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William D. BrownSeptember 3, 2012

Images retrieved on January 28, 2012 from http://dlazechk.dl.funpic.org/subjects.html

from Pat Conroy, My Losing Season: “You don’t learn to write in a writing program. You learn to write by living an interesting life.”

From Henry David Thoreau, nineteenth century American writer, philosopher: “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler.”

Dear Mr./Ms. ___________________________:

In my teaching career, I have found that the single-most stressful assignment that I assign students, the one that many students agonize over most seriously, is to ask them to write an autobiographical narrative. (The stress magnifies tenfold when this same paper – also known as the personal statement – will be used for senior students’ university admission applications.) I have witnessed students struggle with this assignment for days just trying to come up with something about which to write. I also have heard many times what I consider to be the most infuriating response to this assignment: “But Mr. Brown, what SHOULD I write about?”

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And I think, “Is it really so easy to get you to surrender control over your life to me? Are you really that uninteresting?”

Very few can claim to have reached unprecedented achievements – for example, scaled the world’s highest mountains, sailed the largest oceans, invented social networking sites, or played professional sports – in our youth. In fact, most of us probably have very similar (and often mundane) experiences. But we all have unique stories to share. What makes our stories unique is how we think about the experiences.

We cannot make these stories more than what they are, but we can slow down the stories so that we may recreate the experiences – because what really makes these stories interesting is the thought that accompanies the experience, for the thought is what creates a response from the audience.

As an English teacher, I have read so many personal narratives written by my students, all of which drew a personal response from me; the majority of these narratives draw these responses: “Well, I just wasted a big chunk of my life reading that” (much like what many of you mutter to yourselves after reading my weekly letters) to “OK, so what?” to “Hmmm, this is good stuff…” However, I have encountered a few young writers, who awakened something in me with their narratives, stories, which drew out the response (to borrow from the Mennen Skin Bracer television commercial in the 1980s, where a sleepy man who had just slapped some after-shave cologne on his shaven face happily exclaimed), “Thanks! I needed that!” (Find a youtube file on this TV commercial sometime…) Reading excellent stories wakes us up and makes us keep thinking about what we read, and some stories I have read accomplished that.

Sure, some of these students were simply excellent writers. But many of them simply approached writing their personal narratives with the right attitude: “Let me tell you who I am really am. And yes, I will labor over this paper, investing what is needed to make it authentic, and slow down the experience so that we both can experience this event as I experienced it, because this is also my opportunity to know myself.”

So if you were asked to write a personal narrative, one based on an experience, which reveals who you really are, what would you write?

Thank you for considering these musings. Yes, I will be assigning a personal narrative exercise for all of you, so I hope that you see this as an opportunity for you to share your unique perspective. If you have any thoughts to share about this subject, please do not hesitate to contact me at [email protected].

Peace be with you all,

William D. BrownTeacher

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Instructions: Before you write your personal narratives, you will explore and critique some sample essays (all of them submitted as part of the writers’ university admission applications). Perhaps these will guide you. After reading each one, you will write your comments. (The first two have actual comments from reviewers, so we can compare our comments with theirs.) For each one, answer the following (please write your answers in your homework notebook):

1. What did you like about this essay? What was its best feature?2. What did you NOT like about this essay? How would you improve it?3. What did you think about the writer’s choice of subject?4. What did you learn about the essay’s writer? What did he/she want you to know about

him/her?5. Which of my three personal responses – Number One: “Well, I just wasted a big chunk of my

life reading that,” Number Two: “OK, so what?” or Number Three: “Thanks, I needed that!” – best applies to the essay? (If none, which one did you have?)

Sample Essay One: Brown University

A faint twinge of excitement floated through my body that night. A hint of anticipation of the coming day could not be suppressed; yet to be overcome with anxiety would not do at all. I arduously forced those pernicious thoughts from seeping in and overcoming my body and mind. I still wonder that I slept at all that night.

