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Well Done Personal Essay

Note: This essay appears unedited for instructional purposes. Essays edited by EssayEdge are dramatically improved. For samples of EssayEdge editing, please click here.

Three times a week after school I go visit my dad. When I enter the hospital room where he has lain in a coma since his accident, my eyes often wander to the lone golf ball my mom placed at his bedside. Just six months ago, my father was driving a golf cart across the street that bisects the local golf course when he was hit by a car. He suffered severe brain injury, and the doctors have ruled out any possibility of him waking up again. When I look at him lying in bed, frail but peaceful as if he were asleep, it's hard not to dwell on the "what ifs": what if he hadn't played golf that day? What if he hadn't been behind the fence when the black Camry plowed into it? What if I still had the chance to ask all those questions that choke me up when I see him in the hospital? I can't pretend that I have developed enough distance from the event to draw conclusions about life, but I am already beginning to see myself in very different terms.

Ironically, through this accident my dad has given a chance to face reality head-on. Before the accident, my relationship with him was warm but fraught with tension. He never seemed satisfied with what I did and reprimanded me for every wrong step I took. He had strong opinions about my hairstyle, clothes, friends, and--above everything else--my academic performance. When I was not sitting at my desk in my room, he invariably asked me why I had nothing to do and told me I should not procrastinate. He stressed that if I missed my teenage years of studying, I would regret it later. He didn't like me going out with my friends, so I often ended up staying at home--I was never allowed to sleep over at other students' homes. All I remember from my past high school years is going to school and coming back home. I was confused by my parents' overprotective attitude, because they emphasized independence yet never actually gave me a chance to be independent. 

In terms of career, my dad often lectured me about which ones are acceptable and which are not. He worried incessantly about whether I would ever get into college, and he often made me feel as if he would never accept my choices. Rather than standing up for myself, I simply assumed that if I studied hard, he would no longer be disappointed in me. Although I tried hard, I never seemed to get it quite right; he always found fault with something. As if that weren't enough, he frequently compared me to my over-achieving older brother, asking me why I couldn't be more like him. I must admit that at times I even questioned whether my dad really loved me. After all, he never expressed admiration for what I did, and my attempts to impress him were always in vain. 

In retrospect, I don't think I fully understood what he was trying to tell me. These days, when I come home to an empty house, it strikes me just how dependent on my parents' care and support I have been so far. Now that my dad is in the hospital and my mom is always working, I see that I must develop the strength to stand alone one day. And, for the very first time, I now realize that this is exactly what my dad was trying to make me see. I understand that he had a big heart, even though he didn't always let it show; he was trying to steer me in the right direction, emphasizing the need to develop independence and personal strength. He was trying to help me see the world with my own eyes, to make my own judgments and decide for myself what I would eventually become. When my dad was still with us, I took all of his advice the wrong way. I should not have worried so much about living up to my parents' expectations; their only expectation of me, after all, is that I be myself.

In mapping out my path to achieving my independence, I know that education will allow me to build on the foundations with which my parents have provided me. My academic interests are still quite broad, but whereas I was once frustrated by my lack of direction, I am now excited at the prospect of exploring several fields before focusing on a particular area. Strangely, dealing with my father's accident has made me believe that I can tackle just about any challenge. Most importantly, I am more enthusiastic about my education than ever before. In embarking on my college career, I will be carrying with me my father's last gift and greatest legacy: a new desire to live in the present and the confidence to handle whatever the future might bring.

Comments

This essay does a good job of evincing the applicant's concern for others, confidence, insight, maturity, optimism, and success in working to overcome a very difficult situation. The student's language brings across genuine emotion without falling prey to melodrama. The introduction, though somewhat sorrowful, ends with a focused statement on how the accident has propelled the student to reassess himself, his relationship with his father, and his life in general.

The essay does an excellent job of building upon previous points and moving the reader toward the conclusion. The flow and coherence do not waver, keeping the reader's attention focused. The student is able to display how he has changed from a naïve, confused child into a mature, understanding young man ("I was confused by my parent's overprotective attitude...I must admit that at times I even questioned whether my dad really loved me...I see that I must develop the strength to stand alone one day."). 

The conclusion ties the material back to education without making the reader feel sorry for the writer. The student is strong, not dwelling upon the unfortunate nature of his circumstances, but rather focusing upon how he is using and will use his father's condition as a motivating force in his life. The piece ends on an uplifting note, showing the student's strong character and maturity.

Poorly Done Personal Essay

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My appearance is not remarkable; when you look at me, you see a five-foot-nine, brown-haired, blue-eyed, 16-year-old high school senior. A sweater, long pants, and sneakers constitute my dress code; my ties and expensive shoes remain in the closet. As such, to those who do not know me, I am ''ordinary.'' Nonetheless, after becoming acquainted with me, you will see that my ''cover'' is no indication of my true self. 

I am more serious than most of my contemporaries. Frequently, I study in the third-floor basement of the Princeton University Library to avoid the incessant rings of the telephone, leaving only as the sun sets and trekking home for an hour via train and foot. While other secondary school students may tune to the hard rock of Princeton's 97.1 WPST, I watch Prime News with Bernard Shaw. If someone tells me that he or she does not understand the day's calculus lesson, I voluntarily explain it--even if that means losing all of a valuable 40-minute study hall. When the typical ''You don 't have to bother'' response comes, I say, ''Yes, I do; you don't understand it. Now be quiet and listen.'' Although for the past ten years I have consistently endured long, strenuous practice sessions with my viola, the thought of ending this ''career'' truly frightens me. 

Motivation plays a key role in my success. I suffer from a disease that affects many people: lack of time. Twenty-four hours in a day simply is not enough. Nevertheless, motivation keeps me going on the days when I wake up at six o'clock to go to high school, leave school to walk a mile to the train station, wait for the train, walk to my Spanish class at Princeton University, study, walk another mile to the Medical Center at Princeton, volunteer for three hours, and return home at seven o'clock to eat dinner, write an essay, and study for an economics exam. Still, I enjoy going through my daily routine. The thought of sifting through pages of scholarly works to gather information for a class does not discourage me; it intrigues me. A recent research paper for my A.P. American government and comparative politics class using mathematical calculations and equations to demonstrate biases of the Electoral College was not only, as my instructor said, ''without question, the best paper I've ever read'' but also an aid to my concurrent study of derivatives in my A.P. calculus class.

Conversations with me on current events will often result in heated debate. No matter what my position, I attempt to argue the other view--a habit that often causes me to alter my opinion. During the most recent presidential campaign, I spent two weeks at lunchtime questioning the best solution for deficit reduction. Of the four people who ate with me, all expressed their position on this issue: Cut government spending before raising taxes. I was also a steadfast proponent of this view. However, after gathering my thoughts for a few moments, I vehemently argued that while government spending should be cut in some sectors, taxes needed to be raised at the same time. I argued so forcefully that I and three others at my table now hold that the only way to maintain our current standard of living and cause significant deficit reduction is to combine spending cuts with tax hikes. 

Although my ''cover'' may not be extraordinary, I like to believe that my inside is unique and creative. If a stranger could imagine my habits, personality, and feelings just by looking at my face, of what value would I be? People are not their ''covers''; to judge them as such would merely be foolish.

Comments

The major problem with the essay is that the student goes out of his way to include information about his achievements, as if he were afraid to leave out any detail that might impress his reader. The sentence about his viola lessons, for instance, is tacked on to the second paragraph. That he enjoyed his research for his paper on the Electoral College nicely illustrates his scholarly bent; that specific detail is well chosen. He spoils its effect, though, by dragging in the additional information that his teacher thought the paper the best he had ever read. 

