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 …
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Tell Us the Truth, Obviously
Tell Us The Truth What are you really supposed to tell us in your college essay? About that perfect cup of bitter coffee you made your mom, every morning, so she could have the energy to go to her job at the factory? Certainly not the obvious? Those everyday truths you live by and with? How you whisper a wish to each spoonful of sugar you put in her second, evening coffee, a wish that her life could get just a tad sweeter, and you can get just a little more sleep? Actually, yes, exactly that. Did you think the obvious was just too obvious? Sometimes the obvious is amazing. But no one puts it into words. "It takes all kinds to make a world," an old, old farmer once told me (yes, I know farmers). This after we watched a woman climb out of a Jaguar convertible at his vegetable stand, and then haggle him down from the 50 cents he was asking for his cucumbers. It's imperfect, she insisted, her perfect red-red lips somehow never coming unpursed. That's what happens when food is organic, he told her gently, shrugging. She offered a quarter. He took it. It takes all kinds to make a world. Duh? The Obvious has resonance. When you (finally) put it into words, everyone feels ownership over that observation. Like it's theirs. The obvious is said in a particular voice (yours) from a particular vantage point (yours). But it carries universal resonance (ours). Another example: My petite 11-month old son is just learning to cruise on this atrocious orange walker we found on our block. Yesterday, a man large in frame and big in bone passed him, looked down fondly and noted: They are little when they are little! The baby probably measured halfway up this neighbor's shin, and that's with bed hair, and was about the size of the man's calf. But here the baby is, all 17 pounds of him, steamrolling down the sidewalk, eye to eye with puppy dogs. They are little when they are little. Well, duh? And then there is the comedian's prerogative: Or Continue Reading …