But I did. I slept soundly and comfortably as those nervous deliberations crept into my defenseless, unsuspecting mind, pilfering my calm composure. When I awoke refreshed, I found my mind swarming with jumbled exhilaration. The adrenaline was flowing already.

After a quick breakfast, I pulled some of my gear together and headed out. The car ride of two hours seemed only a few moments as I struggled to reinstate order in my chaotic consciousness and focus my mind on the day before me. My thoughts drifted to the indistinct shadows of my memory.

My opponent's name was John Doe. There were other competitors at the tournament, but they had never posed any threat to my title. For as long as I had competed in this tournament, I had easily taken the black belt championship in my division. John, however, was the most phenomenal martial artist I had ever had the honor of witnessing at my young age of thirteen. And he was in my division. Although he was the same rank, age, size, and weight as I, he surpassed me in almost every aspect of our training. His feet were lightning, and his hands were virtually invisible in their agile swiftness. He wielded the power of a bear while appearing no larger than I. His form and techniques were executed with near perfection. Although I had never defeated his flawlessness before, victory did not seem unattainable. For even though he was extraordinary, he was not much more talented than I. I am not saying that he was not skilled or even that he was not more skilled than I, for he most certainly was, but just not much more than I. I still had one hope, however little, of vanquishing this incredible adversary, for John had one weakness: he was lazy. He didn't enjoy practicing long hours or working hard. He didn't have to. Nevertheless, I had found my passage to triumph.

My mind raced even farther back to all my other failures. I must admit that my record was not very impressive. Never before had I completed anything. I played soccer. I quit. I was a Cub

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Scout. I quit. I played trumpet. I quit. Karate was all I had left. The championship meant so much because I had never persevered with anything else.

In the last months, I had trained with unearthly stamina and determination. I had focused all my energies into practicing for this sole aspiration. Every day of the week I trained. Every evening, I could be found kicking, blocking, and punching at an imaginary opponent in my room. Hours of constant drilling had improved my techniques and speed. All my techniques were ingrained to the point where they were instinctive. Days and weeks passed too swiftly. . . .

I was abruptly jolted back into the present. The car was pulling into the parking lot. The tournament had too quickly arrived, and I still did not feel prepared for the trial which I was to confront. I stepped out of the car into the bright morning sun, and with my equipment bag in hand, walked into the towering building.

The day was a blur. After warming up and stretching, I sat down on the cold wooden floor, closed my eyes, and focused. I cleared my mind of every thought, every worry, and every insecurity. When I opened my eyes, every sense and nerve had become sharp and attentive, every motion finely tuned and deliberate.

The preliminary rounds were quiet and painless, and the championship fight was suddenly before me. I could see that John looked as calm and as confident as ever. Adrenaline raced through my body as I stepped into the ring. We bowed to each other and to the instructor, and the match began.

I apologize, but I do not recall most of the fight. I do faintly remember that when time ran out the score was tied, and we were forced to go into Sudden Death: whoever scored the next point would win. That, however, I do recall.

I was tired. The grueling two points that I had won already had not been enough. I needed one more before I could taste triumph. I was determined to win, though I had little energy remaining. John appeared unfazed, but I couldn't allow him to discourage me. I focused my entire being, my entire consciousness, on overcoming this invincible nemesis. I charged. All my strenuous training, every molecule in my body, every last drop of desire was directed, concentrated on that single purpose as I exploded through his defenses and drove a solitary fist to its mark.

