Originally presented as a virtual information session for prospective MFA students at California College of the Arts

Deciding whether to pursue an MFA in Writing can feel overwhelming. The investment is significant—both financially and personally—and the questions are endless. Will it actually make me a better writer? Is it worth the cost? What if I'm not ready?

As the chair of the MFA Writing program at California College of the Arts and a working writer myself, I've thought deeply about these questions. Along with my colleague Professor Aimee Phan, I want to share five compelling reasons why an MFA might be exactly what your writing life needs—plus one reason that should give you pause.

1. Finding Your Tribe: The Power of Literary Community

The most valuable thing an MFA provides isn't craft instruction or publishing connections—it's community. When you enter an MFA program, you're surrounded by people who understand something essential about you: that writing isn't just a hobby or career aspiration, but a calling you can't ignore.

These relationships last decades. Aimee still relies on readers she met in her program over twenty years ago. Despite different career trajectories and geographic distances, these connections endure because they're forged in the crucible of shared artistic struggle and growth.

In workshop, you'll never meet anyone who matches your passion for discussing a beautiful sentence or dissecting a story's structure late into the night. Your classmates become your first readers, your accountability partners, and often your lifelong friends. They're the people who truly understand what it means to sit down and do this work.

Beyond your cohort, you'll also encounter visiting writers, faculty mentors, and—at an arts college like CCA—painters, filmmakers, and designers who expand your understanding of creative practice. San Francisco's rich literary tradition adds another layer, connecting you to a broader arts community that has been nurturing writers for generations.

2. Mastering the Art of Feedback

Learning to give and receive critique is one of the most transformative aspects of MFA study. Outside a formal program, it's difficult to establish the consistent practice of sharing your work and opening yourself to honest feedback.

Your family and friends, though well-meaning, are often too kind. The insight of your peers and mentors—people who understand craft and can articulate what's working and what isn't—will push your writing to the next level.

At an arts college, critique is simply part of the culture. Painters pin up their work for group discussion; architects present their designs for review. This environment normalizes what can feel like a vulnerable, even frightening process. You learn that receiving feedback isn't personal rejection—it's professional development.

Not every workshop comment will be helpful, but even unhelpful feedback teaches you something about your work and your vision. You develop the ability to discern which suggestions serve your artistic goals and which to set aside.

3. The Crown Jewel: Mentorship

At CCA, every student receives four semesters of one-on-one mentorship—a level of individual attention that's rare in MFA programs. This isn't just about getting feedback on your writing; it's about learning to sustain a writing life.

In mentored study, you work with a faculty member to create an individualized plan for your writing and reading goals. You meet every other week to discuss pages, explore new authors, and address the practical challenges of maintaining a creative practice. Some students arrive with clear project goals; others use the time to explore different genres and discover their voice.

Your mentor becomes your guide not just through the program, but into the professional writing world. They introduce you to residencies, fellowships, and opportunities you might never have discovered on your own. Many of these relationships continue long after graduation—we've seen mentors introduce former students to their agents, blurb their books, and provide ongoing career guidance.

The reading component is equally transformative. Your mentor identifies the authors you need to encounter—perhaps Elena Ferrante's psychological insight or Joan Didion's precision—expanding your literary universe in ways that directly influence your own work.

4. Networking Without the Ick Factor

The word "networking" makes many writers uncomfortable. It sounds calculating, transactional—the opposite of authentic artistic community. But I've learned to reframe networking as generosity.

True networking isn't about getting ahead; it's about sharing resources and lifting up your community.

When I discover an opportunity that's perfect for a student or colleague, I share it immediately. This isn't strategic—it's natural when you're surrounded by people whose success you genuinely want to support.

The writing world has evolved significantly. There's less of the scarcity mindset that once dominated literary culture. As Aimee beautifully puts it, "So many more people are making pie—there's enough for everyone." When writers succeed, they create more opportunities for others.

Your MFA cohort becomes your professional network, but it doesn't feel like networking. It feels like friendship. These are people who celebrate your publications, recommend you for opportunities, and provide emotional support through the inevitable rejections and setbacks of a writing career.

5. Accountability That Actually Works

Writing requires discipline, and discipline is hard to maintain alone. The world doesn't want you to write—there are always more pressing demands, more immediate pleasures, more excuses to postpone the work.

An MFA program provides external structure: workshop deadlines, mentor meetings, reading assignments. You can't skip the work without everyone noticing. This accountability system helps you develop the habits that will sustain your writing life long after graduation.

Many of our alumni form post-graduation writing groups, continuing to meet regularly and share work years after leaving the program. They understand that accountability is the difference between having written and being a writer.

The concentrated work you accomplish in two years of MFA study often equals a decade of sporadic writing on your own. When you're accountable to a community that takes your work as seriously as you do, progress accelerates dramatically.

The One Bad Reason: Default Mode

Here's when you shouldn't get an MFA: if you don't know what else to do with yourself.

If you're thinking, "I might take this writing thing up," you're not ready. The investment—financial, emotional, and temporal—is too significant for casual interest.

An MFA is for people who have been hearing that persistent inner voice for years, the one that says you must do this work. You don't need to be a polished writer when you apply, but you need to be someone who can't imagine not writing.

Writing professionally requires tenacity more than talent. It demands the kind of commitment that sustains you through years of rejection, revision, and the daily challenge of creating something from nothing. If you don't feel that fire, that urgent need to tell your stories, wait until you do.

Making the Decision

Every student's path is different. Some work full-time while in the program; others are supported by partners or savings. Some write literary fiction; others explore hybrid forms or young adult fantasy. What unites our students is their serious commitment to the craft and their recognition that they need community to grow.

An MFA won't guarantee publication or career success, but it will give you the tools, community, and discipline to sustain a meaningful writing life. For writers who feel called to this work—who can't imagine doing anything else—those two years of intensive study, feedback, and artistic community can be transformative.

The conversation about MFA programs continues to evolve, with important discussions about accessibility, diversity, and pedagogical approaches. The best programs are those that recognize writing as both craft and calling, that honor diverse voices and experiences, and that prepare students not just to write, but to build careers and communities that center creative work.

If you're considering an MFA, ask yourself: Do I have that fire? Do I need this community? Am I ready to take my writing seriously? If the answer is yes, then an MFA might be exactly what your writing life needs.

Jasmin Darznik is the New York Times bestselling author of three books and chairs the MFA Writing program at California College of the Arts in San Francisco. Her forthcoming book, a novel set in Old Hollywood, will be published by Random House in 2026.