real men don't look at explosions

So, you know those movies where the main character can just walk away from an explosion without looking back? As if explosions were the equivalent of a ringing telephone and a birthday candle.

I would think, in real life, one wouldn't be able to do that. Unless of course they really did see explosions all the time. Until they were so desensitized that explosions became commonplace.

I've never seen an actual explosion of movie proportions. But I have had what feels like explosions happen on such a frequent basis in my life that I'm learning to walk away from them unflinchingly. Like a real man. Or woman. Preferably woman.

This week's explosion:

In addition to lasting a week with $4 in my checking account and not much more going in, I also had the relationship I'd been cultivating out of the eye of the blog (until I could be really, really sure it would last) come to an end in a very sad and slightly bitter way. And then, of course, there came the point when I realized I wouldn't be able to start into my MFA program after all.

Not sure what more to say about the first two, but the third part I can address.

First of all, I promise I am NOT giving up on my dream. I counseled with a few trusted friends and a few writers I deeply respect and they all agreed I wasn't being a dream quitter either.

It simply came down to money. Stupid, stupid money.

I knew that $50,000 would be a LOT of money to go into debt over to complete the 3 year degree. But I felt at peace taking it on. Then, the final tuition bill came in the mail, along with what I could be offered in financial aid.

Turns out, with airfare, books, insurance (required and currently not had by me), and a small cost of living stipend to cover days I will miss working--it would end up being closer $70,000 to complete.

$70,000. About a third of it not covered by subsidized or unsubsidized loans but with direct PLUS federal loans which have a higher interest rate and less chance of anyone understanding if you're late on a few payments.

That would be in addition to my mortgage. And my second mortgage.

A van nearing its last leg (or wheel.)

And four kids.

And their never ending growing feet and hair and stomachs.

I just couldn't see putting my family in that kind of debt, no matter how very, very much I wanted to go study at Pacific. Not with the government showing no mercy in loan collection. Not with MFA adjunct teaching positions much more scant around here than I thought.

I would be severely in debt in for the next 30-40 years. And if I never marry, I don't know that I could shoulder it alone. And if I do marry, would someone really want to take on a woman with $250,000 in debt?

You know what though, I'm ok. Really. I got a rare 8 hours of sleep on Thursday night and woke up with this feeling that it was just as ok for me to not pursue the MFA as it was for me to originally decide to.

The thing is--an MFA wasn't my dream as much as the final product of it: Being the best writer I could be. Having a complete collection of publish-worthy short stories. Maybe a novel. And THAT I can do on my own, I think. Here's the deal:

*I was ready to devote myself to 25 extra hours a week of school work. I can easily put that 25 hours into writing. I don't need school deadlines to hold a fire under my feet. I have been and will continue to be highly self-motivated.

*I drafted a plan of 25 books and essays I wanted to read this semester. I know how and what to read to improve my craft. I will complete the plan this semester, and draft a new one next semester.

*I soooo badly wanted to study with a few key faculty members at Pacific, namely Benjamin Percy, Pam Houston, and Marvin Bell. Instead, I will study their works more in depth and try to draw off them in that fashion.

*I wanted to embed myself into a community of quality writers, when--truth is--I'm already embedded into a pretty incredible community of writers here. I've studied under and remained close to Alan Heathcock, J. Reuben Appelman, and Christian Winn. I can continue to call on them for advice from time to time.  I'm active in workshops with people I admire and trust. I have the privilege of interviewing local and national writers and publishers on a weekly basis on my radio show. This is a good base to build off.

*I wanted to be the best writer I could be. And I still can be. I know the process. I know what I am capable of. I know how to push myself.I have five stories completed. I have five outlined and/or started. It will be a different path to getting there, but I will get there.

So, over the next three years, I commit myself to :

1. 25 hours of writing a week.
2. To attending conferences, including 'auditioning' for Tin House.
3. To publishing in three literary journals.
4. To holding a completed manuscript in my hands by the end of June, 2015, along with a list of agents to send it to.

And, if after a year I don't think I'm making sufficient progress, I can apply to funded MFA programs again and/or work to save up to complete Pacific's program (still no other place I'd rather go) and/or apply to regular Master's programs which aren't as comprehensive as MFA programs, but less expensive to complete and with some of the same benefits.

For now, it will have to be sufficient that the #4 school in the nation saw enough potential in me to let me in.

Am I sad?

Yup.

Am I disappointed?

Yup.

Do I wish it could be some other way?

Yup.

But, I don't know what else to do.

I hope you aren't disappointed in me.

I know I had a lot of cheerleaders.

And one of these days maybe I'll actually get things right.

But I'm walking away from this explosion--all the parts of it--with my bandaged heart and dreams. Not looking back.