This is a thing I hear a lot: I don't have something to write about. Franklyn said it. Erin said it. Fatou said it. You might have said it. It's not true. And your admissions essay writing process should prove that to you. Are your cells not dividing, just because you can't see it happening from your current vantage point? No: in so far as we know, we are always breaking something down in order to grow. So there is always a bitty thing leading to a bigger thing. That's writing: the power of the specific and small to expose something more. You do have something to write about: you can write about anything. Choose smaller Often, the students that show up for my help carting their Big Something to write about end up having to switch gears and pick a new topic. They were trying to impress, not investigate. They need to get really small. The orange rind they left in their backpack in third grade, that started their interest in problems mold can cause. The way their mom's tamales smelled on Sunday mornings, that led to family competition who could eat theirs the slowest. The time they missed the bus and found a dying baby bird. These things are small. They are not often things we call Something. The best writing begins with anything. Sometimes, it's better that you write beginning with something random, not loaded, so you feel more free to explore: "paperclip"; "backwash"; "pothole"; "queasy." Our minds are so good at making up stories-- and so you feed your mind a word, it often spits out a situation, a scene, a reflection. Follow that, open the boring-looking door, get nosy. Find or make a pattern with your thinking We are pattern detecting machines; but we are also pattern generating machines. When I ask students to make a connection or association in their personal essay writing, the a-ha's, I'm really asking them to find the pattern, and if they can't find one, make one. Is it true that Orion's belt is just hanging out in the Continue Reading …
Writing Tips
Mix It Up
My son Ro, who is four, just started in a soccer league. Four year-olds don't know attention is a thing that can have a span-- their coaches have to mix it up to keep them engaged. When their sweet Coach N explained, "Now I am a shark, and you are fish crossing my ocean, and if your ball gets away from you, I'll eat you!," they took him very seriously. They didn't want to get eaten on the first day of practice. Who does? Also four year-olds excel at being literal. When It Comes to Sports, Love (and Writing), Mix It Up! The lead coach, who has been coordinating community soccer leagues since I was four, watched from the sidelines, and played rapturously with my 1 year-old. He was chatty, and did not stop talking if you were within reaching distance. At the end of the clinic, while he watched Ro eat peanut butter and honey, he waxed on about the league he started in New Jersey for Orthodox Jewish (OJ) kids on Sundays. They couldn't play on Saturday, regular Soccer Day, because of observing the Sabbath. Turned out local Seventh Day Adventists (SDA) kids also couldn't play on Saturdays because THEY also observe the Sabbath. So eventually some SDA kids migrated onto the OJ team. Then parents showed up to watch. Turned out a number of the parents were widowed or otherwise single (the divorce scene is opaque). Slowly, mutual romantic interests developed--"mixing" between the adults. The kids didn't get eaten by sharks, made goals and dirtied knees across religious lines, and god didn't smite anyone. Meanwhile, the parents flirted and paired off. A Good Story is Still Good the Millionth Time! I could tell the coach had told this story a million times before. But Ro didn't mind, because he was eating ALL the peanut butter and honey and admiring his shin guards. And Aria didn't mind, because she was busy trying to pick up the cones that marked the sidelines and cigarette butts on the astroturf (really?). And I generally like people telling stories Continue Reading …
Family Illness as Essay Topic
There is a myth that if you haven't faced adverse experiences like family illness, you can't write a great college essay. That's BS. You can write a great (college) essay on literally anything (and I rarely use the word "literally"). But at its center, the essay is about you. Everything else is a window to you. There is another equally problematic myth that if you've faced a family illness, that's automatically great topic for your essay. It might be. It might not be. I'm going to lay out some basic considerations if you're thinking about writing about someone else's illness, loss or tragedy that impacted you. Even if that's not your situation, read these pointers to learn a little about good writing. Resources for Illness and Loss First: some of the best sources I know to help cope with loss or grief are the teachings of Roshi Joan Halifax, Stephen and Ondra Levine, Frank Ostaseki, Sobonfu Somé. Also check out Terrible, Thanks for Asking, by Nora McInerny. Is Illness or loss part of your story? Are you even ready to go there? Some of my students have experienced intense familial illness and loss---at such a young ago. When I sit and listen to teenagers tell me about how this impacted their family unit, I grip my chair and breathe with them, encouraging us to keep our hearts not slammed shut around pain. I'm so impressed by how much they handled, and, often, how they handled intense emotional upheaval without totally checking out. I do not, however, suggest they write their essays on this. My own mother lost her mother when she was 13, and no one talked with her about what was happening. Or--gasp-- the fact that she might have feelings about it. She had to deal with those herself and for years, even to this day. I get how this stuff changes everything, forever. I also get how the processing is rarely instantaneous. Here's what to ask yourself if you think you want to write about illness or loss: What qualities of Continue Reading …
Before you write your college essay on video games