I was not aware that I would never fight John again, but I would not have cared. Never before had I held this prize in my hands, but through pure, salty sweat and vicious determination, the achievement that I had desired so dearly and which meant so much to me was mine at last. This was the first time that I had ever really made a notable accomplishment in anything. This one experience, this one instant, changed me forever. That day I found self-confidence and discovered that perseverance yields its own sweet fruit. That day a sense of invincibility permeated the air. Mountains were nothing. The sun wasn't so bright and brilliant anymore. For a moment, I was the best. (word count: 952)

Retrieved on January 28, 2012 from http://www.englishclub.com/writing/college-application-essays/lth_narrative.html

1. What did you like about this essay? What was its best feature?

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2. What did you NOT like about this essay? How would you improve it?3. What did you think about the writer’s choice of subject?4. What did you learn about the essay’s writer? What did he/she want you to know about



Sample Essay Two: Harvard University

Struck with sudden panic, I hastily flipped through the many papers in my travel folder until I spotted the ticket. I nervously thrust it toward the beaming stewardess, but took the time to return her wide smile. Before stepping into the caterpillar tunnel I looked back at my parents, seeking reassurance, but I sensed from their plastered-on grins and overly enthusiastic waves that they were more terrified than I. I gave them a departing wave, grabbed my violin case, and commenced my first solitary journey.

Seated in the plane I began to study the pieces I would soon be performing, trying to dispel the flutterings in my stomach. I listened to some professional recordings on my Walkman, mimicking the fingerings with my left hand while watching the sheet music.

"Where ya goin'?" smiling businessman-seatmate interrupted.

"To the National High School Orchestra," I answered politely, wanting to go back to the music. "It's composed of students chosen from each state's All-State ensemble." After three days of rehearsal, the orchestra would be giving a concert at a convention center in Cincinnati. I focused back on the music, thinking only of the seating audition I would have to face in a few hours.

When I arrived at the hotel in Cincinnati, instruments and suitcases cluttered every hallway, other kids milled around aimlessly, and the line to pick up room keys was infinitely long. In line I met my social security blanket, a friendly Japanese exchange student, [name], who announced proudly and frequently, "I fro Tayx-aas!" Both glad to have met someone, we adopted each other as friends of circumstance, and touched on a few of the many differences between Japanese and American culture (including plumbing apparatuses!)

Soon all of the performers received an audition schedule, and we went rushing to our rooms to practice. I had an hour until my audition, and repeated the hardest passages ad nauseam. When my time finally came, I flew up to the ninth floor and into the dreaded audition room. Three judges sat before a table. They chatted with me, futilely attempting to calm me. All too soon they resumed serious expressions, and told me which sections to perform. They were not the most difficult ones, but inevitably my hands shook and sweated and my mind wandered. . . .

I felt giddy leaving the audition room. The immense anxiety over the audition was relieved, yet the adrenaline still rushed through me. I wanted to yell and laugh and jump around and be completely silly, for my long-awaited evaluation was over. After dinner the seating list would be posted and I would know just where I fit in with the other musicians, all of whom intimidated me by their mere presence at the convention.

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Solitary, having been unable to find [name] or any of my three roommates, I entered the dining room. I glanced feverishly around the giant room which swarmed with strangers.

I gathered up all of my courage and pride for the first time ever, and approached a group I had no preconceived notions about. I sat quietly at first, gathering as much information as I could about the new people. Were they friend material? After careful observation of their socialization, I hypothesized that these complete strangers were very bright and easy to talk to, and shared my buoyant (but sometimes timid), sense of humor. I began to feel at home as we joked about S.A.T.'s, drivers' licenses, and other teenage concerns. I realized then how easy it is to get along with people I meet by coincidence. I became eager to test my newfound revelation.

The flutterings returned to my stomach when I approached the seating lists which everyone strained to see. "I knew it; I got last chair," I heard someone announce. My flutterings intensified. I located the violin list and scanned for my name from the bottom up. My tender ego wouldn't let me start at the top and get increasingly disappointed as I read farther and farther down. "There I am, seventh seat. Pretty good out of twenty," I thought. . . .

Every day at the convention seemed long, only because we did so many wonderful things. We rehearsed for at least seven hours each day, made numerous outings, and spent time meeting new friends.

