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"Don't Self-Reject": Ploi Pirapokin on MFA Applications, Genre Fiction, and Finding Your Program Fit
by Writing Workshops Staff
9 hours ago
Every year, thousands of aspiring writers sit down to craft their MFA application statements, staring at blank screens with a familiar mix of hope and terror. They're not just applying to graduate programs, they're asking themselves whether they're "ready," whether their genre will be welcomed, whether their non-traditional path makes them less viable. The stakes feel impossibly high, and the guidance often feels impossibly vague.
Ploi Pirapokin understands this anxiety. As a Clarion graduate who went on to earn her MFA, she's navigated both the genre-specific workshop world and traditional literary academia. Now, as a published writer whose work appears in Tor.com and The Art and Craft of Stories from Asia anthology, and as a Kundiman fellow, she's spent the past decade helping hundreds of writers translate their unique journeys into compelling application materials. Her students include career changers in their forties, first-generation immigrants balancing family obligations, and speculative fiction writers worried their zombie novels won't be taken seriously.
What makes Ploi's approach different is her refusal to treat MFA applications as a game to be won through prestige-chasing or formula. Instead, she helps writers understand what an MFA actually is—a graduate degree that demands rigorous engagement, not a golden ticket to publishing fame—and how to articulate why their specific circumstances, ambitions, and creative vision align with specific programs. She knows that the biggest mistakes in personal statements aren't grammatical; they're conceptual failures to demonstrate research, self-awareness, and genuine fit.
In our conversation for her upcoming Why M.F.A., Why Now? webinar on November 1st, Ploi shares practical wisdom on everything from how speculative fiction writers can thrive in realism-heavy programs to why being the "Jon Snow of applicants" might actually be an advantage.
Here's our conversation with Ploi:
Writing Workshops: You've taught hundreds of writers through their MFA applications. What's the biggest mistake you see in personal statements that immediately signals not ready to admissions committees?
Ploi Pirapokin: There's a difference between not being ready for an MFA because you've placed impossible expectations on what a degree can do for you, and not being ready because like me, you might've also not hailed from a literary background, lacked a consistent arts education, and had very little access to resources that could've taught you how to talk about your writing and your desire to grow as an artist. I can help applicants by looking at their sentences and providing a safe space to discuss the ways one could overcome specific and personal barriers in applying—to make the application process more equitable—but it's harder for me to help someone who hasn't done any research on what an MFA might realistically entail.
Some applicants tend to forget MFAs are graduate degrees first, albeit modeled after art studio practices. No matter how talented you are, you're still going to a program to learn—not just how to write, but how to be a student of writing in community with other artists—and to sustain this practice long after the degree is completed. Hopefully, you can apply what you've learned to your own work and challenge your own aesthetic by observing others. Therefore, are you ready for the workload, like reading at minimum, two to three novels a week while also writing, and providing kind, substantial feedback to several of your peers? Ready to work independently drafting, and revising your own writing without guidance until you're ready to share? Ready to be professional when you're introduced to agents, publishers, and editors? Ready to contribute to the literary scene you're living in, and be trusted with students you'll teach?
You might not be ready for an MFA is if you believe obtaining a degree or attending a name-brand program will instantly catapult you into fame and publishing. This often surfaces in a statement that lists famous graduates and professors whose careers you admire as a draw for applying but lack any specificity to why this program is of interest to you and how you hope to participate in at the program. While I believe writing is an apprenticeship and you don't need an MFA to be a writer (there are plenty of great writers without MFAs!) the MFA can condense the amount of time you learn how to write and be a writer, by providing the structure, rigor, and community you need to sustain a long lasting writing career, so long as you commit yourself to the work and immerse yourself in the writing life.
Writing Workshops: As a Clarion graduate who also earned an MFA and now publishes in venues like Tor.com, how would you advise speculative fiction writers who worry that traditional MFA programs won't support their genre?
Ploi Pirapokin: MFA programs have historically preferred realism—also a genre of its own—because most professors teaching in them have published literary realism. However, this isn't to say there's never been genre or genre-adjacent writers teaching at these programs and universities, or literary realist writers who have written a few genre books or two. Over the past ten years since graduating my MFA, more programs have been open to genre writers because they understand good writing—no matter what genre—can be taught.