Another reservation is about the student's vocabulary. The essay begins engagingly, with an unassuming, understated opening that plays nicely with the idea that people can't judge a book by its cover. Fairly quickly, however, the language becomes stiffer and more formal. By the end of the piece, the student is presenting himself as a ''steadfast proponent'' of a view and ''vehemently'' arguing for his position. To write that he held a view and argued strongly for it would have been adequate. The essay would be stronger if the words were drawn from the student's spoken--rather than written--vocabulary. It's always a good idea to read an essay aloud: If the writer can't imagine himself ever saying the words he has put on the page, he needs to adjust his vocabulary until he sounds like himself.

The writer comes off as a pedantic overachiever. The command to a classmate to "be quiet and listen" makes him seem overbearing and impatient--qualities admissions officers do not want in successful applicants. 

Well Done Story Essay

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I walked into the first class that I have ever taught and confronted utter chaos. The four students in my Latin class were engaged in a heated spitball battle. They were all following the lead of Andrew, a tall eleven-year-old African-American boy.

Andrew turned to me and said, "Why are we learning Latin if no one speaks it? This a waste of time." 

I broke out in a cold sweat. I thought, "How on Earth am I going to teach this kid?" 

It was my first day of Summerbridge, a nationwide collaborative of thirty-six public and private high schools. Its goal is to foster a desire to learn in young, underprivileged students, while also exposing college and high-school students to teaching. Since I enjoy tutoring, I decided to apply to the program. I thought to myself, "Teaching can't be that difficult. I can handle it." I have never been more wrong in my life. 

After what seemed like an eternity, I ended that first class feeling as though I had accomplished nothing. Somehow I needed to catch Andrew's attention. For the next two weeks, I tried everything from indoor chariot races to a Roman toga party, but nothing seemed to work. 

During the third week, after I had exhausted all of my ideas, I resorted to a game that my Latin teacher had used. A leader yells out commands in Latin and the students act out the commands. When I asked Andrew to be the leader, I found the miracle that I had been seeking. He thought it was great that he could order the teacher around with commands such as "jump in place" and "touch the window." I told him that if he asked me in Latin to do something, I would do it as long as he would do the same. With this agreement, I could teach him new words outside the classroom, and he could make his teacher hop on one foot in front of his friends. Andrew eventually gained a firm grasp of Latin. 

Family night occurred during the last week of Summerbridge. We explained to the parents what we had accomplished. At the conclusion, Andrew's mom thanked me for teaching him Latin. She said, "Andrew wanted to speak Latin with someone, so he taught his younger brother." 

My mouth fell open. I tempered my immediate desire to utter, "Andrew did what?" I was silent for a few seconds as I tried to regain my composure, but when I responded, I was unable to hide my surprise. 

That night I remembered a comment an English teacher had made to me. I had asked her, "Why did you become a teacher?" 

She responded with a statement that perplexed me at the time. She said, "There is nothing greater than empowering someone with the love of knowledge." Now, I finally understood what she meant. 

When I returned to Summerbridge for my second summer, the first words out of Andrew's mouth were, "Is there going to be a Latin class this year?"

Comments

This is a fairly strong essay. The writer opens with action and paints a vivid picture in the reader's mind of the situation ("I walked into the first class that I have ever taught and confronted utter chaos."). Precise details and descriptions, such as "cold sweat," "indoor chariot races," and "Roman toga party," help solidify the scene. The use of dialogue and thoughts to make points is much more enjoyable to read than simple declarative statements.

What separates this essay from other good story essays is that the writer interposes apt commentary within the anecdote: Waiting until the final paragraph to discuss how the experience changed him would have resulted in a drier piece. The essay does a good job of portraying the writer's growth during the experience, because it notes his genuine surprise and subsequent realizations ("I thought to myself, 'Teaching can't be that difficult. I can handle it.' I have never been more wrong in my life.").

The conclusion is executed well, bringing the reader back to material presented in the introduction while indirectly emphasizing how the experience has made a lasting impression upon both the writer and his pupil.

Poorly Done Story Essay

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I live in a small suburban town, where the atmosphere is slowly being destroyed by the influx of commercial business and development. A great source of anxiety to me is the extent to which this may eradicate the town's heritage and environment. . . .

A cool evening breeze wafted over the age-old former municipal court, illuminated by a stately street lamp from the late nineteenth century. Through the rhythmic, dreary swaying of two tall willows, one could perceive the building's simple architecture: four perpendicular walls and a sharply pitched roof. Windows were few and unadorned. The single magnificent feature of the court was a towering steeple, evidence of its early service as a Protestant church. Once, children and their parents gathered there in their best attire for Sunday sermons. Now, the ancient edifice stood silent, a lifeless presence dwarfed by the vastness of the cloudy sky. As the clouds drifted, a glimmer of moonlight fell on the building, lighting the hallway within. The corridor was enveloped in white, from the porcelain tiles to the alabaster walls. Two antique benches, crafted from mahogany, stood at either end of the hall, their splendor obscured by a thick layer of dust. 

A few minutes later, the main door creaked open, and the street lamp projected onto the hallway the silhouette of a lone, plain-looking man. He moved confidently through the courthouse, since after his duty in the army he had served as magistrate within these walls. Moving toward one of the four inner doors, he thrust it open with flamboyance, admiring his former office with the strength of a thousand memories. Thoughtfully, he continued to his chair and sat down. Taking up the gavel, he smiled; the furnishings in the room had neither been replaced nor refurbished since its construction, and they remained as solid as the day they had been made. Poised upon his former judicial post, he relived his favorite cases. Most were neighborly quarrels or property disputes, and none were as brutal as those he was hearing about these days. Disturbed by these thoughts, the man arose and moved toward the door once more, and after swiftly passing through the corridor, he left the building. As he exited, he felt something bound over his foot. Since winter was approaching, he believed it was probably a squirrel hoarding food; reaching into his coat pocket, he produced a half-eaten sandwich, bent down, and placed it on the clayish ground for the animal, should it return. 

An hour later, a black, polished oxford crushed that sandwich, and the brilliant glow of a lantern flooded the small courthouse. The man who loomed in the doorway was nattily dressed: the suit he sported was expertly tailored, his overcoat was of the finest wool, and his elegant hat was tilted back at a dashing angle. He was young, no more than thirty years of age, and he walked quickly through the hall, glancing around furtively and taking deep breaths from a smoldering menthol. Lackadaisically sliding into a bench, he stirred up the age-old dust, which rose quickly around him. Irritated, he continued to move about, scrutinizing the rooms. The furnishings, he thought, would bring quite a sum through auction, as would the oil paintings on the walls-portraits of men who had contributed to the community. Then he could bring in a blasting crew to level the building. He found the court's history to be of passing interest but was deeply attracted to the profitability of building a shopping center on the land. 

Content with his plans, he pictured himself a dozen times richer and smiled approvingly to himself. As he turned to depart, he noticed a half-destroyed window and decided to end its misery. With a swift and brutal kick, he shattered the remaining glass, rending a spider's web in the process. Approaching the door, he turned off the switch that gave power to the street lamp; no sense in wasting electricity and, therefore, money. He casually dropped his cigarette on the tiled floor and stamped it out with his heel. Heading for his car, he murmured to himself that the trees would have to be cut down to extend the parking lot. That would cost a fair amount, but he hoped that selling the lumber would pay for most of it. Getting into his sedan, he looked around and wondered why people had lobbied against his venture; after all, it could only bring the town revenue. Then there was the roar of a Buick six-cylinder, and as its drone dissipated into nothingness, silence descended upon the courthouse once again, to remain until the demolition crew arrived the following morning.

