The Power of Precision
I spend lots of time reminding students of the considerable power they hold as they begin to build their stories. The college essay is the rare moment within the admissions process where you hold the cards. You identify the subject. You choose the scope. You select the details. You determine the depth. And when you write with precision, there can be absolutely no mistaking your intent. You show your reader exactly what you want them to see. Precise, specific storytelling leads the reader by the hand and allows them to simply engage and enjoy.
Now it’s true that the Common App hard ceiling of 650 words can sometimes feel criminally short. We don’t have endless words with which to conjure specificity. But we do have some words, and well-chosen, potent descriptors can assure that your reader will be squarely in your narrative crosshairs. Ages ago I worked with Sophie, who had crafted a gorgeous essay about her favorite place in the world: her Grandpa’s kitchen. The essay went on to reveal her Grandpa’s influence on her understanding of cooking, family, and legacy. There was just one problem. I had no idea what Sophie’s Grandpa looked like, and as her reader, I wanted this character to take shape.
“Sophie, if you don’t tell me, you have no control over what kind of Grandpa I’m going to beckon from my brain. It might be some dude who’s wearing a three-piece suit who looks like the Monopoly man. Or I might picture a beer-bellied older fella wearing a goatee and a Hawaiian shirt.”
Neither was correct. Sophie’s Grandpa was barrel-chested, with white hair that was long in the back, with a booming Cuban-accented voice. And as Sophie revised her description, I could see him. I could hear him, because she also included a quick line of dialogue of him greeting her with, “Mi Sophia mia!”
This kind of precision doesn’t require you to burn through words to create impact. I can still remember one of my favorite college classes at UNC, Magazine Writing, taught by the legendary Journalism school professor Chuck Stone. Our assignment was to write a profile on a classmate. I had drawn Marianne, a senior who had come to Chapel Hill by way of Sweden? Germany? I can’t quite remember, but I’ll never forget how she oozed European cool, all ripped jeans and combat boots, her accent unmistakable in between drags of Marlboro Reds. The problem was her hair – I was desperate to locate the perfect descriptive language to communicate it to my reader. It was amazing, but it was also a color not found in nature. It wasn’t red, it wasn’t auburn, it wasn’t brown – was it maroon? Maroon-ish? I literally spent the next few days looking for something that was the exact shade of Marianne’s hair so I could use it in my profile. And praise be, the writing gods answered me when I was at some dingy college eatery/gas station, preparing to enjoy a breakfast of champions – sesame bagel, a bag of Sour Patch kids, and a fountain Cheerwine with the good ice. I froze. That was it. Marianne’s hair was Cheerwine red.
As you craft your stories, remember the power you wield with each keystroke. You’re not at the mercy of this essay – you’re in control of it.