What was it like to do a Master of Arts degree in Creative Writing at 42?

What was it like to do a Master of Arts degree in Creative Writing at 42?

There are lots of writing courses out there. Some are run by glittering literary agencies and publishing houses, and others by a collective of writers. And the cost varies vastly, with some completely free. So why would you want to invest a couple of thousand pounds to do a master’s degree? 

I must admit that I was completely ignorant of all the other writing courses. I started my search for an English Literature MA, not even realising that it was possible to do a master’s in Creative Writing. I was dabbling in writing, trying to write a novel, and I initially thought that I would never be accepted onto such a course because I wasn’t good enough. But as I read more about the courses, I wondered if it might be the time for me to learn more about the craft of writing. 

My research was limited to universities that were easy for me to travel to as it was important to me to stay close to home. And the course needed to be part-time. Through my solitary adventures into writing, I had learned that a huge percentage of the process included thinking time, which was in short supply. I had two young children to manage, and a part-time master’s over a two-year period meant that I could give myself the time to be creative.

The course at Brunel University caught my eye because it was specifically designed to give students the opportunity to try different genres, with options to try screenwriting, journalism, learning about publishing in general and the various paths to publication, and finally the dissertation process of writing a novel. As with all good courses about writing, the first module was also very much about reading. Every tutor set us two books for each week that were in a specific genre, and we had to read and critique each text as well as write a short story in that genre. 

Although I loved reading the books, opening my mind to so many different styles and types of books, this module was particularly challenging for me. Short stories are hard. Every word counts and, as you can probably tell, I’m prone to verbosity. My first effort was frankly embarrassing. After so many years of business English, I over compensated and littered my piece with adverbs and unnecessary description. But here was the surprise. I’d been terrified of the feedback from my fellow colleagues, many of whom were half my age and already had bachelor’s degrees in Creative Writing. As you’d expect, they’d all written much more polished stories and I thought the whole process would be utterly humiliating. Instead, everyone was so kind and constructive that the nerves dissipated, and as the weeks progressed, my stories improved. 

Genres ranged from horror, to romance, to global fiction (probably not a term they’d use now). In fact, I rolled my eyes at the last one. I didn’t want to write a diaspora story or novel. I wanted the freedom to write in any genre. I’d even scoffed at one of the professors who said that surely writing from my perspective as an English person of South Asian heritage was my Unique Selling Point. Somewhat ironic when you consider that my debut novel, Love & Other Dramas, is about three British South Asian women. It was only when I approached this genre with a short story, writing from my own experience, that there was a little element of magic to my work. The professor had been right. My difference was what made my writing come alive. And if I hadn’t been given the opportunity to explore all these genres, I might never have realised this for myself.

I chose screenwriting for my second module, and I don’t think there’s a single member of my family that’s happy about me taking it. I now bore them with story beats, time the inciting incidents, and drone on about story arcs. I watched so many films during this time, scribbling notes, downloading the screenplays. I think of myself as quite a visual writer because I need to see my characters exist in the world that I’ve created for them on the page, and this element of my master’s was one of the highlights of my time at Brunel. I still use Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat as a manual for structure and elevator pitches.

The next major module for me was exploring different paths to publication. I think this element of the course really brought home how difficult it is to make a living as a writer. Our expectations were managed with talk of modest advances (in the £1,000 – £2,000 range if you were lucky) and we looked at self-publication as well as traditional publishing. It was all pretty high level and aspirational at this stage, but nonetheless an interesting part of my studies.

And finally, the dissertation. I was enrolled on the Creative Writing, The Novel course, so the first twenty-thousand words of a novel comprised my dissertation. When applying, we were told that we would be matched to tutors who would complement the genre we wanted to write in, but I still wasn’t sure. I was lucky to be sent to Bernardine Evaristo’s class. Yes, that Bernardine Evaristo, pre-Booker Prize fame. 

And so began the part of my course where my writing really began to transform. We were still encouraged to read and to interrogate passages from novel openings to learn from other writers. Close reading is invaluable as a learning tool and Bernardine asked us to look at various genres as we did so. 

She also challenged me to find my voice. I’d stumbled through my writing to date, trying different things, but never developing and thinking about the craft of writing, the development of character. There are things that we know about storytelling through our consumption of books and films, but it’s quite another thing to construct a story yourself. One of the key elements is voice and it isn’t something that can be taught. For some, it appears on the page with confidence. With me, it took some time. And during the whole time, my lovely group advised, encouraged and critiqued. 

By the time I finished the course, my writing had improved immeasurably. I even received a Distinction. But it was only the first step on my journey to learning how to write something that would one day would be publishable. It took a lot more practice and time. A lot more confidence before my voice finally emerged on the page. 

The greatest lesson of my master’s was that writing is hard work, that creativity doesn’t mean a lack of structure or organisation. It’s hard, consistent graft just like any other job. But unfortunately, rarely with much monetary reward.

Do I think that a master’s is necessary for a writer? No. Do I think that paid courses are vital for a writer? Also, no. There are plenty of free resources out there that will help you to improve, as well as lots of books on writing. Part of the reason for me enrolling for a master’s was ignorance of all these other paths. But, for me, the workshopping, the two-year timeframe, the access to people with years of experience, the creation of a peer group, were all an intrinsic part of my journey back to creativity. And in between then and now, I even stopped writing entirely. Every time I write, I learn something new about my constantly developing process. 

As a mature student, I benefited from being able to work with people so much younger than me, to learn from them. I was also able to bring the professionalism of my previous career to my studies. If I had done this degree in my twenties, I may have approached it like everything else I did at the time: just another thing to get through. Instead I was engaged, and I worked hard. It was the first time I’d really enjoyed any academic venture, because it was so fulfilling.

It worked for me, and it might work for you, but it is by no means essential. We all have a different journey and every path is valid. 

—

Ronali Collings was born and bred in Middlesex, has a degree in English Literature from King’s College London, studied law and worked in international tax for 16 years. After several years as a stay-at-home mother and decades of vicarious living through books, she rediscovered her passion for writing and graduated with a MA in Creative Writing from Brunel University under the supervision of Bernardine Evaristo.

Find out more about Ronali here: https://www.ronalicollings.uk/

Love & Other Dramas

THREE WOMEN. TWO CULTURES. ONE SECOND CHANCE.

West London. Tania Samarasena (recently divorced), her mother Helen (recently widowed), and her best friend Priya (recently nearly sacked following The Outburst) are three women at a crossroads in their lives.

As they make plans to reinvent themselves, a series of shocks, old secrets and surprises plays havoc with their relationships, as well as their futures.

A warm, witty and wonderful debut about second chances, Love & Other Dramas tells the story of three women dealing with the drama of life, love, family, friendship and keeping people out of your business in a culture where Aunty knows best.

Perfect for fans of Marian Keyes and Kevin Kwan.

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