Just Take the “F” Out of Way • 01.16.13
Now that there’s nothing to left to do but panic about whether I get accepted or not, I have a lot more time to write. Last year, after I turned in my application, things became dead quiet around here because I was afraid of talking about the application because I might jinx it. Seeing as to how that turned out, I might as carry on my merry ways. Also, last year, I didn’t think I was ready for law school and was quietly praying that no one else noticed. This year is different because in spending most of a year trying to convince a law school I’m a good candidate for their school, I have convinced myself I’m a good candidate for law school.
Previously, I mentioned I took an LSAT Prep course, and I felt like it was money well spent if only for the help that Sandy provided. That feeling was reinforced on my second application. After my wrote my first draft of personal statement, I sent it off to Sandy to ask what she thought of it. I honestly expected her to come back with some polite variation of, “Seriously lady, you paid for our LSAT prep service back in April 1, 2011. It’s now a year and a half later and you still want my help?” This prep service didn’t charge a separate application help fee and it’s not even part of their “sell” feature, I would have gone to them with or without the application help, so this was something they added to be nice. Instead of telling me to move along, Sandy gave me some editing advice and said she’ll be available to read future drafts. She’s very sweet like that. And she held my hands until the end–even during the holidays. I can’t express enough thanks for her.
After sending her my second draft along with a link to my blog, she wrote back that she didn’t like my first essay and, “I tried to dance around it last time but because you sent me to your blog, I have found out you are a really good writer and there is some great stuff in there.” She concluded this long email full of extremely helpful advice with, “Write like you are writing for your blog.” When I tell my friends what Sandy wrote, they all cringe for me, and I have to reel them back in with, “No, no, she said lots of good things.” I suppose your average person would get upset if someone told them they don’t like certain piece of their writing. However, I think most writers who are semi-prolific writers would have to know they have plenty of writings that are complete duds. It could be because they were experimenting with tones, trying a new point of view, or experiencing hormonal flux. Also, after taking a writing class where we do writing workshops, I’ve learned that I improve the most from people who are critical with specific details. “I loved what you wrote,” while it massages my ego for a moment, doesn’t help me write any better.
I really appreciated Sandy’s honesty throughout the editing process. As I wrote not too long ago, I was helping my seventeen year old brother with his college essay. The first essay he sent me made me wince in pain from trying to follow it. He wrote it like he was trying way to hard to impress some college board. There were so many big words and dramatic flare that I imagined if someone were to read it out loud, they would have to do some artsy Shakespearean bow to show, “I too know how douchey and pretentious I’m about to sound.” I’ve had emails from my brother where I had to double check who sent me the email because it’s incredibly well thought out and articulate, so I know he’s capable of stringing words together beautifully. So I’ve advised him, “Write like you are writing for a very good friend.” In the end, he loosened up his tie but the wool ascot still itched a little.
Of course it’s always easier to give advice than take it. I didn’t write my essay like it was for a friend or my blog. So before a complete rewrite of my essay, I spent a couple days thinking about the difference in how I wrote my first essay and my blog. My first thought was my blog was different because I wrote it for myself. I put a certain word after another for no reason other than: Because it pleases me so. This blog is written with myself as the target audience. Then I thought, is it? I mean if it’s just me, would I spend so much time crafting a sentence that might make me crack a smile from time to time? Extra points if I’m laughing out loud? That’s when it came to me, I write this blog for my ADHD id. I write this for a future self that stopped caring about her past self and will only read this if it has something more to offer than a quick trot down memory lane. I’m Lindy hopping for my id. Also, Sandy is telling me the admission counselors are all really my ADHD id with dressier shoes. Which, I guess if someone has to go through two thousand plus applications, that would not be a poor assumption.
My absolute favorite piece of advice is her recommendation against using mountaineering as a comparison to law school because she has “heard from several law schools that they are tired with the ‘I have climbed a mountain, therefore, I can do law school’ essay.” That is simply brilliant to me. Taking a step away from my mountaineering self, I would say to me, “Give me a fucking break, you put one foot in front of the other for hours, it’s not like you’re a hero saving orphans or anything!”
To get the admission board out of my mind as I’m writing my personal statement, I closed Microsoft Word and opened up the WordPress editor on my blog. I wrote it like another post with all the expletives that I would normally use. In the end, I wrote a post that was so informal and personal, I worried it would get rejected out of inappropriate familiarity. It read too much like a crumpled page of my diary that I didn’t even bother to smooth out before sending it in. However, it did put the “personal” in my personal statement. Then I went back and deleted all the “fuck” and changed “shit” to “poo”, because the only time I’ve read a college entrance essay with “fuck” that worked was a war-hero quoting his drill sergeant. And we have already established the fact that I’m no hero. Unless you count the time I put a bucket over a giant fucking wolf spider that was beelining for my cousin. And then I did the heebie-jeebies dance for the next half hour. That dance could rival the fiercest war dance in heroism. *insert dramatic Shakespearean bow here*