life can induce feelings of guilt or irresponsibility. But if you’re enrolled in an MFA program, you now have a pretty airtight excuse to make writing a higher priority. After all, it’s “homework.”

In his article “An MFA Won’t Save Your Writing Career,” author T.S. Lowry acknowledges that his MFA brought him no closer to a book deal or to writing full-time, but he also calls it “the most fulfilling two-year span of my life.”

“The pressure was off while MFAing,” Lowry writes. “I didn’t need validation. I wasn’t worried about making more money, pleasing friends and family members, or placing a book on a B&N shelf. Now, that’s all I worry about.”

You get to network with established writers every day. A big draw for MFA programs lies in one of the most powerful tools for getting published: networking. Creative writing professors are extremely accomplished—publishing multiple books is typically an employment requirement—and some of them are even famous. Can you imagine taking a class every week from Joyce Carol Oates, Zadie Smith, or Jonathan Safran Foer? The students at New York University get to do just that. And in addition to having amazing faculty, many universities bring in high-profile visiting writers to give public readings and serve as guest lecturers or workshop leaders. The opportunities to learn from and meaningfully interact with the great literary minds of our time are unparalleled.

In short, enrolling in an MFA program won’t pave a direct path to publication, but it can increase your chances indirectly. “While it hasn’t made my career path to publishing novels any easier, it certainly improved my craft and my critical eye and opened doors in other aspects of my career,” author Jordan Rosenfeld tells The Write Life. “If you plan to teach, I think in a related field, an MFA is essential, but if you just want to improve your craft, you can do that through online courses and weekend workshops for a lot less money.”

If an MFA sounds like the right choice for you, check out Poets & Writers’ list of MFA programs. Consider factors like cost and location, and pay special attention to each program’s faculty list. To get the most out of your MFA experience, you’ll want to study with professors who write in your genre and/or have a similar writerly sensibility.

The Costs of an MFA Program

Now it’s time to take off the rosy glasses and talk about the less utopian qualities of postgraduate writing programs.

They’re expensive. According to a 2017 article on Literary Hub, you’ll pay an estimated total $124,000 (tuition and fees) for the two-year MFA program at Columbia University. The average cost to attend a full-residency MFA program is just over $20,000, while the average low-residency MFA (where you only have to come to campus a few times during your studies) costs just over $31,000. Those can be tough numbers to swallow.

There are opportunities for teaching assistantships in some programs that come with a tuition waiver and/or a monthly stipend, but you should apply for those with a clear understanding of the university’s expectations for TAs. Grading stacks of freshman composition essays can take a lot of time and energy away from your own studies and writing.

It’s hard to put the rest of your life on hold. Even if you come into a pile of cash and tuition is no problem, you may have children or aging parents who depend on you as a caregiver. You may have a day job that you need to keep because it provides a steady paycheck and health insurance. Graduate programs are rigorous and can easily become all-consuming, so an MFA may not be worth your money if you can’t truly invest the time.

They can create unrealistic expectations. Having dedicated time to focus on your writing is wonderful, but the reality of the writing life rarely follows suit. “The danger with MFA programs is that they train you to write in isolation but don’t always teach you how to fit writing into your real life, or even how to juggle writing with all the other aspects of your writing career,” writes author Gabriela Pereira in her book, DIY MFA. “Not only that, but external motivators like class assignments or thesis deadlines don’t teach you to pace yourself and build up the internal motivation you need to succeed in the long-term.”

Not all MFA cultures are the same. Another criticism of creative writing programs suggests that it’s impossible to proactively predict whether you will mesh well with your chosen program, your classmates (and workshop critics), or your professors. When you enroll in an MFA program, you’re essentially joining a very high-level, intense critique group and you’re about to open yourself entirely to this group of strangers. Some class cohorts are nurturing, supportive, and constructive and generate lifelong friendships and professional connections. Others can be ultracompetitive to the point of being cutthroat. Before you respond to any acceptance letter, it’s a good idea to visit the campus, spend some time with the current MFA students, and sit in on a class to get a feel for the culture.

In much of academia, there’s a stigma attached to genre writing. Another factor to consider is what kind of writing you’re interested in doing. Because while an MFA can usher you along the literary path, there are some kinds of books it is generally not interested in encouraging.

“Heaven forbid a writer in a traditional MFA program produces something commercial—or worse, genre fiction,” writes Pereira. “While a handful of MFA programs allow writers to study genre fiction or children’s literature, the majority still focus on literary work alone. If you want to write genre fiction, commercial nonfiction, or children’s books, you likely will not learn much about them in your MFA courses.”

If you’re a children’s writer or a genre writer and you’ve decided you want an MFA, the key is checking the faculty list on each writing program’s website. If a university employs professors who are children’s writers or commercial fiction writers, then that’s a good place for you. If all the instructors are literary writers and poets, then you probably won’t get the feedback and mentorship you need from that program.

Alternatives to an MFA Program

So what do you do if you’re not committed to earning an MFA but want to improve your craft? You have lots of options: local writers’ groups, regional writers’ workshops, retreats led by writers you admire, and short-term classes at a community college. Look for opportunities that will encourage you to commit to your writing and will generate constructive feedback.

“Set your own deadlines or use your writing group to set them and use any money you would’ve spent on an MFA to travel and explore,” Joselyn Linder recommends in “Is an MFA in Creative Writing Worthwhile?” “Go to events where agents and editors meet-and-greet with writers. Take classes you find online or in your town to help you write and learn how to sell it. Go to free book readings and launches. Bartend or work on a boat for two years to pay for your life, and consider it ‘research.’”

Another option is to explore other types of writing programs. Journalism, business writing, grant writing, and promotional writing courses and workshops can help you tighten up your writing skills. Even better, these programs offer a chance to keep writing while finding new ways to support yourself, without have to deal with an entirely different career path.

Committing to read critically is another suggestion. Most writers are bookworms, but sometimes it takes reading with a more analytical eye to show you what can be done … and what shouldn’t.

Final Thoughts

When considering an MFA, examine your priorities. “Can I afford this?” is the big question. Not everyone has the financial means not only to afford tuition but to forgo a paycheck during the course of the program. What is a writing degree worth to you? If you’re attracted to the prospect of a couple of years of committed work in a structured environment, it’s something worth considering. Looking to add a degree to your résumé? That’s another bonus.

But the MFA is not a career maker. Many grads find themselves returning to more traditional workplaces and using their degrees in fields like marketing or technical writing—or in some cases not working in writing-related careers at all. Which, it should be pointed out, won’t stop you from publishing books if that’s what you really want.

“You don’t need an MFA to write,” writes the “unidentified” MFA instructor in “How the MFA Glut Is a Disservice to Students, Teachers, and Writers.” “Unlike practicing medicine or law, there is no degree whose successful completion stands between you and your craft. You can write to your heart’s content in private, sell short stories to magazines, publish a book, publish fifty books, all without an MFA.”