Comments

This essay, except for the first paragraph, would serve as a passable piece of creative writing--if that was the assignment. However, the application essay is a personal statement, used by admissions officers as a tool to get a better sense of the applicant's personality. The precise, vivid details and well-executed narrative clearly show this student is a good writer, but they tell admissions officers little about his unique character and beliefs, except that he dislikes the influx of commercial business and development into his town. The introduction is too disconnected from the story, and the use of the ellipsis creates an awkward transition to the second paragraph. The student has erred in stating his thesis too soon and in never proving to the reader that the commercial development would be detrimental--except, perhaps, to the former magistrate.

Well Done Detail Essay

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I close my eyes and can still hear her, the little girl with a voice so strong and powerful we could hear her halfway down the block. She was a Russian peasant who asked for money and in return gave the only thing she had--her voice. I paused outside a small shop and listened. She brought to my mind the image of Little Orphan Annie. I could not understand the words she sang, but her voice begged for attention. It stood out from the noises of Arbat Street, pure and impressive, like the chime of a bell. She sang from underneath an old-style lamppost in the shadow of a building, her arms extended and head thrown back. She was small and of unremarkable looks. Her brown hair escaped the bun it had been pulled into, and she occasionally reached up to remove a stray piece from her face. Her clothing I can't recall. Her voice, on the other hand, is permanently imprinted on my mind. 

I asked one of the translators about the girl. Elaina told me that she and hundreds of others like her throughout the former Soviet Union add to their families' income by working on the streets. The children are unable to attend school, and their parents work fulltime. These children know that the consequence of an unsuccessful day is no food for the table. Similar situations occurred during the Depression in the United States, but those American children were faceless shoeshine boys of the twenties. This girl was real to me. 

When we walked past her I gave her money. It was not out of pity but rather out of admiration. Her smile of thanks did not interrupt her singing. The girl watched us as we walked down the street. I know this because when I looked back she smiled again. We shared that smile, and I knew I would never forget her courage and inner strength. She was only a child, yet was able to pull her own weight during these uncertain times. On the streets of Moscow, she used her voice to help her family survive. For this "Annie," there is no Daddy Warbucks to come to the rescue. Her salvation will only come when Russia and its people find prosperity.

Comments

This essay opens with an engaging introduction, creating a vivid, detailed picture of the experience in the reader's mind. Using the character Little Orphan Annie as a way to give the reader a sense of Elaina's qualities is successful. Though the student knows most people will have knowledge of the character, she adds extra detail to make Elaina distinctive. Such descriptive phrases as "Russian peasant," "Arbat Street," "old-style lamppost," and "shadow of a building" help establish the unique setting in a creative manner.

The middle paragraph develops the significance of the issue, comparing it to the Great Depression of the 1930s. This specific evidence, combined with the detailed explanation of the student's personal experience, wins over the reader to the student's argument. 

This essay is interesting because the thesis is at the end of the essay. Since the student has been subtle with her points, using a vivid description of the anecdote to plead her case, the strategy is successful. The student comes across as a mature candidate, because she has an opinion she backs up with evidence without being preachy.

Poorly Done Detail Essay

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Ten years from now Tim Dickson won't even remember my name. The unknowing recipient of my undying love for two years, Tim had been everything a girl could ever ask for: smart, handsome, witty, athletic, with a voice that could make angels weep. Everyone knew his name. To a shy little country mouse, nearly invisible in our student body, he was the epitome of manliness. I sat in my corner of room C-119 and gazed adoringly at his profile as he amazed the class of Modern World History with his dashing style. Carefully planning the routes to my classes to coincide with his, I was his silent shadow. 

After fourteen months, contrary to my hopes, Tim still was not aware of my existence. Determined to bring myself to his attention, I staged my entrance to his heart with all the flair I could muster. I would breach his defenses at the next history oral presentation in the guise of the dashing Cardinal Richelieu. 

It was now or never! Striding into the classroom, my head raised, eyes flashing, I stood proudly, the colors of my eighteenth-century costume catching the light and giving me courage. My opening line shook with tight emotion. "Gentlemen, I am disgusted!" My voice alternately lashed out in rage and purred in soft persuasion. I gloried in my elocution. Each word was power. My voice rose to a brilliant conclusion, and I stood with my arms outstretched and my head bowed in submission. 

Dead silence. 

My left knee trembled uncontrollably. Why did no one speak? My hands began to shake so I pulled them behind me-like one condemned. My eyes gauged the distance to the door. 

Then someone began to clap. More joined in. Tim looked into my eyes-and smiled. He smiled! 

Joy, oh joy. My soul overflowed with rapture. I had done it! He noticed me! All the shame, all the worry, and all the castigation melted away in that moment. I knew how to make him love me. I simply had to speak better, sing better, act better, and write better than anyone else. 

Determined, I joined competitions, played in concerts, and wrote essays that were read in class. When Tim transferred to the A.P. class, so did I. I threw myself into class discussions, attempting to dazzle him with my intelligence and intrepidity. Making friends with his friends, I dogged his steps. 

The next summer Tim moved away. I never heard from him again. But the transformation in me had taken place. Now I was involved for the simple pleasure of being involved. Challenging people surrounded me. Biff taught me to love. Dave taught me to laugh. Ramez taught me to break my limits. Alit gave me confidence. Whenever I was in danger of reverting to a wallflower, one of my new friends would drag me into another club or activity. 

In every foray into the threatening world of "school activities," I still feel an overpowering impulse to run. But although my feelings haven't changed, my actions have. My stomach still tightens when I enter a room of unfamiliar faces, but I walk in. I still want to run from risk and recrimination, but I keep my feet firmly planted. 

Tim Dickson was the single best thing that ever happened to me, all because he didn't know me from Adam.

Comments

The essay is choppy with underdeveloped paragraphs and an unnecessary stream of consciousness. Though it is admirable that the student has become more involved in school and pushed herself to excel ("I joined competitions, played in concerts, and wrote essays that were read in class."), she has been pushed into doing so by others. The essay makes the student come across as impetuous, immature, and unconfident. The main detraction is that she lets the reader infer that she is easily swayed by others, particularly by men. This quality leads admissions officers to infer that the student could be swayed just as easily into dangerous activities and be unable to make mature decisions for her own self protection. Though admissions officers would appreciate the honesty, the student should have left out some of the intimate details of her personal life.

Well Done "Personal Growth" Essay

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Tom Zincer succeeded in his task. My science class's first field trip took place on a bitter cold February day in Maine. Tom, our science teacher, led the group of relatively puzzled, well-bundled students into the forest. I was right behind Tom, and the sound of his red boots breaking through the thin layer of ice that covered the crusty snow seemed to bounce off the trees and scare away the few singing birds that had not migrated south for the winter. We stopped fourteen times during that four-hour field trip to hear Tom ramble on about the bark of "this" deciduous tree and the habitat that "this" coniferous tree needs to grow. We examined animal droppings and tracks in the snow and traced a bird's song back to its singer. This was all meaningless to me. I was cold and bored and wanted the field trip to end. 

I would later write several essays in my journal about the fact that writing a detailed seven-page analysis of the field trip took all the beauty out of the event. I would complain to Tom about how boring and mundane his class was and how impossible it was to be so "anally" observant. I argued that no field trip could ever be enjoyable if we had to write down and later analyze the percentage of deciduous and coniferous trees, the air temperature, the amount of snow on the ground, the slope of the course taken, the change in temperature over the day, and a plethora of other minutia. Basically, I was lazy. No, no. I was not lazy. I was just not ready; I was not yet ready to become an observer. 