On the second day, during a luncheon boat ride on the Ohio River, [name] and I sat together, both dreaming of Japan. Looking over at her as we talked, I remembered that in two days I would be torn from the young, promising friendships I had been building. When some friends-including a few I had met at the dinner table on the first night-approached us, bearing a deck of cards, I became absorbed in a jovial game and quickly forgot my sorrow.

Rehearsals were magical right from the start, because everyone rapidly grew accustomed to the strangely professional sound of the group and began to play without reserve, with full dynamics. I continually gazed, wide-eyed, around the large, bright room, watching others, admiring their skill. We were surrounded by pure talent, and the sky was our limit. We blossomed under the conductor's suggestions, using our pre-developed technique to its fullest.

Each time the orchestra played, my emotion soared, wafted by the beauty and artfulness of the music, bringing goose-bumps to my skin and a joyful feeling to my soul. I felt the power of the group-the talent and strength of each individual-meld into a chorus of heavenly sound. I was just where I wanted to be. I had everything I'd ever need. I was no longer doubting myself among strangers; I was making music with friends. (word count: 941)

Retrieved on January 28, 2012 from http://www.englishclub.com/writing/college-application-essays/lth_narrative.html


him/her?

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5. Which of my three personal responses – Number One: “Well, I just wasted a big chunk of my life reading that,” Number Two: “OK, so what?” or Number Three: “Thanks, I needed that!” – best applies to the essay? (If none, which one did you have?)

Sample Essay Three: Band-Aid Art by Alison Shapiro

The biggest shelf in my living room is stocked with upwards of two hundred boxes of band aids. Not just standard issue beige Johnson & Johnson, either - we’ve got silver glittery ones, glow in the dark ones, neon pink spongy ones, ones, and waterproof ones, in every imaginable shape and size. Visitors to my apartment approach the shelf with cautious curiosity - they want to ask, but they’re afraid it’s personal, a medical thing. Does my family just get hurt a lot? “What are all those band aids... for?” the brave ones ask tentatively, and then recoil slightly, as if almost afraid of the answer.

I shrug. “My mom uses them for her artwork,” I say casually, as though band aid art is something everyone’s mother does about llc operating agreement. When this is met with a blank stare, I show them my favorite piece, which uses band aids of the neon pink spongy variety and strange black gauzy tape, along with some oversized safety pins stuck through tiny plastic babies. Suddenly, there are more important questions than band aid related ones: “Where on earth,” asks the astonished visitor, “did she find those babies?”

My mother has been doing weird artwork for my entire life, and when I was younger, I found myself explaining a lot. There was a project revolving around jars of animal fat with action figures posed inside that proved especially difficult to justify. My mom saves everything - shoe polish, corn silk, the lint from our dryer - and every time she starts a new project with , it’s like she is inventing a new medium. Frequent visitors consider it a given that there will always be some strange, alternative material laying around our apartment. Some even bring stuff to contribute: “Yeah, so like, I was gonna throw this out, but I thought your mom might like it...”

Only recently have I begun to appreciate the effect that growing up around my mother and her artwork has had on me as an artist. When I was and younger, I got caught up in the explanations - I was always trying to “normalize” her art, to make it seem like something all mothers did. But as soon as I stopped explaining and started really looking, I noticed something: my mother was making some really unique and amazing stuff. Though we don’t share a medium - she does collage and sculpture; I write, draw cartoons, and play music - for me, my mother has redefined everything about art: what I consider art, what I consider cool, how utterly unimportant it is to be considered “normal” and how vital it is to experiment, stretch boundaries, and view everything in life as material. I’ve always considered myself a creative person, but my mother has caused me to really think about what that means, and that, in turn, has changed both how and what I create.

A case in point: one of the best poems I wrote last year is a sonnet called “Additional Topics in Trigonometry.” This poem was crafted out of atypical material (the verbal equivalent, perhaps, of band aids and plastic babies) and my writing process was not what it usually is. I wasn’t even trying to write a poem--I was just sitting at my desk, struggling with my math homework, trying to figure out the relationship between polar and rectangular form, and all of a sudden I started noticing all these great words. Limaçon. Leminscate. Cartioid. Cartesian Plane. They were all right there in my textbook, chapter nine, a chapter entitled “Additional Topics in Trigonometry.”

