TIPS FOR WRITING A DYNAMITE COLLEGE ESSAY
Unlike the old days, college essays are no longer a way for colleges to assess your ability
to write an academic document in sound, college level language. As application numbers
have skyrocketed, the essay is now one of the only chances you, the applicant, have to
create athree-dimensional person out of all those SAT/ACT and GPA mrmbers. With
over 20,000 applications at some of the most selective schools, the essay is a way to
differentiate yourself, to create interest in you as a person, and to 'sell' yourself as
someone who will help make their entering class more interesting.
Avoid shortcuts like tweaking a Composing Process essay into a college essay. They
are two different creatures. Admissions people can always smell an English essay
adapted for the college application!
In short, the essay is less a literary exercise than it is a commercial for yourself. And you
have 500-750 words in which to make yourself memoratlle. The essay is now like a
movie trailer: at the end, they should want to see the movie [they should want to meet
you!1. And the essay typically gets about 2 to 2.5 minutes of reading time! Yikes.
The task is to grab the reader's attention, move the essay along at a pretty good clip,
include one or two 'sound bites' by which they can remember you, and then to close with
a bang--not a whimper. Too much descriptive narrative, or a trite theme, or too many
long, convoluted sentences/paragraphs will cause the reader to lose interest-fast.
Start by identi$ing, in your notes, the one or two key things you want to reader to
remember about you: skills, academically interesting angles, unique experiences, unusual
personal or family circumstances. Think about a theme or leitmotil and create a'mystery'
at the beginning that will draw the reader in and hold their attention. Remember, the
typical admission person reads up to 100 essays a day. They get pretty cynical after a
while! The good news is, good (really good) essays are rare, and always get shown around
the office.
Make sure no paragraph is more than 1.5 to 2 inches long. Solid blocks of prose cause the
reader to skip and scan. Not good. Don't run the copy from margin to margin. Leave
plenty of white space to make it easy on the eyes, and don't go for the smaller types sizes
and styles.
You can get remembered for BOTH content and style. HOW you say what you say can
reveal as much--as persuasively--as what you say. Show, don't tell. If you are a risktaker, or think outside the box, use a story or anecdote [easier to remember] than simply
saying "I am a risk-taker." Less is often more: shorter, tighter, interesting essays are
better than those that try to address ALL of your good points.
Use vivid imagery and active verbs. Make sure every word or phrase works to your
advantage. Avoid meaningless, weak language f "lworked as an intern-" isn't nearly as
effective as "During my intemship,I designed and implemented a new marketing plan."J
.
Read it out loud. Does it move well? Is the ending a'grabber'? Does it peter out? Do I
have too much narrative? Do my words convey who I am in a persuasive, compelling
way? Do I sound like me? Or do I use too many thesaurus words?
And always avoid trite, stale, cute, or overworked topics: why we need world peace in
our time; how I leamed to appreciate Third World peoples; why my
grandfathericoach/teacher is my hero.
Colleges love 'overcoming hardship' essays: but not getting that blue Beemer you wanted
is not a hardship! Learning differences, family crises, personal health issues fit this bill.
JUST START WRITING. Don't try to construct the whole essay in your head before
starting. Start writing. By the second paragraph, you'll be rolling. We usually delete your
first paragraph anyway as unnecessary run-up.
Your parents will want to "help" by editing or, sometimes, completely re-writing, your
essays. Don't let them do it! The essays of their day are no longer relevant. And they use
vocabulary no 21st century teenager would ever use. Let us in the College Counseling
office see it, and someone else you trust. Admission people are REALLY good at
smelling out parent-assisted essays ! Not good!
A comment about the UC Personal Statements: these are NOT
essays. They want
prompts
carefully, and write directly
specihc responses to very specific prompts. Read the
to them. If they say'give us an example of...' give them one example, not a laundry list.
We will be happy to review your drafts for UC Statements.
GOOD LUCK, AI\D IIAVE FT]N.
Harry Kisker
Director of College Counseling
September,2007
Common Application Essay
"It's a really interesting team," my new soccer coach explained: "Six guys in
college, five seniors, and you, Ralph, will round out the team as the fourth junior and our
youngest player. Also," his voice hushed now, "You're one of only two white players."
Coach's simple words immediately felt cryptic and odd. Color had never been an issue,
yet I felt an uneasy sensation about rny future with this soccer team.