"Sam, just trust me on this one. You'll thank me later," Tom said at the conclusion of our meeting. I had gone to see Tom privately in order to discuss how I could survive his class. The minutia was killing me, and my slow death was reflected in my dismal grade. Upon leaving that meeting, I made a personal and academic decision to develop my observational skills, both to please my teacher and to avoid the disappointment of another "D+." 

On my next field trip, I set out into the forest with two pencils cocked between my two ears like guns ready to fire. My teeth were clenched with the determination to stay focused throughout the entire field trip and write down every word that man uttered. However, I constantly felt myself drifting, and while my mind wandered, the group advanced significantly ahead of me, and I missed the sighting of another bird. I ran up to the group just in time to hear Tom start his lecture about a nearby rock formation. Instead of listening, I was asking my friend to see his Picasso-like rendition of the bird. I, therefore, fell behind on the lecture, and so went the endless cycle: fall behind, try to catch up, fall more behind. When it came time to rewrite my field notes in legible form, I stared at a piece of paper that consisted of smudged squiggly lines and eventually tears. Frustrated and disappointed, I retreated back to my cabin to seek refuge. 

I quickly got undressed and slipped under my blanket for warmth, comfort, and most importantly protection. After I gave myself a few minutes to calm down, I took out the wet crumbled piece of paper from my pocket and tried to redraw a stick figure of a bird. The twelve stick figures, representing the twelve different birds we saw, looked exactly the same, and trying to redraw each body part of each bird to scale was so difficult that I felt like each pen stroke was met with a ton of resistance. Giving up, I pushed the piece of paper back into my pocket and lay down on my back. I saw Simon sitting in his characteristically feminine position on Ethan's bed. Simon was sitting, facing Ethan, with his legs crossed and his right hand casually nestled on his right kneecap, his foot twitching like the tail of a happy dog. Ethan was lying on his side with his big black headphones cupped around his ears, reading Faulkner. As my head swiveled, I noticed Conrad, sleeping, as usual, with his blanket clenched tightly under his chin, with both fists. I heard Fred and Rob discussing the pitfalls of modern education and could see Donald's head rhythmically moving back and forth, in sync with Jimi Hendrix. I then realized that I too was part of my environment. I realized that I was a silent participant, and more importantly, I realized that I was an observer. 

On my next field trip, I had one pencil nonchalantly nestled on top of my right ear. I set out with no mission in mind and had no vengeance in my heart. I intentionally lagged behind my fellow classmates in order to get a wider, broader perspective of the environment. Applying what I learned in my cabin, I was able to engage all of my senses and could attempt to take in the vastness of it all. When we returned from our field trip, the task of doing a "rewrite" did not seem so odious, and my pencil flew across the page like a writer who just experienced an epiphany and wants to get his idea down before he forgets it. I drew every bird, tree, and rock as best I could, and although they were not perfect, they were exactly what I saw.

Comments

In this essay, the student intends to show how he grew both emotionally and academically. In the beginning, he believes so strongly that his field trips are worthless that he actually tries to persuade his teacher of his point of view. The student then takes the reader along on his "journey" from resistance and self-doubt to the discovery that he can do what the teacher requires of him. This essay is particularly successful because the reader can really see the student's struggle and ultimate triumph. 

This essay grabs the reader's attention right away and succeeds in keeping it. The first sentence, "Tom Zincer succeeded in his task," raises the question in the reader's mind: Who is Tom Zincer, and what was his task? The question is immediately answered, and, through the use of vivid storytelling in which the anecdote is developed chronologically, the reader experiences the student's journey from "non-observer" to "observer." In addition, the thesis is clearly stated at the end of the second paragraph: "Basically, I was lazy. No. No. I was not lazy. I was just not ready; I was not yet ready to become an observer." In the rest of the essay, the writer shows how he becomes an "observer." The reader can also readily infer the applicant's maturity and proactive nature: "I had gone to see Tom privately in order to discuss how I could survive his class." The applicant's realization ("I then realized that I too was part of my environment. I realized that I was a silent participant, and more importantly, I realized that I was an observer.") is successful because he builds toward it gradually.

The tone of this essay is effective because it relies on humor and a dose of self-deprecation to make its points. In addition, the writer describes his feelings, his situation, and his surroundings so vividly and in such a personal way that the reader can almost see the wheels of the student's mind turn as he writes. A minor negative is the use of the word "odious," which does not seem as if it is a regular part of the student's vocabulary, instead probably a term he got out of a thesaurus.

Poorly Done "Personal Growth" Essay

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I want to learn to take risks. I want to change my attitude about taking chances. Assessing my academic and extracurricular achievements, I am proud of my accomplishments. I see myself as an open-minded, goal-oriented person who achieves and succeeds through hard work and determination. How much of that success is a result of staying on comfortable ground? 

I began wondering about the range of my abilities when I attended Northwestern University's Theater Arts Program last summer. The theme of the institute, announced by the director, was: "Dare to fail gloriously." This idea encouraged participants to take bold risks on the stage. Over time I applied this philosophy to my acting and my life. I began the Northwestern program as a quasi-accomplished actress with a hunger to absorb all I could about acting. I emerged not only a well-rounded thespian, but also a more secure person with a new outlook. I knew that there was something about my life that I wanted to change and could change. Now, as I approach college, I am committed to continuing successes and occasional glorious failures. 

The first day at Northwestern I was asked to choose among three subjects in technical theater, ranking them in order of preference. Set Design was my first choice, followed by Costumes, and finally Stage Lighting. Much to my dismay, I was assigned to the lighting crew. Though disappointed, I tried to stay open-minded. I knew nothing about lighting, but followed the slogan which kept repeating in my head: "Dare to fail...." 

By the third lighting session, I had discovered a new passion: I was eager to learn everything I could about lights. Having always been a performer who enjoyed the limelight, I had never realized the skill required to create it properly. In my free time I climbed the catwalks, memorized cues, circuited lamps, and changed gels. My competence was recognized when I was selected head light board operator for the final production of the summer. 

If the choice to study lighting had not been made for me, I would have missed an enriching opportunity. The experience taught me to take more risks, rather than to follow the most certain path to success. The exposure made me realize how limited my perspective had been in approaching new situations. The choice that was made for me, undesirable as it seemed at the outset, taught me to embrace new experiences and ideas. 

I believe that "the past is prologue." In college I will take more risks, convinced that the potential rewards outweigh my fear of failure. I have stopped trying to select a major and am now committed to studying many academic disciplines before deciding on a field of concentration. 

Accepting the possibility of failure is a new concept for me. While I have had recognition for academics, performing arts, community service, and athletic achievements, perhaps I have missed some enriching experiences because my certainty of success was doubtful. I will not avoid such opportunities in the future since I am changing my philosophy of life: I am learning to take risks.

Comments

Though this applicant has made a valiant effort at being personal, her essay lacks power because it is riddled with cliched constructions. She even opens with one: "I want to learn to take risks." Though cliches are helpful in our daily lives (imagine trying to make completely original statements for the rest of your life), they are serious deficiencies in admissions essays. Admissions officers do not want to read the same hackneyed ideas over and over, since they give little insight into the particular applicant's character and personality. 

Another major error is that the writer tells the reader early on how she changed, thus removing the element of suspense and reducing the reader's attention: "I emerged not only a well-rounded thespian, but also a more secure person with a new outlook." Also, successful essays show the reader, rather than tell him or her things about the applicant. This student, however, comes right out and states her qualities, almost in a tone that could be construed as haughty: "I see myself as an open-minded, goal-oriented person who achieves and succeeds through hard work and determination." What is more frustrating is that the writer also relies on cliched rhetoric in such points, further lessening their power. Though there are some precise details during the discussion of the lighting experience, the applicant leaves much room for improvement. Stating, "In college I will take more risks, convinced that the potential rewards outweigh my fear of failure," is not enough. The applicant needs to state how specifically: Will she engage in new extracurricular activities? Will she study abroad? Will she discover a love of community service? Finally, ending with yet another cliche, the applicant leaves the reader without much useful material to assess her candidacy--a problem no applicant wants to create for her or his reader.