Every year, I see a whole bunch of well-meaning students who want to write their college application essays about playing video games, their talent, bliss, hard-earned improvement over time, frustrations when they just can't beat XYZ and-- PSA, please rethink this college essay topic choice, friends. Maybe the topic feels oh-so-right to you, and you're perplexed why I (who am all about student choice) am handing the essay back to you to revise. Yes, you can sometimes "lose all track of time" playing your favorite video games. And isn't that exactly what Common App Prompt #6 is asking about? Sure, the Common App want to know about your total absorption, such that the rest of life falls away (who cares if it's garbage pickup day?), and all that matters is your passion. Right? That is-- until you're stumped, stuck at Level 3 (Common App #6 asks, "Why does it captivate you? "Because I need to get to level four, hello?), and throw your controller at the wall. Maybe you call your cousin for help, the one who regularly locks himself in his room for three days straight with a jumbo size Mountain Dew-You-Ever-Even-Drink-Water (Common App #6 asks, "What or who do you turn to when you want to learn more?"). There has got to be more to your life and soul than this. But shouldn't you write your essay about what you love most? (Well, maybe!) AND GAMING MAKES YOU FEEL ALIVE, you'll argue! Yes, these video games are the most exciting thing to you since sliced bread (because, hey, when bread is already sliced, you can blindly pull two pieces out of the bag and put them right in your mouth!). But it's not a great idea to subject admissions readers to your level-upping problems and prowess. Maybe they'll worry you'll spend all your time at their school gaming too-- versus, say, focusing on academics. Or maybe they will feel judgment about a student habit that doesn't add a whole lot to the world. I'm riffing here, and it has nothing to do with Continue Reading …
Before you write that essay about your hike…
Every year, I have students bring me that essay --the incredibly heartfelt one-- about their trip into the woods, or up a mountain. Some of these students are accomplished hikers, some total, struggling newbies. 97% of the time there are blisters in these essays. It's hard to explain to the writer that this rubs a blister in the admissions readers. But I have to try. Here's why: what you experience on the mountain top or in the mosquito-thick woods is likely very similar to what every other person who ever hiked experienced: irritation, discomfort, transcendence, appreciation, disappointment. Often, you leave with gratitude, renewed perspective. It's also very likely those two last mental states are quite short lived. That essay doesn't translate to real life! Say: until someone double-crosses you at school, or you drink soured milk your sibling put back in the fridge, or you can't get a new bus pass and you have to walk somewhere in the sheeting urban rain, or...the list of irritating things in everyday, non-hiking life that ask you to face your inner self goes on and on. Where are the woods then? Where are all those blisters and mosquitos and the high cloud vista of the craggy peaks? Admissions offers have heard that essay too many times The admissions readers have heard your story 10000000 times, maybe literally. They know you mean it-- but everyone does. They also know, because they have lived a little longer than you-- that those take-aways are often temporary. So they are looking for something more. Sorry to say: Not the cliched journey with its predictable life-lesson. So what are you to do, if that essay is burning a hole in your mind, feels like THE ONE? Find a unique angle on that essay You need to dig much, much deeper into your experience. Beyond even those aggravating, debilitating blisters that dominated your psyche at the time. Last year, I worked with a student whose essay took a long time to find itself, but when it Continue Reading …
Power of mixing
When stakes are high in writing (like, say, is true for the college essay) we can forget how much joy there is in mixing unlikely things together. This is a form of play young children know well, and shed reluctantly. Only after enough adults have said, "You can't do X with Y!" a la "You can't put a POTATO on the TRAIN TRACK!" does the kid eventually "get it" = the adult world is full of arbitrary rules, and really missing out on the power of mixing up. We need our poets to keep our language lively This morning, the power of mixing tackled me from the first lines of Terence Hayes's poem "When James Baldwin & Audre Lorde each lend Stevie Wonder an eyeball/ he immediately contends with gravity, falling either to his knees/or flat on His luminous face." I mean, lend an eyeball? Thanks, guys. We know right away we're in the presence of a player. In mixing surprise with pragmatism, absurdity with serious verbs (lend...contends...falling), Terence says: get in on this, it's going to be good. I'm not going to give you what you expect, because you don't want me to. And did you notice the rock stars in my poem? Be the kind of player who mixes meanings Speaking of players; There were plenty of the other kind of player in my high school and college (both elite institutions, GULP!), the sort who slept with girls and then thought nothing of ranking those experiences on a scale of crap to Cardi B the next morning in public lounges. The only reason those guys were fun to be around was the same reason anyone wound up the topic of their conversation: they kept it light, everything, even themselves, was a joke. I mention them because they were mean: but the player of words is not mean, though perhaps slicing. The poet players are truth-chasers. When Terence plays, we have to play along. The poem is full of nouns, and potential white-people repellent. Nods at lyrics and artistic endeavors, "inner visions" of Wonder are now populated (purpled!) with Continue Reading …