When I first learned that I had been accepted into the MFA in Screenwriting program, I did the requisite Dance of Jubilation.
And then I had to tell my wife.
Don’t get me wrong. Wendy knew all about my application—she just never thought I’d actually get in. When I did, she covered well and was adequately supportive of the endeavor, just not very convincing.
Here is what I emphasized: it’s a world-renowned program, my writing will certainly advance to another level, I’ll be meeting so many great people, career opportunities can arise from it, it’s only two or three years, and finally, think positive, they’ll probably throw me out after the first quarter. Here is what she heard: I’ve found a mistress whose name begins with a U, I don’t plan on making any money or seeing you or our two young children for 2-3 years, now make me dinner and let’s celebrate! Which is all to say that to Wendy, MFA meant Move Family Aside.
Hence, for my sake and my family’s, I immediately scrambled for answers: “Can an MFA in Screenwriting student simultaneously commute to school from the San Fernando Valley, maintain some level of income, and give time to family?”
A sweet, soothing, experienced graduate counselor told me it has been done. I didn’t believe her. Three hardened, jaded student mentors told me they were doing it. I didn’t believe them, either.
Then, I arrived for orientation day, during which my fellow incoming first-years crammed into a room and were asked to briefly introduce themselves and their backgrounds:
“Hi, my name is Jennifer, and I have a newborn child in Orange County.”
“Hi, my name is Elizabeth, and I have two-year-old twins.”
“Hi, my name is Paul, and I’m commuting from Cleveland, where I have three children.”
And it went on like that for 20 minutes. At one point I doubted I was in the right room—it was beginning to sound more like a parent support group than a venerable screenwriting program. I didn’t believe any of us were going to make it.
But hey, I’m writing this a year later now, and, as of this week, I’m still in the program, still married, the kids still recognize me, and we haven’t filed for bankruptcy. I think I can say the same for my child-rearing peers. So, how did we do it?
A few tips for the married/parenting/working/commuting student on how to survive The Big First Year Adjustment:
COMPARTMENTALIZE YOUR TIME. When you are certain of your schedule for the quarter, sit down with yourself and then with your spouse or significant other and establish the regimen early on, so that there are no surprises. You will find that a week now seems like it lasts only a day, so parcel it out wisely and stick to it religiously: this is work time; this is family time; this is school time; this is “I have fangs for the two weeks before my script is due and I WILL bite” time.
TWO SPECIAL NIGHTS OUT PER QUARTER. It’s really a subhead to the above, but it warrants its own bullet. If you can do more than two nights out, I applaud you (oh, and can I borrow some money?). We found it crucial to have dinner and a movie or a concert to look forward to every few weeks (I recommend concerts since the noise drowns out the monologue about failed plot points and character conflict constantly running through your head). Map these celebrations out—perhaps one early in the quarter and one later on—and then keep them sacred.
UTILIZE THE SUPPORT NETWORK. I can’t say that—upon bumping into classmates on campus—the first words out of their mouths were always: “How’s the script coming along?” Learn from each other; vent to each other; take comfort that you’re not alone.
INVOLVE THE FAMILY. Much as I was relieved to discover that I wasn’t alone, your family might benefit from knowing the same about themselves. My wife appreciated meeting others in the program and, of course, commiserating with their spouses. Her nebulous vision of the program as some Nefarious Other slowly melted away as she began to meet real faces to accompany the names. When possible, jump at the opportunity to bring your family along to both casual and more formal occasions. To share the sense of accomplishment and to keep it tangible, I even created a checklist representing each quarter; my wife gladly checks them off upon completion.
CHANGE YOUR OIL. You can read into that however you wish. I meant for your car, before the quarter begins.
WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, COFFEE! My favorite aspect of the UCLA campus is not the beautiful sculpture garden, the comprehensive film archive and script library, or even Richard Walter’s stand-up routines ...err, “lectures.” No, I recommend checking out the Nescafe machines sprinkled about campus. Best buzz for your buck? Espresso roast, triple intensity, $1. There’s something they’re putting in there that’ll prop you upright for hours—and makes Richard’s “lectures” even funnier.
Certainly, you will have to Move Family Aside on occasion. There’s no way around it. But it can be done with minimal damage if you play your cards right. If you have any questions or concerns regarding the above, talk to the graduate counselor, your assigned mentors, or feel free to contact me—my wife should get back to you soon. Good luck.