Well Done "Role Models and Influences" Essay

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The one cultural artifact that has influenced me the most is probably my favorite book: Midnight's Children, by Salman Rushdie. The novel follows a cast of vivid characters through an epic spanning the history of India and its people. After reading it, I began to realize my true identity as an Indian. 

Growing up in Malaysia, the only Indians I interacted with were Tamils, who made up the majority of the local Indian population. When I finally stepped on Indian soil, it was in the city of Madras, the capital of Tamil Nadu (the state where Tamils are also the majority). Therefore, prior to reading Midnight's Children, my vision of India was extremely narrow: I assumed the entire country was like Tamil Nadu. The book's rich detail and attention to India's cultural diversity opened my eyes to the heterogeneous nation that it really is. Reading the novel prompted me to do further research on India, in order to find out what makes me an Indian. Surfing the Internet and poring over atlases, I began to acquire a more thorough knowledge of the history of India--and, along with this historical narrative, I acquired a far more subtle notion of what it means to me to be Indian.

The more I read, the more I realized that being Indian is an integral part of my identity. I am not exaggerating when I say that Midnight's Children made me feel Indian for the first time. I have always been proud of my Indian heritage, despite being a Malaysian national. Yet previously the idea of being Indian never really appealed to me. I was a Malaysian, and I hardly paid attention to what was going on in a land my ancestors left half a century ago. My parents felt the same way: India, they felt, offered them nothing. In fact, they were sick of India; they felt corruption and other social ills were rife there, and they had no wish to expand their ties. As I became more aware of my cultural heritage, I tried my best to explain to them why I felt Indian, but they just laughed it off, saying that in time I would realize that India is nothing but a distant land.

My Indian friends, on the other hand, were far more open to my ideas. I bought a second copy of Midnight's Children and lent it to a couple of ethnically Indian friends (I jealously guarded my first copy, having grown very attached to it). Soon, we discovered that our reactions to the book were very similar: they, too, began to relate to that part of their identity which is distinctly Indian. Still not satisfied with successfully advocating my views on India to these friends, I began to further explore and disseminate Indian culture in school. I set up an "Indian subcontinent" corner in our classroom and eagerly launched discussions about national and cultural identity. In retrospect, I might have been somewhat overenthusiastic, but I did succeed in making a number of students (non-Indians) arrange a trip to India at the end of the year.

On the other hand, the plot of Midnight's Children is sometimes driven by fierce, negative emotions, and I had to take extra care not to fall under its anti-Pakistan spell. This was all the more important because most of my relatives harbor very anti-Pakistani sentiments. Fortunately, I was able to overcome their bias and develop a new perspective-my own perspective-on the subject.

Today, I know that I may not be as Indian as I once thought I was. No matter what I do to blend in, I will always be an outsider--a mere tourist--when I visit India. I have surpassed the stage of simplistic Indian nationalism, but I am still keenly aware that I am, in some way, Indian. If I had not read Midnight's Children, I might never have realized the full extent of my Indian cultural heritage.

Comments

This applicant does a good job using a book he read to show how it prompted him both to discover and reassess his cultural heritage. Although the essay overall is quite good, the introduction is weak. The essay would have been more engaging had the applicant started with the second paragraph, thereby leaving the element of suspense to engage the reader a bit longer. 

The writer set up the point of contention in the second paragraph ("Therefore, prior to reading Midnight's Children, my vision of India was extremely narrow: I assumed the entire country was like Tamil Nadu."). The writer allows the reader to infer his maturity and proactive nature: "Reading the novel prompted me to do further research on India, in order to find out what makes me an Indian." Though at times he resorts to overly conversational language, he shows that he is indeed genuine: "I am not exaggerating when I say that Midnight's Children made me feel Indian for the first time." Through the statement, "I bought a second copy of Midnight's Children and lent it to a couple of ethnically Indian friends..." he allows the reader to assess that he is a leader with an outgoing character and concern for others. Theses are the types of qualities admissions officer seek in successful candidates.

The student's final statement ("If I had not read Midnight's Children, I might never have realized the full extent of my Indian cultural heritage.") is easily inferred earlier, so it would have detracted from the essay had he made it sooner. However, reserving it for the end solidifies the theme and makes the essay a memorable one.

Poorly Done "Role Models and Influences" Essay

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If I imagine that I could have dinner with a historical figure or a character from fiction, I would probably choose William Shakespeare. Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1564 and grew up to become a great playwright. He died in 1616. He worked in London, where he knew other playwrights and actors and where his theater was. He never went to college, but in those days, most people didn't. Some say that Shakespeare couldn't have written his plays because he didn't go to college. If I had dinner with Shakespeare, I would ask him what he thinks about the claim that he didn't write his plays. 

It would be hard to know just what to talk about with Shakespeare. Maybe he could help me with my paper on Macbeth. I'd like to know what he thinks of the interpretation of Macbeth that my English teacher keeps pushing. She says Macbeth killed all those people just to impress his wife. It seems a lot more likely to me that Macbeth killed all those people because he wanted to become king and then keep right on being king once he got started. If I had dinner with Shakespeare, I would ask him what he thought Macbeth was up to. 

I'd also like to know if he has any advice for an aspiring actor. He was an actor himself. I would ask him what it was like for him to come to London from Stratford and break into the big time. I keep reading and hearing about all these actors who come from small towns just like I do and end up in New York as waiters or cab drivers. That's not exactly what I want to do with my college degree, but I guess there are worse things. But I like acting and think that I might like to give it a try. Maybe Shakespeare could tell me how he prepared for his first audition. I wonder if he even had an audition. Maybe he just showed up at the theater and said that he'd like to write plays and act in them, and that was it. 

Those are some of the things I'd like to talk to Shakespeare about if I had the chance to have dinner with him.

Comments

This essay reads as if it were a first draft of random thoughts prompted by the question. There are many telltale signs: the mechanical opening sentence that merely restates the question; the opening sentence of Paragraph 2, which is belied by the next two paragraphs; the lifeless conclusion; the random structure of the essay. All of these signs communicate to the reader that the writer didn't take much time with the essay. A reader who gets that unflattering message will almost certainly not feel well disposed toward the writer who sent it. 

It is too bad that that is the case, because the essay has some potential. Many of us have wished, for instance, that we could call upon a famous authority to back us up in an argument. The writer's disagreement with his English teacher, as well as his dinner date with Shakespeare, offer him a great opportunity to live out that wish. However, the reader wants to hear how the student would draw Shakespeare into conversation about Macbeth. Would he tell Shakespeare about his English teacher's interpretation and ask him what he thought? Would he present his own view instead? Would he argue with Shakespeare if Shakespeare disagreed with him? What would he say if Shakespeare shrugged his shoulders and told him, ''Gee, I don't know what the play means. I just wrote it to make a buck''? In short, there is a whole essay in this one question about Macbeth. 

Yet the essay has further issues. Overall, it is made up of too many short, simple sentences that hamper the flow. In fact, three consecutive sentences in the introduction all begin in the same way, with "He." The writer should have employed some longer statements of varying complexity. The major problem with this essay is that the writer has forgotten its autobiographical purpose. He is the one who is applying to college, not Shakespeare. He is throwing away his chance to tell his readers something about himself. All the information in the first paragraph about who Shakespeare was and what he did for a living can be cut. Then all the suggestions in the rest of the essay about who the writer is and what he cares about need to be developed. Again, the reader wants to hear more, such as about his interest in acting. Has he performed in plays? Has he acted in one of Shakespeare's plays? (There is a full evening's conversation in that topic alone.) What does he like about acting? What special advice about acting would he hope to get from Shakespeare? What if he had to wait on tables for a while to keep body and soul together between roles? Does he have that kind of dedication? 