First, apply to an MFA you'd be excited to attend to learn about the foundations of writing then expand what you've gleaned into the genre you want to write in. Seek "your people" in your program whose work and mind you admire, then offer a reciprocal way to exchange work for feedback to grow together. Fellow Writing Workshops instructor, Syr Beker, was and still is "my people" from my program. We had both turned in stories for our first workshop featuring fish swimming out of wallpapers and weapons made from amphibians, and I knew I couldn't let Syr go—first we shared books and tips based on our love for the weird and the uncanny, then we were able to critically analyze craft techniques from a variety of genres to find which ones would best suit our pieces, and name what we were already doing to better garner the effects we desired in the type of writing we wanted to do. You never know who you'll meet in your program but the probability of meeting like-minded peers who share similar goals to you would be higher in these selective, juried spaces.
You could find genre writers whose work you admire and check whether they're teaching in these programs. Will they be available the year you're attending? If a program also hosts a consistent rotation of visiting genre writers to give talks, workshops, and seminars, this also suggests that a program is welcoming of genre. Then, look at programs offering speculative fiction concentrations and tracks. If they don't have any, who are their published genre alumni? Have they spoken about whether genre was welcomed or not in the program?
Lastly, there's plenty of writing classes now offered outside of an MFA, whether that's through writing conferences, retreats, or classes (in-person and online) which are made more accessible because of writers like me who yearned for more focused speculative fiction spaces. When I first started teaching speculative fiction classes about ten years ago, I felt I was only supplementing writers who had graduated from MFAs, or currently in programs or interested in MFAs who wanted an inclusive space for their non-natural, uncanny, and fantastical writing. Now, students are taking my speculative fiction workshops to decide if an MFA is what they want to pursue and building friendships to go into MFA programs together. There's no perfect order to go about it—some writers will go to a genre specific workshop like Clarion or Juniper before deciding on an MFA, whereas my journey was enrolling in an MFA so that I learned about what opportunities were available to pursue in my niche genre. At the end of the day, you must support your own work and advocate for your own writing education and experience. An MFA won't make you the Yoda of Writing, but it can provide ways for you to discern what you need for your writing.
Writing Workshops: You mention that writers who are changing careers or returning to writing after a hiatus should approach MFA applications differently—what's your advice for these applicants when addressing gaps or non-traditional paths in their statements of purpose?
Ploi Pirapokin: What I love most about my adult students is if they decide to do an MFA, I know they've thoroughly considered the risks, rewards, and sacrifices necessary to pursue one. Most of my adult students have either taken classes, workshopped, formed long lasting writing groups, and published, all while working full-time, caretaking children or elderly parents, or having survived life's many curveballs, which is no easy feat. They're seeking accountability, community, and mentorship to grow their writing after exhausting all other avenues on their own. They're tenacious (though many will lament that they wished they started earlier and to that I say, we don't ever remember how old Toni Morrison was when she first published—40—but the whole world will remember her words and wisdom) and imperturbable because they've experienced more of life to know what really matters.
In Damien Davis' article in Hyperallergic titled, "When Artists Are Too Old to Be 'Emerging'" he says that, "Artists have always modeled other ways of living in time. We change mediums, circle back, recommit. We emerge at 25, at 40, at 70. We resist straight lines." All the reasons why you couldn't do an M.F.A. a year ago, twenty years ago, or until you were able to retire, are valid, powerful reasons that should be included in your statements of purpose. If you had lived your life any other way, perhaps you would have landed somewhere else.
Writing Workshops: In your webinar, you emphasize the 'why this MFA, why now' question. Can you share a specific example of how a writer effectively tailored their cover letter to demonstrate genuine fit with a program beyond just praising its reputation?
Ploi Pirapokin: I encourage applicants to research programs like a job application, and while you want to write a statement that reflects your writing style, don't forget to offer where you see yourself fitting within the program and how you would contribute to your cohort.
I had a student in their forties who worked in finance and was raising two high schoolers who was unable to pause their profession and persuade their entire family to move across the country for another degree. They already had another graduate degree (an MBA) so they're prepared for an MFA workload. This is pertinent information to why a low-residency program would be the perfect fit for them, especially if they are required to meet in-person with their cohort for ten days each quarter. My student was able to share that her paid sick leave would be used for these in-person residencies, and that working independently online on her writing had been part of her routine for years.
I had another student who had to pause their dreams to write because they were the sole breadwinner for their first-generation immigrant family. They worked decades as an engineer to become financially stable enough to nurture their passion and wanted programs that offered teaching opportunities to gain enough experience to switch careers. Since they're originally from a more rural part of America, they're used to a more quiet, intimate, small-town lifestyle and would have no problem dedicating two to three years to their work.
