A blog I am unqualified to write or why I'm not doing an MA in Creative Writing

Reason 1:

Because I can't afford it.

Reason 2:

See Reason 1, but I suspect a more detailed consideration might be the reason you're reading this, so here goes.

More detailed consideration:

There has been some discussion about the merits of university creative writing courses. I am not particularly sure how qualified I am to comment on this: I did two undergraduate modules in Creative Writing at Wolverhampton University, but otherwise have no experience of the subject in an HE setting. My perspective is largely one of envy. I would love to spend a year writing and studying; but, as hinted above, it isn't really practical.

Taking money out of the equation, I still have reservations. I suppose I have to ask if I would be accepted onto a course. I have got a First Class degree (in literature), have completed (but not published) more than one novel and published a few short-stories: I flatter myself that I would be just the sort of student they are looking for. Would it actually help me be a better writer?

Will Self suggests (in the article linked to above) that 'a course can't make someone into a good writer', going on to suggest that successful graduates were innately talented anyway. I'm not convinced about that anyone is innately talented at any skill: we might have natural aptitudes in certain areas, but succeeding in any field needs practice and application.

So, do I think an MA in Creative Writing would be helpful? I suppose the answer is a qualified yes. I would certainly like the constructive and objective criticism, but this may be available elsewhere at a fraction of the cost. And to return to the top of this blog, cost is a major issue. I would like the chance to concentrate on my writing, but if I had the course fees, I can't help thinking that I could just as easily use the money to buy some time off work. What I would really like is to be in a position to find out first-hand: this is a luxury that I suspect I will never be in a position to afford.

Warning - This blog has no point

Earlier today, I read this article by Charlie Brooker. It is slightly encouraging in that Brooker explains that despite a bungled educational background, he has managed to succeed in life. At the same time, it is rather discouraging for me personally, because I am the same age as him, but, despite having similarly bungled my education, I am still in the dead-end job.

Stories of people who have become successful despite not doing well at school are not particularly rare. What struck me about Brooker's article is the similarity with my own situation. Like him, I scraped through my A-levels; easily distracted, I got marks that were better than I deserved, but not quite what I needed to get a place at my first choice institution. Like Brooker, I was offered a place anyway; and like Brooker, I started a course at a polytechnic, that became a university while I was studying there. Also like Charlie Brooker - and this is the bit that really impresses me - I failed after three years.

For the uninitiated, the last is something of an achievement: some students drop out part way through; this is nothing to be ashamed of if you've made a bad decision, or simply find it difficult for other reasons. Very few students, however, stay for three years, but leave without a degree. In my cohort, I was the only one; by way of contrast, two students were awarded Firsts.

Like Charlie Brooker, I also spent my 20s with poor qualifications and no real idea about what I wanted to do. This is where the similarities between us end. He has since become quite successful, despite not having a degree; I went back to university as a mature student, and obtained a First - but, I'm still stuck in a poorly-paid, unchallenging job that I don't like very much.

There is still no real point to this blog. I'm not trying to suggest that Charlie Brooker is wrong, or I am unfortunate, or even that going back to university was a bad idea (it wasn't). I'm simply sharing a bit of personal history and trying to bask in the reflected glory of a mildly successful journalist.