Developing the essay's autobiographical elements would also lend it the coherence it now lacks. As it stands now, the writer simply jumps from one topic of conversation to another. If he were to focus on what interests him about a chance to speak to Shakespeare, he would give the essay the focus it needs.

Well Done "Hobbies and Interests" Essay

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The sun is still asleep while the empty city streets await the morning rush hour. As in a ritual, my teammates and I assemble into the dank, dimly-lit locker room at the Rinconada Park Pool. One by one, we slip into our moist drag suits and then make a mad run from the locker room through the brisk morning air to the pool, stopping only to grab a pull-buoy and a kick-board. Coastal California cools down overnight to the high forties. The pool is artificially warmed to seventy-nine degrees, and the clash in temperatures creates a plethora of steam on the water's surface, casting a scene more appropriate for a werewolf movie. Now the worst part: diving head-first into the glacial pond. I think of friends still tucked in their warm beds as I conclude the first warm-up laps. Meanwhile, our coach emerges through the fog. He offers no friendly accolades, just a stream of instructions and exhortations. 

Thus begins another workout. 4,500 yards to go, then a quick shower and five-minute drive to school. Another 5,500 yards are on our afternoon training schedule. Tomorrow, the cycle starts all over again. The objective is to cut our times by another 1/10th of second. The end goal is to have that tiny difference at the end of a race that separates success from failure, greatness from mediocrity. Somehow we accept the pitch--otherwise, we'd still be fast asleep beneath our blankets. Yet sleep is lost time, and in this sport time is the antagonist. Coaches spend hours in specialized clinics, analyzing the latest research on training techniques and experimenting with workout schedules in an attempt to unravel the secrets of defeating time. 

My first swimming race was when I was ten years old and an avid hockey player. My parents, fearing that I would get injured, redirected my athletic direction toward swimming. Three weeks into my new swimming endeavor, I somehow persuaded my coach to let me enter the annual age group meet. To his surprise and mine, I pulled out an "A" time. National "Top 16" awards through the various age groups, club records, and finally being named a National First Team All-American in the 100 Butterfly and Second Team All-American in the 200-Medley Relay cemented an achievement in the sport. Reaching the Senior Championship meet series means the competition includes world-class swimmers. Making finals will not be easy from here: these 'successes' were only separated from failure by tenths of a second. And the fine line between total commitment and tolerance continues to produce friction. Each new level requires more weight training, longer weekend training sessions, and more travel. Time that would normally be spent with friends is increasingly spent in pursuit of the next swimming objective. 

In the solitude of the laps, my thoughts wander to events of greater significance. This year, my grandmother was hit with a recurrence of cancer, this time in her lungs. A person driven by good spirits and independence now faces a definite timeline. On the other side of the Pacific Ocean, my grandfather in Japan also contracted the disease. His situation has been corrected with surgery--for now, anyway. In the quest to extend their lives, they have both exhibited a strength that surpasses the struggles I confront both in sports and in life. Our different goals cannot be compared, yet my swimming achievements somehow provide a vicarious sense of victory to them. When I share my latest award or partake with them a story of a triumph, they smile with pride as if they themselves had stood on the award stand. I have the impression that my medals mean more to them than I will ever understand. 

Life's successes appear to come in small increments, sometimes mere tenths of a second. A newly learned skill, a little extra effort put on top of fanatical training routine, a good race day, or just showing up to a workout when your body and psyche say "no" may separate a great result from a failure. What lies in between is compromise, the willpower to overcome the natural disposition to remain the same. I know that my commitment to swimming carries on to other aspects of life, and I feel that these will give me the strength to deal with very different types of challenges.

Comments

This student employs precise and vivid details in his introduction, including an opening statement that befits the way he himself feels on his way to swim practice: "The sun is still asleep while the empty city streets await the morning rush hour." However, he merely hints at what his passion is, using language such as "teammates," "moist drag suits," "and pool." Though it is clear how much he loves his sport, as well as how successful he has been, he offers a genuine point in, "I think of friends still tucked in their warm beds as I conclude the first warm-up laps."

The success of the essay lies in the great insight admissions officers can gain from the way the applicant discusses his activity. Statement such as "The objective is to cut our times by another 1/10th of second," "The end goal is to have that tiny difference at the end of a race that separates success from failure, greatness from mediocrity," and "Three weeks into my new swimming endeavor, I somehow persuaded my coach to let me enter the annual age group meet," show that this student is committed, hard-working, passionate, detail-oriented, and proactive--all qualities admissions officers seek in future college students. He states his accomplishments with humility, not haughtiness. 

The writer even goes on to explain how his swimming has meant even more to his grandmother and grandfather, who have been afflicted with cancer: "I have the impression that my medals mean more to them than I will ever understand." The final statement ("I know that my commitment to swimming carries on to other aspects of life, and I feel that these will give me the strength to deal with very different types of challenges.) sums up the essay's main point nicely. Had the applicant included this language prematurely, the statement would have been much less powerful.

Poorly Done "Hobbies and Interests" Essay

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For my thirteenth birthday I received three juggling cubes. Made of soft patchy cloth and filled with a grainy substance, they were perfectly engineered for quick, slightly inaccurate catches. After fingering them for a few minutes, I decided that, despite my lack of coordination, I would learn to juggle. "It's a process," I thought, "and I am a savant of logic; I can compensate for my physical inadequacies with my logical thought." To celebrate my decision, I tossed one of the balls up with extreme gusto and promptly missed it with equally unmitigated exuberance. 

I leafed through the book until I had a sufficient grasp of the principles of juggling. Feeling confident, I picked up the three balls and attempted to apply my knowledge. After several weeks of practice and hours of intensive analysis, I pinpointed my difficulty: the tendency of the balls to rush abruptly to the ground. I needed something slower. "Scarves," I thought, but subsequent near-catches with a broken lamp proved that a slower object wasn't the answer. In desperation, I dispensed with strategy, and instead began to throw the balls methodically. For the next week, I integrated juggling into my lifestyle. I would wake up, juggle drowsily, shower, dry off while juggling recklessly, juggle while lying in bed, and dream about juggling. My persistence became an obsession; balls danced about my head, cascades soared majestically over head, and swift pins flipped and spun in the corner of my eye. 

The aforementioned is the story of how my interest in juggling began. After weeks of intensive practice, I mastered first the rudiments and then the intricacies of juggling. When I could finally execute complicated trick sequences, it was official: juggling was a hobby. 

I enjoyed the change of pace, physical instead of intellectual, and the sense of power one feels when gravity is defied. The whizzing, spinning balls become an other-worldly creation; they move and dance in new and exciting ways. Once a dance has been mastered, I move on to another one. Whizz! Spin! I am the creator and the esthete, making and enjoying. Respin and back! The ball explores new territory. The once impossible is simple. Reverse and under! A ball goes through, and is replaced by a bowling pin. Smack! Reality hits suddenly and painfully.

Comments

The most glaring problem is the lack of a genuine voice. The applicant uses such unorthodox terminology ("...savant of logic...unmitigated exuberance...esthete...") that the reader suspects overuse of a thesaurus. The language is too formal and awkward. The statement, "...I am a savant of logic; I can compensate for my physical inadequacies with my logical thought," is not very believable, because most people would not think in such language.