I began playing soccer before I could recite the alphabet. I have always loved the
game, and habitually set lofty goals in order to hone my skills. During the spring of my
my Varsity soccer coach asked me to join an older club team to further
challenge myself, and prepare for my senior year of soccer. Since I had come *highly
junior
year>
recommended," I was able to join the team already in practice. Amiable, dedicated and
working,I was certain that my teammates would recognize my love for the sport. I
looked forward to building enduring friendships as I had in the past, but I did not realize
hard
the power of prejudice.
I remember the first practice
as
if it were a slow motion clip, played
and played
again ad nauseam. As I was jogging toward my new teammates in my bright blue socks
and crisp white t-shirt (triumphant music in the background), I noticed that the whole
group was huddled together laughing and joking, all casually clad in the same red socks
and white t-shirts (imposing, unfriendly rap beat now dominates, fading to silence). They
*white" kid
were like a family, and I felt as if I were an intruder in their house. The other
seemed to blend
with the crowd because he attended the same high school
as
the rest. My
nervous and excited attitude quicHy turned into an uneasy feeling as they all stared at me
with curious disdain. My smiles and greetings were met with blind eyes and deaf ears. So
I decided to show them I was there to play, but no matter how hard I ran or how hard I
worked on the drills, I still felt completely isolated. Here, I felt like a failure, invisible
and paradoxically white
!
For the first time in my life, I felt unwelcome on the held. When I wasn't
isolated, I was mocked and belittled, which ironically seemed preferable. I felt horrible
and wanted to quit, believing that I would never gain my teammates approval or respect,
but I persevered and continued to have a positive attitude, hoping it would change.
Humor has always come naturally to me and I am thankful for
that
a
it. I have learned
jocular tone and a positive attitude transforms animosity into cordiality. After many
practices, the guys realizedthat despite their best attempts to torture me, (and for the
record, their efforts were nothing short of heroic) I would be a daily presence on the field,
playing with heart and soul.
initially used to describe me, I was given
the nickname "Whitey." Happy for the attention, I embraced this imposed identity. I
began to earn my teammates trust by joking around about it on the sidelines. I once
Far tamer than the Spanish words they
threatened to go to a tanning salon
if they called me "Whitey"
again drawing laughter
from even the coach. "'Whitey" stuck, but the sentiment shifted. Humor and a self
deprecating attitude, allowed the team to accept me, in spite of ow differences.
Our unified team made it all the way to the quarterfinals in the State Association
Cup. As I reflect upon my experience, I am glad I stuck with the team because I learned
more than new soccer skills: I gained an alternate perspective. I experienced the
frustration of exclusion and discrimination first-hand, and I found that
can help me persevere through tough situations.
a
positive attitude
I leamed that there can be ways to
overcome differences, and I am happy I stuck with this challenge. While not the answer to
the world's racial problems,I gleaned an understanding of the obstacles facing someone
who is different, and I made some new friends.
"Beer and peanuts, Beer and peanuts! It's cheaper than lobster!" The Arizona sun
beat down on those beer vendors like nothing I had ever seen. I couldn't help but notice
their weather-beaten faces, although I wasn't atthat spring training game to guzzlebeer
like most of the fans. I was there with my family, as a celebration, sort of. The trip was
originally planned to celebrate my mom finishing her chemotherapy> and her oncologist
had recently decided that she was healthy enough for radiation. So if any'thing this trip
could have been classihed as an out of the ftyi"g pan and into the fire celebration.
It is a given that any teenager is going to experience a great deal of change in their
middle high school years, but I feel that I did not really start dramatically changing until
the beginning of my junior year. With my brother and sister both out of the house since
7th grade, I have been the focus of my parents' attention. Still, my normal high school life
was turned on its ear when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer that September.
As a reaction, I didn't acknowledge her condition at frst. I went through school
without telling anyone about it. I threw myself into the social scene. In fact, I made a lot
of new friends in the beginning of my junioryear? but I also wasn't truly happy. Delving
deep into my high school's social life allowed me a temporary escape, but nothing much
more. On Fridays and Saturdays I was out at almost every function; people would
approach me if there was an event I missed, because it happened so rarely. During the
week I was trying to balance school, community service, mock trial, music, and helping
my mom. At one point during the year I had to cancel a trurnpet lesson because I had to
go to the pharmacy to get my mom's pain-killers, after her mastectomy. I had to put my
changes on hold for the sake of family stability.
I didn't crack until the end of my junior year. With my mom in much better shape,
I didn't have as much pressure on me. My friends, on the other hand, started to get a little
out of control. Rather than being able to see how bad some ideas were, I had become
dependent on my friends. So much so, that I didn't know how to say "No." I learned the
hard way that you must be able to think and act for yourself. In running with a group, you
become responsible for everything the group as a whole does. At the end of my Junior
year,I learned to stand by myself, independent of my friends. Instead of seeing myself as
a member of a group, I began to see myself as an individual. After Dare Night, I lost a lot
of friends. Being stripped of my social identity forced me to define myself. Now, when I
reflect on myself, I don't see myself as a part of my group of friends as much as I see the
people I'm friends with as an expression of myself.
