Confessions of a Teaching Assistant

Like most hopeful writers applying to MFA programs across the country each year, I considered funding a priority. A series of "careers," ranging from enoki mushroom farmer to rock drummer, had given me plenty to write about, but no time to put words on paper and no room for debt. While I ultimately wanted two years during which to write—the top priority for any MFA student—I wanted to do so without piling up student loans. So, rather than fire off a loan application to Sallie Mae, I applied for a teaching assistantship at my graduate school of choice.

When I received the news that I had been not only accepted into the program but also offered a spot as a teaching assistant (TA), I jumped around like a contestant on The Price Is Right. I chugged fizzy wine straight from the bottle and burped with glee. The next morning I lay on the sofa with a bag of frozen peas on my brow.

"Well," I thought, "now what?" I had a pretty good handle on what was expected of me as a creative writer, but as a TA? I didn't really know what I had gotten myself into.

A teaching assistantship is the most common means of funding for students in a residency MFA program. As part of the deal, the university typically grants a tuition waver and pays a (small) stipend. In exchange, the graduate student agrees to teach one or two sections of an undergraduate course, usually Freshman Composition.

In addition to paying the bills—and giving you some of the experience necessary to get a teaching position, should you choose that career once you receive your MFA—being offered a position as a TA is considered a vote of confidence by the administration. It means your application was stacked on top of other applications. This feels good, of course, but some go so far as to interpret the awarding of a teaching assistantship as some kind of sign. I've talked to more than one student who said funding determined whether they pursued writing or something more practical. These people are forgetting that you don't actually need an MFA to write. But all the same, if you are named as a TA, you can't help but feel as if you're getting a pat on the back—that is, until you realize all that is expected of you.

A teaching assistantship is not a fellowship—there's no cash award. In fact, it is less like a gift and a whole lot more like a job. On paper, this job looks pretty good. Assuming you have one section, you'll technically be teaching only two and a half hours per week—a typical schedule is fifty minutes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, or an hour and fifteen minutes on Tuesday and Thursday. That leaves plenty of time to write and schmooze the visiting writers, right?

Not necessarily. For every hour you're in front of your students, you'll spend many more hours planning lessons, grading papers, and going fetal over your last lecture that bombed. Just how many hours depends on your personality.

In my letter of intent—required in most MFA application packets—I wrote that my motivations for wanting to pursue the degree were simple: I wanted a chance to put writing first. I would say the program has given me this chance. However, if I were to clock the hours I've spent writing versus the hours I've spent teaching—plus prep time—I'm sure teaching has won by a landslide. The first semester was especially rough. I probably logged forty hours a week, at least that when I had to grade papers.

My first experience grading came a week or so into class, when I received my students' responses to their first assignment: "Inquiry Project No. 1: The Personal Essay—My Literacy Project," in which they'd been instructed to "relay a personal memory that demonstrates an experience you had with the power of language." I sat down, nervous, with the first of twenty-four essays. I read five pages about drinking and driving through the Montana wilderness to the songs of Led Zeppelin. Two full pages were dedicated to some mysterious shenanigans involving a sparkler, three cases of Kokanee, and a moose skull. "Try connecting this experience to a greater issue," I wrote. "What is the greater significance of your SUV and Kashmir?" Later, I looked at the clock. I had spent almost two hours on my comments sheet. In fact, my comments were longer than the essay itself. And I had twenty-three more to go.

You can expect to hear war stories like this at your on-campus "teacher training," which is required of all incoming TAs. A kind of boot camp for beginning teachers, the three- to five-day session is designed to give you the basic curriculum requirements and a heaping dose of rhetorical theory. Don't be surprised if the experience leaves you in a state of complete panic. It's impossible to learn a time-honored profession in a few days. Who said teaching was easy? No one.

“A teaching assistantship is not a fellowship—there's no cash award. In fact, it is less like a gift and a whole lot more like a job.”