Six minutes from the front of the line, six days until graduation, my classmates and I wait at the University of Georgia student bookstore to buy our caps and gowns. We don’t need to do this. Our grad school doesn’t require it. But we have decided to splurge, to indulge in a dash of pomp and a sprinkle of circumstance in this rare setting that encourages it.

The jokes begin. I turn to a classmate, an award-winning reporter at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and wonder aloud how to most pretentiously celebrate our pending degrees.

“What if we change our e-mail signatures to include our degree? What if I signed every message with ‘Matthew Pearl, MFA?’”

“Yes,” he responds, “and you should add a photo in your cap and gown with a serious, academic expression. And you should list your published works underneath.”

We envision this. Then we envision how quickly our coworkers would chuck us out of our respective newsrooms.

In the world of daily journalism, an MFA in Narrative Nonfiction may not seem like much. It won’t add extra digits on my paycheck. It won’t increase access on my stories. It won’t bring a new wave of followers to my Facebook page. I work in TV news, where the average script runs maybe a page. One might question the wisdom of honing the skills to write book-length projects.

But this isn’t about wisdom – at least, of the conventional type. It’s about growth, craft and passion.

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