It’s finally finished. I pressed submit on UEA’s evision portal at 23.02, and watched the blue wheel of doom make its stilted but irrevocable revolution into cyberspace. My MA dissertation was an oral psychogeographic epic poem, walking the coastline from Seaham to Redcar exploring the interplay between the region’s industrial past and the present day, using objects washed up on the beach as spring boards for fictionalised voices and weaving poetry with photography. Written predominantly from the perspectives of women, the poem was also a critique of the perceived gendered connotations of canonical psychogeographical texts.

Once uploaded, I felt the inevitable rush of relief from the stress of the last three months: the sudden surrender to Peroni and Kit Kats. Yet, also, a flooding sensation of trepidation. This piece of writing is the culmination of year’s study, of a considerable amount of self-doubt and an unprecedented sense of creative pride; I wanted—I want—these emotions to dissolve into a good grade. But is that all that validates the degree? I’d like to share my thoughts on the past year.

The Scepticisms

This is not an article about the practical applications of a degree in creative writing versus the sciences. (That is a whole other debate.) It is, rather, an exploration of some of the benefits an MA in creative writing can bring to a writer. The most frequent scepticisms about creative writing degrees I hear come, surprisingly, not from scientists but from other writers, and the most popular argument is that creative writing can’t be taught, only developed through good practice and extensive reading in your genre. The second contention is that you have to subjugate your writing principles and, by extension, your integrity, to the perceived preferred styles of a particular school or vogue.

Creative Immersion.

Whatever the reason for the feeling of resentment some writers harbour towards the formal study of their craft, I think a lot of the concerns could be dispelled if we altered our approaches. What if it were called Creative Immersion? Let me explain.

The Positives: Time to Write.

Thanks to the student loans that are (for the moment) still available for postgraduate study, I was able to finance setting aside a year to pursue my writing seriously. I was lucky enough to do this without the responsibility of a full time job, without anyone to look after. I recognise that this opportunity is not possible for everyone and that it is a position I will never be in again.

I wrote early in the morning after my run along the Wensum. I wrote between seminars at Frank’s Café, in the shaky-handed rush that comes from good espresso. I wrote late at night, under the slightly hallucinogenic effects of the amitriptyline I was on briefly for insomnia. I spent my days in the winter on the top floor of the library ensconced in my grandma’s jumpers, watching the slow colour of the sky, and nodding at Anthony Gormley’s sculpture, its toes peeping over the edge of the roof, as I left through the automatic doors. (I never knew if the statue was designed to be an angelic or suicidal presence.) I had never been so productive.

Opinions of Other Writers.

The second aspect much in favour of studying creative writing is the supervision by writing professionals and opinions of peers. Tutors suggest reading on an individual basis which helps with certain aspects of your work. You have free access to all of these resources in the library. The workshops are good practice for accepting criticism and editing of your work and even rejection when you submit it to publishers. It’s important to know what’s working and whether people react to your work in the way you expected, whether they pick up on certain metaphors, when the structure and form are working with the content, when things are too cryptic or, by contrast, when they need to be toned down. One person’s cliché may be another’s epiphany.

These informed opinions are inevitably useful, and I am believer in reaching the limit of what you can do on your own and seeking advice. You can take or leave this advice, depending upon how much you think it speaks to your work. I learned to separate myself from the work that is so personal to me: to see it as just another poem, which helped me in turn to edit on my own.

Exposure to Other Writing Styles.

This is not to say that any genre or writing ideology is “correct” and another is “incorrect”, or that one should adhere to what they think might be the tutor’s preferences because they are marking it. A good course will encourage experimentation and accept that we are privileged to live in a time where there is a proliferation of styles which have developed over the centuries at our disposal and that innovation continues; these courses will endeavour to give students the confidence to experiment with styles which they might find work well for them.

Networking Opportunities.

One of the big arguments in favour of creative writing study is the practical application of the degree. UEA has its own publishing programme: NewWriting (http://www.newwriting.net/), and teaches a module in publishing in partnership with Egg Box (http://www.eggboxpublishing.com/). Students can get involved in editorial and design for this press, producing an anthology of work from MA students. The Norwich Writers’ Centre (http://www.writerscentrenorwich.org.uk/) holds many literary events, often in collaboration with the university. All of this offers students the chance to introduce themselves to writers and publishers and raise their profile. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that it confers an advantage, but a combination of factors from the past year has resulted in me getting my work published.

Self-Learning, Open-mindedness.

This is the cheesy part where I say that creative writing is so close to the heart that in studying it you inevitably learn things about your mental approach: how you deal with self-exposure in the potentially brutal situations of having your work dissected, both in workshops, by publishers, and on stage when participating in poetry readings. But I am much better at these things now.

I’ve also learnt more about my creative beliefs. Rather than voicing a tentative feeling that I have not thought through, because we’ve been encouraged to write our own manifestos and blogs, I can have a good-natured debate with someone whilst still enjoying and being open to their style of writing. In summary, you become more confident in your opinions, yet less totalising (hopefully!)