As an M.F.A. student in my 40s, I learned the layout of the academic landscape. A handful of ceramics programs at well-known colleges appeared as the high spots on this wide map. The assumption was that the cream of the M.F.A. crop would go on to teach in the most prestigious programs, where the pay was good, the kiln yards offered miracles, grad students were true artists, and everybody would end up on a poster at NCECA.Conversations with the wider ceramics community offered tips on navigating that map, along with mountain-climbing advice. I was cautioned that competition would be steep, and only nationally known "big dogs" need apply to the most prestigious jobs. I was warned that the battles would be bloody, and the ocean of egos difficult to navigate. And from those who were working in college positions, I heard stories of epic battles of department politics, even within castle walls. It was interesting, even though I really didn't expect to gain fame and fortune with my M.F.A. I didn't want to leave town. My husband had a good job. My family was here, from my brother's new baby to my 96-year-old grandma. My kids were active with friends, scouts, schools, and other connections that we wouldn't sacrifice for a move. (Besides, I planted a plum tree in my yard five years ago, and I refuse to leave now that it's finally started to bear fruit!)
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