Another problem is the poor attempt at humor: "After several weeks of practice and hours of intensive analysis, I pinpointed my difficulty: the tendency of the balls to rush abruptly to the ground." Though humor can be an effective device, this applicant uses stilted language that does not seem to be his own. He also refers to his own writing ("The aforementioned is the story of how my interest in juggling began.")--something that should not be done in a formal essay. 

The final straw is that the writer never makes a unique point, offering a strange conclusion full of onomatopoeia. Since this essay does not offer much insight into the applicant's personality or character, it does not serve to help his chances of admission.

Well Done "Favorites" Essay

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When I was in the eighth grade, my backpack disappeared from my life. I can't remember what happened to it. I may have lost it, or perhaps my sister took it. Anyway, I found myself backpackless. I need a backpack to carry all my books, binders, pens, pencils, highlighters, protractors, calculators and compasses (sometimes I go a bit overboard with the tools I bring to class). I began to use this strange pack of my dad's, which was actually more like a soft-sided briefcase with back-straps. That pack was truly the ugliest piece of luggage I have ever seen. It embarrassed my friends and made me feel like a fool, but I had no choice but to wear it. I couldn't find any alternative where I lived in Saudi Arabia, so I promptly ordered a backpack from L.L. Bean. 

I really enjoy pouring over catalogs, so I enthusiastically decided on the nine-inch deep L.L. Bean Deluxe (I need a roomy backpack). For the color, I debated among eggplant, forest green, pine, and the other excitedly named shades, but eventually decided on mallard blue. It was a shade of blue that bordered on iridescent. I knew no one else would have a backpack that color. I sent off my order form and eagerly waited. 

It takes a few months for L.L. Bean to get something all the way to Saudi Arabia, but my backpack eventually arrived. I realized that mallard blue had been a bold choice. The color could definitely be called ugly, and its brightness could not be denied. It was also huge, especially on my eighth-grade body. The crowning detail was my initials "H-A-W" embroidered on the back. Yes, it spells "haw." However, it was clearly an improvement over Dad's dork-case. I loved it, and it has since gone with me everywhere. 

My bag has acquired a great deal of character since eighth grade. There are little marks and scratches all over the material. There's a small sparkly bead flower I sewed on once in a fit of procrastination; the flower was originally accompanied by a diagonal line of sparkly beads above the reflective strip on the bag, but I decided that was just too much and removed the line of beads. One can faintly see where I wrote "excess" on the bag. I don't know why I wrote that; I just went through a phase when I thought "excess" was a cool word. Also on the bag is leftover stitching from where I had attached a Saudi Arabian flag, which I removed because I feared it made me vulnerable to terrorist attacks. On the back pocket, I added a patch proclaiming me to be an "advanced" diver from the scuba class I took during the summer. When I have time, I plan to add another patch from NOLS, the National Outdoor Leadership School, where I spent part of my summer. The final touch is a little guardian angel pin that my aunt gave to me. It looks silly in its shiny golden newness next to the rest of my rugged ragged bag, but I could think of no better place for the pin, which I'm supposed to keep near me at all times. 

I think my backpack is a good representation of me. Just like my backpack, my personality is full of random, loud elements that don't really make sense together. Their only unifying force is the fact that they all belong to me, so I like them. Just as my backpack has picked up a patch here and a beaded design there, I have picked up ideas here and insights there throughout our travels together. It records my history more personally than a diary ever could, and although I know it is just a material object, I would be at a loss if I were ever to lose it.

Comments

Though not as strong as some of the other "Well Done" essays, the success of this applicant's work lies in his unique subject matter--his backpack. The introduction is a bit stolid and too conversational, causing the reader to lose interest. However, the unique topic helps keep the reader's attention. The writer shows his ability to relate precise details in the second paragraph and adeptly (and indirectly) relates that he is a foreign student: "It takes a few months for L.L. Bean to get something all the way to Saudi Arabia, but my backpack eventually arrived."

The applicant shows his maturity and attention to current events through the relation of his concern about "terrorist attacks." Talking about the patches and other details of his backpack provides the opportunity for him to relate some of his qualities and past experiences. 

He saves his explicit conclusion for the end of the essay--a much more successful (and interesting) strategy than relating the point early on. Though his realization could have been more insightful ("Just like my backpack, my personality is full of random, loud elements that don't really make sense together."), he is genuine in his expression of confusion. Not everyone will know exactly who they are or what they want to do with their lives. For students such as this applicant, college will indeed be the place for him to discover more about who he really is and aspires to become.

Poorly Done "Favorites" Essay

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"Have you ever noticed that the people never rip the paper off their gifts? The boxes are rigged so that the lid will simply lift off." Some time after sharing this insight with my friend Jennifer, I received a birthday present from her wrapped in such a way that the top came off without tearing the blue paper. I kept the special box and placed my birthday cards in it along with a few other letters I regarded as treasures. Since then, I've moved across the country twice, but the box remains on the top shelf of my closet, now joined by two other shoe boxes, a pink, heart-shaped container, and a hand-woven Guatemalan bag--all overflowing with the letters that chronicle so much of my life and so many of my friendships. 

My inability to part with any of my letters--from the shortest note from Grandma to one of the hundreds of letters from my friend Melissa--cannot be easily explained. Certainly the love letters play upon my conceit, gently building my fragile teenage self esteem. Beyond these, however, lie the babbling prose of girlfriends, the one note I received from my camp roommate, and the letter accompanying the black and white photo of John, Paul, George, and Ringo which I won in the "Eight Days a Week" Beatles sweepstakes. I treasure each of these and hold tight the history locked within them in my changing world; to quote the opening of one of Melissa's letters, "Life is so wonderful, and so unfair, and so confusing." 

Throughout my life, I have clung to any concrete portion of the world I could get my hands on, and I have developed a deep trust in, and yearning for, the written word. Unlike spoken words, written words have a timelessness; they hold a promise forever, and they bind the writer to his promise indelibly. Smashed between a slumber party invitation and a post card from Florida, my great grandmother will always be waiting "with love" inside a card decorated with lavender flowers. When someday I get married, my first boyfriend will still miss my "soft voice and soft eyes." I rarely need to check these reminders that I can never stop being loved, being a friend, and making a difference in the lives of others. I am always conscious of the gathering that awaits me in the dusty boxes. Each time I receive a new letter, I carefully place it into the little life museum perched on my closet shelf.

Comments

This essay lacks interest, especially because it begins with trite language: "Have you ever noticed..." Though the applicant does a good job of providing specific details, she goes overboard, providing too much disconnected information that she ties together into a generic idea: "...I have developed a deep trust in, and yearning for, the written word." Though there is nothing wrong with this statement, the writer never intimates if or how she has expanded her love of writing--aside from keeping every letter she has ever received. This could be construed as a negative character trait: the inability to let go ("Throughout my life, I have clung to any concrete portion of the world I could get my hands on..."). College is a time for rethinking oneself, and such a fervent focus on reveling in the status quo could cause an admissions officer to infer slight immaturity in the applicant. The deathblow comes with the use of cliched rhetoric near the end: "...making a difference in the lives of others."

Well Done "School Target" Essay

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If an undergraduate's time is spent eating, working, socializing, and sleeping, I expect that I'll spend large chunks of my time in the cafeteria, the libraries, and the dorms. My days will most definitely be hectic. As I run across the quad to my history class, I'll already be thinking of where I'll be heading after that. 