And then I had to tell my wife.
Don’t get me wrong. Wendy knew all about my application—she just never thought I’d actually get in. When I did, she covered well and was adequately supportive of the endeavor, just not very convincing.
Here is what I emphasized: it’s a world-renowned program, my writing will certainly advance to another level, I’ll be meeting so many great people, career opportunities can arise from it, it’s only two or three years, and finally, think positive, they’ll probably throw me out after the first quarter. Here is what she heard: I’ve found a mistress whose name begins with a U, I don’t plan on making any money or seeing you or our two young children for 2-3 years, now make me dinner and let’s celebrate! Which is all to say that to Wendy, MFA meant Move Family Aside.
Hence, for my sake and my family’s, I immediately scrambled for answers: “Can an MFA in Screenwriting student simultaneously commute to school from the San Fernando Valley, maintain some level of income, and give time to family?”
A sweet, soothing, experienced graduate counselor told me it has been done. I didn’t believe her. Three hardened, jaded student mentors told me they were doing it. I didn’t believe them, either.
Then, I arrived for orientation day, during which my fellow incoming first-years crammed into a room and were asked to briefly introduce themselves and their backgrounds:
“Hi, my name is Jennifer, and I have a newborn child in Orange County.”
“Hi, my name is Elizabeth, and I have two-year-old twins.”
“Hi, my name is Paul, and I’m commuting from Cleveland, where I have three children.”
And it went on like that for 20 minutes. At one point I doubted I was in the right room—it was beginning to sound more like a parent support group than a venerable screenwriting program. I didn’t believe any of us were going to make it.
But hey, I’m writing this a year later now, and, as of this week, I’m still in the program, still married, the kids still recognize me, and we haven’t filed for bankruptcy. I think I can say the same for my child-rearing peers. So, how did we do it?
A few tips for the married/parenting/working/commuting student on how to survive The Big First Year Adjustment:
COMPARTMENTALIZE YOUR TIME. When you are certain of your schedule for the quarter, sit down with yourself and then with your spouse or significant other and establish the regimen early on, so that there are no surprises. You will find that a week now seems like it lasts only a day, so parcel it out wisely and stick to it religiously: this is work time; this is family time; this is school time; this is “I have fangs for the two weeks before my script is due and I WILL bite” time.
TWO SPECIAL NIGHTS OUT PER QUARTER. It’s really a subhead to the above, but it warrants its own bullet. If you can do more than two nights out, I applaud you (oh, and can I borrow some money?). We found it crucial to have dinner and a movie or a concert to look forward to every few weeks (I recommend concerts since the noise drowns out the monologue about failed plot points and character conflict constantly running through your head). Map these celebrations out—perhaps one early in the quarter and one later on—and then keep them sacred.
UTILIZE THE SUPPORT NETWORK. I can’t say that—upon bumping into classmates on campus—the first words out of their mouths were always: “How’s the script coming along?” Learn from each other; vent to each other; take comfort that you’re not alone.
INVOLVE THE FAMILY. Much as I was relieved to discover that I wasn’t alone, your family might benefit from knowing the same about themselves. My wife appreciated meeting others in the program and, of course, commiserating with their spouses. Her nebulous vision of the program as some Nefarious Other slowly melted away as she began to meet real faces to accompany the names. When possible, jump at the opportunity to bring your family along to both casual and more formal occasions. To share the sense of accomplishment and to keep it tangible, I even created a checklist representing each quarter; my wife gladly checks them off upon completion.
CHANGE YOUR OIL. You can read into that however you wish. I meant for your car, before the quarter begins.
WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, COFFEE! My favorite aspect of the UCLA campus is not the beautiful sculpture garden, the comprehensive film archive and script library, or even Richard Walter’s stand-up routines ...err, “lectures.” No, I recommend checking out the Nescafe machines sprinkled about campus. Best buzz for your buck? Espresso roast, triple intensity, $1. There’s something they’re putting in there that’ll prop you upright for hours—and makes Richard’s “lectures” even funnier.
Certainly, you will have to Move Family Aside on occasion. There’s no way around it. But it can be done with minimal damage if you play your cards right. If you have any questions or concerns regarding the above, talk to the graduate counselor, your assigned mentors, or feel free to contact me—my wife should get back to you soon. Good luck.