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In the Poetry class I was taking that term, we had just finished a unit on form and rhythm. Polar, Leminscate, Cartesian Plane--hey, that was pentameter!--and though I had no idea what a Leminscate actually was, it sure did sound cool. I gave up on the math homework and wrote a sonnet about Precalculus, leafing excitedly through my textbook for inspiration. Since that poem, I have started seeing the potential poem in everything, from math homework to the S.A.T.s, and I imagine this is how my mother sees the world--every scrap, every toy, every jar, every band aid--it’s all just a collage waiting to happen.

My mother has taught me how to think outside the box, color outside the lines, however you want to put it - she’s shown me how to stick band aids on a piece of glass and blow people away. That idea is transferable to any medium, to any facet of creative life: band aids can be words, they can be pictures, they can be eighth notes in a solo. A visitor comes into my living room, asks cautiously, “What are all those band aids... for?” I know the answer now.

No, we don’t just get hurt a lot.

It’s art. (word count: 809)

Retrieved on January 28, 2012 from http://www.college-admission-essay.com/essays.html




Sample Essay Four: Shadow Boxing by Rachel Tornheim

I tighten my fists and narrow my eyes at the invisible enemy in front of me. The sweat drips from my face and soaks through my crisp white gi. I struggle to breathe as I have been taught - in through the nose and out through the mouth - and bounce to the music, anticipating the instructor’s shout.

“Move!”

My body springs into action. Backfist, reverse punch, front ball kick, hook, uppercut, double palm heel to the ribs. On the last strike I kiai with the rest of the students. Our yells fill the room, louder than the traffic outside and louder than the din from the stereo. The sound pounds inside my head. Drawing back, I assume the on-guard position. I am ready.

Karate has been a part of my life since 1994. My mom had been encouraging me to take up martial arts ever since she realized that my tiny size would make me an easy target, but it wasn’t until seventh grade that I felt physically threatened and decided to sign up for karate classes. Although I no longer feel in danger at this school, karate has not gone the way of figure skating, horseback riding, and piano. It has stayed with me and become a part of my identity. I have paid for my brown belt with sweat and occasionally blood, with anxiety before

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tests, and with hours of exertion and exhaustion. My training has given me the ability to defend myself, a necessity for a four-foot-ten, slightly built woman entering the twenty-first century.

But karate has left me with more than aerobic and defensive abilities. Because of my physical limitations and my _________ (sic), defending against an attacker does not come easily to me. I cannot count the number of times I have been unable to evade the plastic knife wielded by my opponent or the number of bruises I have received from fists, feet, and knees. My aversion to failure and reluctance to trying unfamiliar things are obstacles I face in other aspects of my life, obstacles that my experience with karate has helped me to overcome. It has taught me that when you get knocked down, you get up again and keep fighting in. Karate has boosted my confidence too. I have sparred with a professional body-builder, and there’s nothing like the rush I get from bringing a 200-pound man to the floor!

As we kneel and meditate before each class, the teacher instructs us to clear our minds and leave our problems of work, school, and family outside the dojo. At first I don’t think it’s possible to, for an hour, avoid worrying about the freshmen adn their I need to tutor, the science project that isn’t finished, or the 6:45 AM flight I need to catch for this weekend’s debate tournament. But somehow, every time, I forget these concerns. For one hour, I am only a karateka, a warrior. (word count: 490)





Sample Essay Five: The Smell Of Fresh Coffee by Beth McNamee

I wake up every morning to its rich scent. My parents cannot start the day with out it. I often wait in line and pay $3.85 to buy it. The senior lodge at my school is littered with empty Starbucks cups containing only the remnants of skim lattes and mocha frapuccinos. Coffee is a staple of American life that many take for granted, but few take the time to think about how they get it.