Sometimes I'll be running to a big round table in the Food Court. This table seems to be a magnet for my eclectic friends. One of the guys, a saxophonist with whom I play the oboe in an ensemble, is trying to get his own avant-garde band some places to play. Another student writes an editorial column for the Daily Pennsylvanian; he always seems to be searching for a hot topic with which he can stir up a ruckus. A French major who sits next to me in French class uses French verbs in conversation, causing some confusion for the rest of us. We tend to talk about everything from the Beastie Boys to the controversy over political correctness. We sit for hours sharing our mashed potatoes and discussing activities to collectively embark on for the weekend. I suggest some rock climbing in the Shawangunks of New York State or an art show in Philadelphia. 

After my extended repast, I'll be heading for a good place to study. When I have detailed notes to take on the reading for my Social History of China course, I know that the Quad will be way too busy and social for me to get any sizable amounts of work done. I'll have to slip away to the Furness Library. It is so quiet in there that you can hear the students breathing. In the other libraries there is too much commotion caused by people hustling around as they search for references. If I worked in the Van Pelt Library, I know I would speak to everyone who passed by my carrel. Given my extroverted nature, I am safer in a library like Furness. 

At the end of my day, I'll be heading for my dorm, where the door to my room is hardly ever closed. The people who live in my dorm are definitely an energetic group. Just like molecules being heated in a beaker, they can't sit still. They bounce all over the dorm's halls, in and out of my room, telling me random ridiculous things as they procrastinate about their work. My roommate and I seem to be from different planets. She grew up in Poland, Maine, the small town where my camp was, and I grew up in the big city of Manhattan. At first I'll think that all we have in common is our passion for chocolate. But after living with her for a few weeks, I'll know that we were destined to be together. She'll know when she comes back from a day that just didn't go right at all that I will be there for her to complain to, and I'll understand. She'll do likewise for me. We'll make each other chicken noodle soup and coffee to keep us going on long nights of work. I'll help her decide whether she has a thesis for her paper on Macbeth and then proofread it for her. She'll explain to me again why humans can 't digest cellulose--and then try to convince me that it's better to get up early and work rather than stay up late. We'll order some takeout from her favorite Cantonese restaurant. At 2 a.m., on full stomachs, we'll get some sleep before our 9:00 classes, when once again I'll be rushing across Locust Walk to get to my history class, thinking about where I'll be heading after that.

Comments

The writer deals inventively with the difficult question "Why are you and this school a good match?" Instead of telling the admissions committee what they already know about the college's curriculum, athletic program, or academic reputation, she tells them what they do not know about: herself. She answers the question by imagining herself in a college routine. She then makes that routine specific to Penn through references to the school newspaper, campus buildings and walks, and a particular history course. 

What she reveals about herself along the way from cafeteria to library to dorm gives this well-structured essay its zest. The reader learns that she plays the oboe, is a rock climber, goes to art shows, studies history, is extroverted, loves chocolate, treasures her roommate, does not fully understand why humans cannot digest cellulose, and happily digests Chinese takeout at 2 A.M. She is confident enough to write in her own voice, using informal language in an informal essay (''chunks of time,'' ''way too busy and social,'' ''random ridiculous things''). Her lively sense of language comes through in sentences such as, ''It is so quiet in [the Furness Library] that you can hear the students breathing,'' and in her comparison of her dorm neighbors to ''molecules being heated in a beaker.'' 

She is as specific about other details in the essay as she is about herself. The net effect of these well-chosen details--for instance, about her friends' varied interests or how she and her roommate cooperate in their work--suggests that the writer has long been attending the school to which she is applying. Such a commitment to a particular school will impress admissions officers.

Poorly Done "School Target" Essay

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At this time, my long-range goal is to practice law. My personal goal for the next four years is to explore the wide range of courses offered in a liberal arts program. Preparation for law school will be my direction, but it will not limit my desire to explore other areas. 

The curriculum within Boston College's College of Arts and Sciences offers a number of law-related courses as well as the University Core program, which would fulfill my professional school prerequisites. The general education requirements coincide with my own intentions to explore the liberal arts. During my undergraduate years I would like to continue my interests in mathematics and French literature as well as delve into unexplored areas. Another aspect of the curriculum I found especially interesting is the PULSE program. In addition to the exposure to philosophy and theology, this program would give me the opportunity to go ''on site'' to interact with the community. I particularly appreciate the opportunity to design an independent major with the help of faculty advisers. Also, I especially look forward to returning to France as part of a Foreign Study Program at the University of Paris. 

There are substantial differences between Boston College and other colleges that offer a liberal arts program. Among these differences is the Jesuits' superb reputation for excellence in education. The Jesuit influence is my guarantee of excellence within the faculty, the curriculum, and the student body. My father has often talked about the influence on him of having been educated at Jesuit institutions for 12 years. I, too, would like to be the product of the Jesuits' strong commitment to teaching and to helping society. It is not so important that I be taught by Jesuits but that I would be surrounded by the Jesuit philosophy. 

Boston is a perfect location for law-school hopefuls and law students. The internships, libraries, and other resources on campus and throughout the city offer invaluable advantages to Boston College students. The size of the university's student body, the faculty, and the policy of interdisciplinary selection of minors are additional considerations that lead me to apply to Boston College. The faculty enjoy a reputation for not only being distinguished in their fields but also for being accessible and committed. I feel that this is an important factor for preparing for graduate school. In addition, since students are allowed to select courses from the other four schools, I would not be limited as I explore new fields. 

Not all colleges place a priority on character in selecting their students. The fact that Boston College selects students who are concerned about others is important to me. I know that I will continue playing tennis during the next four years. The fact that Boston College has indoor and outdoor courts and a program which includes intramural and club sports, as well as tennis lessons, is very appealing to me.

I consider my undergraduate years as a preparation not only for law school but also for my personal enrichment. Fortunately, law school requirements coincide with my personal and career goals. Most law schools desire students with strong thinking and communicating skills. They value a diversified curriculum from undergraduate schools that have a reputation for excellence in education. My interest in Boston College's College of Arts and Sciences comes from knowing that I will establish a rich foundation not only for graduate school but also for the rest of my life.

Comments

It is difficult to write an interesting essay about a place you have come to know from a catalog, from word of mouth, or from a short visit. It is even more difficult to imagine yourself attending a place you have yet to attend. This student at least tried to meet that double challenge head-on. Her essay makes clear that she took the time to study Boston College's programs and course offerings, to learn something about its faculty, to weigh the advantages of its location, to consider how its curriculum fits in with her short- and long-term plans. But because all these things are necessarily abstract at this point in her life, the essay itself seems abstract, filled with generalities and cliches about exploring the liberal arts, appreciating the excellence of the faculty, and enriching her life. 

To solve these problems, the writer needs to be straightforward and specific. If she wants to go to Boston College because she believes it is the best Jesuit-run liberal arts college in the Northeast, she should say so. And then--and this is the important part--she should explain why those traits mean something to her. What specifically has her father told her about his own Jesuit education that appealed to her or caught her interest? Is she looking forward to a first semester in which she takes courses of much wider variety than ever before--differential calculus and the history of Western philosophy on Mondays and Wednesdays, the arts of the Orient on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and French literature every morning at eight o'clock? Does she want to study in the Northeast because her family is nearby and she is not eager, as some students are, to put thousands of miles between herself and her siblings, who are not at all obnoxious and who have never once read her private journal aloud at the dinner table? In short, she needs to shift the emphasis of the question: It is not about Boston College, but about the girl who wants to attend it. 

This topic tempted the writer to write vaguely about an experience she has yet to know and enjoy. She included too much and explored it too little. If she had given herself no more than three-quarters of a page for her response, she would have had to focus on the essentials instead of the indoor tennis courts. Then she would have increased her chances of writing a good essay.

Well Done "International Experience" Essay

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Note: This essay was accompanied by a photograph of a saddle shoe taken by the applicant during a trip to Poland.