The Mile High MFA at Regis University was not merely an academic endeavor; it was a profound reorientation of my creative life. Since graduating in 2018, the program’s impact continues to reverberate through every facet of my work—as editor, publisher, and educator. It catalyzed the founding of Inverted Syntax, a literary magazine and small press dedicated to experimental, boundary-pushing work. It launched my teaching career in English composition at Front Range Community College and now in literature at Regis. But more importantly, it redefined how I engage with language, form, and the generative tensions of craft.
Guided by a remarkable faculty of award-winning writers, our residencies were more than workshops—they were rigorous, immersive inquiries into the possibilities of prose and poetry. These mentors did not impose a house style; rather, they challenged us to dismantle assumptions, to write toward the edges of our intellect and intuition.
While some may argue that MFA programs flatten artistic impulse—that they produce a kind of defensive, insular prose symptomatic of a workshop culture—I found the opposite to be true. My experience was vital, electric, and deeply humanizing. Yes, the institutional framework of the MFA is part of a larger literary system—one not without flaws, exclusions, and tensions. And yes, literature today stands at a precarious intersection, competing for attention in a media-saturated age. But the right program can fortify the writer against these tides, not by insulating them, but by sharpening their vision.
The Mile High MFA did not ruin my writing. It taught me how to listen more deeply to it. It taught me how to begin.
Guided by a remarkable faculty of award-winning writers, our residencies were more than workshops—they were rigorous, immersive inquiries into the possibilities of prose and poetry. These mentors did not impose a house style; rather, they challenged us to dismantle assumptions, to write toward the edges of our intellect and intuition.
While some may argue that MFA programs flatten artistic impulse—that they produce a kind of defensive, insular prose symptomatic of a workshop culture—I found the opposite to be true. My experience was vital, electric, and deeply humanizing. Yes, the institutional framework of the MFA is part of a larger literary system—one not without flaws, exclusions, and tensions. And yes, literature today stands at a precarious intersection, competing for attention in a media-saturated age. But the right program can fortify the writer against these tides, not by insulating them, but by sharpening their vision.
The Mile High MFA did not ruin my writing. It taught me how to listen more deeply to it. It taught me how to begin.