In the rural village of Cadillo in the Dominican Republic, the people’s livelihood depends on coffee. Rows of green coffee plants line steep hills and scatter the countryside. The people there pick and sell the coffee beans but receive little profit for their hard work.

During the week I spent in Cadillo playing , I witnessed the poverty these coffee farmers endure. Their homes are small and dark, furnished with only a few wooden chairs, a table and a few beds. There are no lawyers and electricity in Cadillo and I especially remember the emptiness of the village at night, when I could only vaguely see the faces I illuminated with my flashlight. I can still see the shiny metal bowl in which they used to bathe, and Jose, a neighbor

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who was missing several teeth because like most people in Cadillo, he lacks a toothbrush and could not afford a .

These images still burn in my mind, but it was the people of Cadillo more than anything who opened my eyes to the importance of social justice. Before I met them it was just a concept I heard about a few times a year at church when a missionary would come to speak about the poor people in Africa or South America and explain why it was our duty to help them. These people were far removed. A small fraction of my weekly allowance, once a year, and I could remove them from my mind. After living for a week with a family in Cadillo, however, I understood for the first time that it was real people leading these lives.

The family I stayed with there took me in as part of their family and gave me a taste of their life. I remember my Dominican father, Barilla’s face as he played guitar and how he laughed kindly when I struggled to play the chords he had taught me. I could feel the warmth and sincerity of my Dominican mother, Marsela, when she sat and talked with me about my home and family after a long day of work. And I will always remember how much fun I had playing catch or blowing bubbles with their two children, Jendi and Andisco.

I will not forget the images I saw or the people I encountered. They made me realize that my work does not end with the school I helped build, the holes I helped dig, or the roads I helped widen. They showed me that there are real, wonderful people being treated unjustly and that I cannot sit back and let that happen. I cannot be silent when I know that people are getting rich off the coffee Barilla receives so little for. It is my responsibility to be active, to teach what I have learned, to fight injustices in my community and the world.

I am not sure if I will ever visit Cadillo again but I do know that I can continue what I started there. I can tell people what I saw and spread awareness about injustice in the world. I can volunteer in my own community to help make changes at home and fundraise to aid third world countries. And tomorrow, after I wake up to the smell of fresh coffee, I can make a difference. (word count: 632)





Sample Essay Six: The Poetry Of Lost Childhood by Evan Bailyn

I am completely blind and live to fill the void it creates. I want only to touch upon what I'm missing, to poke a pinpoint through my darkness, so I can see red, and green, and periwinkle, and the night sky, and the sun. All I want is a speck of vision.

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Yesterday I looked through my old pictures stashed in a dusty bin, strewn on the floor before me. That my childhood should be reduced to a bunch of images on glossy 4" x 5" paper, the ones I could harness together from the top of my dusty shelf, reminded me of how quickly the past slips away when you. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to recall some of the happy memories in those pictures. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, the track lighting on my ceiling suddenly seemed to blind me, and I winced away in pain.

But it wasn't the track lighting that made me blind. In fact, it is an affliction that all people suffer from as a consequence of having just one opportunity at life. Like blindness, it is the condition of missing a very vital sense: that childhood can be neither relived nor reanimated. I am blind because I am without the ability to re-experience what was once mine, and saddened because this makes me realize that I am missing valuable colors about from the palette of my mind.

I cringe at the notion of time passing, and leaving childhood behind, because I am a visual poet, because I shape my surroundings, along with my deepest feelings-my love, my anger, my hope-into stanzas. And it is frustrating for me not to have the true-to-life sensations of childhood in my repertoire. Poetry makes sense of the world I live in. For anything that matters, I record, and anything I record can never be lost. Poetry opens up channels that flow inward, abounding with the colors of my palette, which converge into a picture of myself.

