Today I printed out my thesis, tomorrow I turn it into the Writing office at the New School. After months of hard work, it’s done, it’s finished. It’s weird holding the printed, bound copy in my hands. It feels so final, like the end of an era, but it’s only a quarter of the book, so it’s really just the beginning. In fact, over on our class blog, we’ve been having a debate about MFA programs and the fact that most grads, this one included, don’t come out of the two or three year stints with an actual completed work.
Still, next week we graduate. This is my third thesis, and at 90 pages, actually the shortest one. I did one my senior year at Rutgers for the Honors program, then a script and paper for the MA program at New York University, and now this MFA thesis, which is a big chunk of a novel-in-progress, along with a critical component. It feels a bit anti-climactic, honestly. I’m beating myself up a bit about being one of those aforementioned countless MFA grads who don’t have a full novel to show for myself yet.
But there’s much to look forward to this summer — a lot of writing ahead of me. I’m still waffling on what to commit to first, but knowing that I have options and ideas and all these stories I’d like to tell is heartening, especially given how long I went about telling people that I simply didn’t “have a novel in me.” Now I feel like I have dozens. And as far as degree programs go, that’s a pretty positive take-away.