3a. Essay. In order for the Admissions staff of our college to get to know you, the applicant, better,
we ask that you answer the following question:
Are there any significant experiences you have had, or accomplishments you have
realized,, that have helped to define you as a person?
I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to
remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat
retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I
manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.
I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing. I can pilot bicycles up
severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in 25 minutes.
I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.
Using only a hoe and a large glass of water,I once single-handedly defended a small
village in the AmazonBasin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I
was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I
build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays,
after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.
I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon
over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen,yet
I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won weekend passes. Last
sufilmer, I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400.
My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles.
Children trust me.
I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read
Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to
refinbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item
in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a
week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair, While on vacation in Canad4 I successfully
negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics
do not apply to me.
I balance,I weave,I dodge,I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off
steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago,l discovered the meaning of life,
but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a
mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams, I have won bullfights in San Juan,
cliff-diving competitions in Sri Latka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played
Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.
But I have not yet been to college.
[This is an actual essay written by a student applying to IYYU, where he attended]
It was a brief meeting of hearts and souls on a foggy San Francisco morning when
I met the man who changed my life. The elevator ride was silent as we slowly climbed to
the thirteenth floor. One after the other we filed out into the hallways and I can
remember the stench that consumed the air. With an anxious haste we curved through the
hallways, noting the linoleum floors and stark plaster walls. The crowd stopped as we
reached door 27 A,I took a deep calming breath and prepared myself to enter.
Soon we were introduced to 44 year-old Christopher Walsh. I felt faint. I could
hardly believe it. I had been waiting months for our meeting and here we were. At first I
couldn't move. Then I took a step closer. And another. My eyes were glued to him. I
knew my time here was short and I could hear the clock ticking. I touched his arm.
Despite my infatuation with Mr. Walsh I knew little about him. Soon I was given
the rough sketches of his life from two experts who knew him thoroughly: Single, heavy
drinker, writer and artist. I felt that I had never met someone so brave, so valiant, so
strong in my life. He epitomized human power, human generosity, human serenity. He
gave himself up to the disposal of others. He was selfless and he lay before me, inviting
me to take from him what I wanted. I will be forever thankful.
In kindergarten they tell you it's what's on the inside that counts and in high
school, they proved it. There was no jaw bone to critique. No haircut to admire. No
clothes to judge. No ears that stuck out too far or belly that bulged over his pants. The
magic of Christopher Walsh was that our eyes had no choice but to delve past the barriers
-hest
laying #if'Fnfy what hid beneath was up for scrutinizing. In one
of skin, only his
man I could delve into the mysteries of human kind, the perfections, the connections and
the intricacies.
I began to discover from the outside in. I peeled away the flesh to tug on muscles
watch
fingers twitch. I tested the strength of his rib cage and explored the treasures
and
protected within. I poked at his runner's calves and shook my head at his smoke stained
lungs. I could almost trace his days with the silver probe in between my fingers. His
hands were cold and I ached for his loneliness. What was it like to be stuck up here all
day? The only company was distant strangers wJgo came silently with gaping jaws and
bulging eyes. How hard it must have been to dfurere at the disposal of young curiosity.
How still he lay. Thankfully, his windows opened onto the most breat[taking panoramic
view of the entire city I had ever seen; I hope that gave his soul room to wander.
The human heart beats roughly 100,000 times a day. In an average lifetime it
pumps about one million barrels of blood. It is the hardest working muscle in the body.
The inspiration for countless novels and the;pcal point for infinite emotions.
I held Christopher Walsh's heart in my hand, and it changed me forever.
I turned it over again and again. I slid my fingers over it; I felt its weight in my
arms. It was huge, easily four of my fists. I thought I could see it pulsing right there in
front of me. It was pain, love, anger, betrayal and delight. It was blood, oxygen,
nutrients, motion and breath. It was human life, and it was in my hands.
His name was Christopher Walsh. I knew him for three and a half hours. He was
tall and had the remnants of an athletic past. He died in a car accident coming home from
work. "Organ Donor" was printed in green on his driver's license. He gave me his body
and soul to find inspiration and knowledge. For me, he was the entrance into a world I
hope to explore for the rest of my life. I met the man who changed my life and I don't
know the color of his eves.