Bringing forth into words what really is ineffable is the greatest trick poets, and all writers, must perform. There is no greater pleasure for me than creating the necessary images to transmit feelings from my mind to someone else's. This is a beautiful part of life known as art. Art adds to one's understanding of oneself, and doing so helps one to live in peace.

To say that I am blind is, to me, admitting that I cannot feel anymore what a small child feels about. I cannot use the colors of youth to paint a poem that might expose the process of emotional learning, or elucidate the sensitivity of youth. This is my blindness.

Staring now at the photos, I think about the real, unwritten poetry in childhood: of puppy love, of pride and embarrassment, of falling and scraping your knees. Though I acknowledge that I can never restore the black and white photos to their pristine moments, I can always hold my palette snug to me; and add new, wonderful pigments to the ever-expanding portrait every day. (word count: 518)


1. What did you like about this essay? What was its best feature?2. What did you NOT like about this essay? How would you improve it?3. What did you think about the writer’s choice of subject?

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4. What did you learn about the essay’s writer? What did he/she want you to know about him/her?

5. Which of my three personal responses – Number One: “Well, I just wasted a big chunk of my life reading that,” Number Two: “OK, so what?” or Number Three: “Thanks, I needed that!” – best applies to the essay? (If none, which one did you have?)

COMMENTS to college essay to Brown University:

The admissions officers admired this essay for its passion and sincerity. In fact, most of the noted drawbacks were based on the writer being too passionate. "Kind of a tempest in a teapot, don't you think?" wrote one. Other suggestions for improvement were "purely editorial" such as the overuse of adjectives and adverbs, using a passive voice, and making contradictory statements. "For example, he says, 'I slept soundly and comfortably as those nervous deliberations crept into my defenseless, unsuspecting mind, pilfering my calm composure.' How could he sleep soundly and comfortably if the nervous deliberations were pilfering his calm composure? There are a few other examples like that that I won't go into here. I would just suggest that the author look carefully to be sure his ideas stay consistent and support one another."

What I like about this essay from the point of view of an admission officer is that I am convinced that the change in attitude described by the author is real. I do believe that he will carry with him forever the hard-won knowledge that he can attain his goals, that perseverance and hard work will eventually allow him to succeed in any endeavor. This is an important quality to bring to the college experience. Especially when considering applications to prestigious institutions, the admission committee will want to feel sure that the applicants understand the need for hard work and perseverance. Many times the strongest-looking applicants are students for whom academic success has come so easily that the challenges of college come as a shock. I always like hearing stories like this, of students who know what it means to struggle and finally succeed.

COMMENTS to College Essay to Harvard University:

This essay contains a good example of wowing the committee with a good closing sentence. Last lines are usually hard to manage. However, this essayist does a great job with hers, and the panel definitely noticed.

The last sentence of the essay is wonderfully composed.

The last line of this essay captures what I think are the two strong points of this piece. First of all, the author is an accomplished musician. No matter what sort of institution you are applying to, be it a music program, a liberal arts university, or a technical institution, strong musical ability will always be a big plus with the admission committee. This is because they know that proficiency in music requires self-discipline, a desire to improve and a willingness to learn. If you have achieved a notable level of accomplishment in some area of music, and have also succeeded in maintaining good grades, it tells an admission officer that you can manage your time well and set your priorities. The second strong point of this essay is the author's description of how she made friends and became completely immersed in appreciating and

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enjoying the entire experience. This tells an admission officer that she will almost certainly take to the college experience the same way, that she will overcome initial shyness, throw herself into a new situation, and soon extract every ounce of pleasure and personal growth from the experience. She will certainly be an asset to the incoming class.

Good essay, well written and heartfelt.

This was a nice essay. The writer took her time to formulate her ideas about this experience and was keen to stay focused on telling her story succinctly. She took this very important opportunity in her life and was able to tell the reader a vivid account without overdoing it.

Now that you have looked at some samples, let’s have at it with your own story!