Unlike publishing, where you're judged on the quality of your manuscript, the cover letter or statement of purpose is the only way programs can learn about who you are as a writer in your own words. I'll share more pointed examples in my webinar, but a question I like to begin brainstorming a statement draft is, "Why are you applying for this concentrated time to focus on writing now as opposed to yesterday, last month, last year?" Was there a catalyst? What classes are you excited to take, and what extracurricular writing related community roles do you want to participate in? What are some of your non-negotiables?
Writing Workshops: With over 250 MFA programs to choose from, each with different funding models, residency structures, and genre focuses, what's your framework for helping writers narrow their list to programs where they'll actually thrive, not just get accepted?
Ploi Pirapokin: Be honest: What do you need to write? Space and time? The ability to take different classes and explore genres? One-on-one thesis advisors? A small or large cohort? Proximity to writing related jobs? Do you need funding or are you lucky enough to not worry about it?
Before I applied, I asked my old English professors for recommendations of programs in cities where I could build a life after graduating. I would be moving from Hong Kong and Thailand with no support from my family and as an international student who depended on visas to write and work in the U.S. I didn't want to put more pressure on myself going to a school in a place I was totally unfamiliar with, get used to it, and then turn around and leave to settle in a new place while also trying to publish, work, and network.
The one thing that brought me comfort was Asian food. Students always laugh when I confess this, but food is a big deal to me. When I'm sad, when I'm stuck, when I'm rejected, when I'm lost, when I'm waiting for a response that could change my career trajectory, when I'm happy—being able to walk to get a bowl of noodles, or to buy the ingredients to make a bowl of noodles—gave me a sense of familiarity, of home, of nourishment, that kept me going even when the times were tough.
I also admit I was the Jon Snow of applicants. I knew nothing about MFAs when I applied, who any of the professors and alumni were, or that each program had its own reputation. When I received phone calls from professors telling me I was accepted into a program, I went to check out their books from the library to speed-read them before I could respond with any substance. The only thing I knew was all the writers I loved studied writing at some point in their lives, and that I was good at writing and wanted to be better. My naivety (or ignorance?) made me open to all the avenues the MFA made possible for me and take risks I wouldn't have taken. My tip to narrowing down your program list is actually, to vary it—don't self-reject and stay curious. I can't tell you how many times a student will write off Iowa because it's considered a top program and then get accepted or not consider a New York school because they notoriously have poor funding but then receive financial support or dismiss a school in a location they've never imagined going to and end up living there. In the end, you will make your writing journey work for you.
Writing Workshops: Your work appears in The Art and Craft of Stories from Asia anthology, and you're a Kundiman fellow. How should writers from underrepresented communities approach discussing their cultural identity and perspective in their MFA applications without feeling like they're reducing themselves to a 'diversity statement'?
Ploi Pirapokin: The way to avoid tokenizing yourself or turning your identity into a novelty is to write about why what you do is because of who you are and not just about who you are. I liked the tip Nathan Go, author of Forgiving Imelda Marcos, said in his article "Five Uncommon Tips on Your MFA Creative Writing Application," where he says, "A place or region might not be the element that binds your application materials together. It might be style, philosophy, or occupation—but whatever it is, it should resonate meaningfully in all aspects of your work. If readers can come away with the feeling that they know you and what motivates you to write, then you only need to show that you also can write."
You can talk about your own role as a writer of a marginalized group, but it's much more effective to talk about your role as a writer of a marginalized group within a larger community. Where do you intersect? How would your presence in a program continue to foster diversity and inclusion? Be, be, specific! By focusing on the particular; you will reach the universal.
Throughout this conversation, Ploi returns to a central truth: the writers who succeed in MFA applications aren't necessarily those with the most impressive résumés or literary pedigrees—they're the ones who've done the work to understand what they need and can articulate why a specific program will help them get there. Whether you're a genre writer seeking your people, a career changer bringing decades of life experience, or someone who's never heard of Iowa's reputation, your path is valid if you can make it coherent.
The Why M.F.A., Why Now? webinar on November 1st offers something rare in the MFA application process: practical tools rather than mystification. Ploi will walk attendees through statement drafting strategies that move beyond generic praise, a framework for evaluating program fit based on your actual needs rather than rankings, and personalized guidance for addressing the gaps, quirks, and strengths that make your application distinctly yours.
Don't self-reject. Stay curious. Your writing journey won't follow a straight line, but with the right preparation, you can make your MFA application reflect who you actually are—and that's the most compelling statement you can make.
