Well, it's here. Came in the mail last week. The coveted MFA diploma with my name delicately and proudly displayed upon it. And how am I to feel? What am I to do now?
The diploma brings with it a sense of relief, without a doubt. I did that, went through that workshop process, and it's over. I'm proud of it because it's an accomplishment. It required a great deal of work, a huge commitment, and some sacrifices. Though I know that it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't say that I'm a better writer, though I feel that I am. It doesn't really say that I know more than others. It says I did it, and it's a personal victory, of sorts.
Maybe it would be different if I was planning on really doing something with the degree. I'm not likely to teach. I didn't do the GTA thing and that sort of shuts me out from what is a competitive market to begin with. So, that piece of paper sits on my mantle for now, declaring...something, but I don't really know what.
Maybe it will at least serve as a reminder to keep writing.