Writing Instructions: Write a personal narrative that reveals something important about you. Please do not write your life story; instead, write your life based on one event. The event cannot be longer than twenty-four hours.

I know; I know: how long should this paper be, right? Hmmm, have I ever told you that story about the swordsman who climbed the mountain to find this master swordsman and teacher?

By the way, for your own enrichment, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND reading this website, Nerd Fitness (http://nerdfitness.com/blog/about-2/), but especially the article, “How to Live a Life Worth Living” (http://nerdfitness.com/blog/2010/11/15/how-to-live-a-life-worth-living/), which relates to what we have been studying here.

For you Americans, you also may enjoy reading what he wrote about Chuck Norris. Sorry, non-Americans – I am not excluding you, but there may be a cultural divide here… Still, you all may enjoy reading what he wrote, inspired by Chuck Norris, “The Chuck Norris Guide to Life Domination: http://nerdfitness.com/blog/2012/01/11/chuck-norris/). This young man who started this site should work for The Simpsons team!

Personal statement

Your personal statement should be exactly that — personal. This is your opportunity to tell us about yourself — your hopes, ambitions, life experiences, inspirations. We encourage you to take your time on this assignment. Be open. Be reflective. Find your individual voice and express it honestly.

As you respond to the essay prompts, think about the admissions and scholarship officers who will read your statement and what you want them to understand about you. While your personal statement is only one of many factors we consider when making our admission decision, it helps provide context for the rest of your application.

Directions

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http://nerdfitness.com/blog/2012/01/11/chuck-norris/

http://nerdfitness.com/blog/2010/11/15/how-to-live-a-life-worth-living/

http://nerdfitness.com/blog/about-2/

+AMDG


All applicants must respond to two essay prompts — the general prompt and either the freshman or transfer prompt, depending on your status.

Responses to your two prompts must be a maximum of 1,000 words total. Allocate the word count as you wish. If you choose to respond to one prompt at greater length,

we suggest your shorter answer be no less than 250 words.

The essay prompts

Freshman applicant prompt

Describe the world you come from — for example, your family, community or school — and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.

Transfer applicant prompt

What is your intended major? Discuss how your interest in the subject developed and describe any experience you have had in the field — such as volunteer work, internships and employment, participation in student organizations and activities — and what you have gained from your involvement.

Prompt for all applicants

Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are?

Tips and techniques

Start early.

Allow time for reflection, thoughtful preparation and revision.

Choose a topic for both essays.

Look critically at the information in your application: your grades, awards, activities and work experience, family and income. Anticipate questions an admissions evaluator will have after reading your application. The personal statement is your opportunity to answer those questions.

Compose your personal statement in a word-processing program.

Don't type it directly into the application. This way, you will have the opportunity to print copies for review.

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+AMDG


Write persuasively.

Present your information and ideas in a focused, deliberate and meaningful manner. Provide specific, concrete examples to support your point. A personal statement that is simply a list of qualities or accomplishments usually is not persuasive.

Proofread.

In addition to checking your spelling, be sure your grammar is correct and your essays flow smoothly.

Solicit feedback.

Your personal statement should reflect your own ideas and be written by you alone, but others — family, teachers and friends — can offer valuable suggestions. Ask advice of whomever you like, but do not plagiarize from sources in print or online and do not use anyone's published words but your own.

Copy and paste.

Once you are satisfied with your essays, save them in plain text (ASCII) and paste them into the space provided in the application. Proofread once more to make sure no odd characters or line breaks have appeared.

Relax.

This is one of many pieces of information we consider in reviewing your application. An admission decision will not be based on your personal statement alone.

http://www.universityofcalifornia.edu/admissions/how-to-apply/personal-statement/index.html

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http://www.universityofcalifornia.edu/admissions/how-to-apply/personal-statement/index.html

celebrateyourjourney.weebly.comcelebrateyourjourney.weebly.com/.../personal_statement… · web...

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