TIPS FOR WRITING A PERSONAL STATEMENT (PERSONAL NARRATIVE ESSAY)

          So many students have come to me to work on personal statements (a.k.a. personal narrative essays) for university admissions, scholarships, and school assignments that I decide to create a tip sheet to assist them in creating a first draft on their own. The tip sheet (copied below) will empower them with independence during the initial writing stage, as well as the first editing stage--substantive editing (which covers issues of substance, over style and grammar, etc.).  By carefully using the tip sheet to create second drafts, students can expedite the entire essay-writing process by reducing the level of my involvement to the final "polishing" or proofreading stage. Here are my tips:

1.  Be sure that the essay is actually PERSONAL—a vivid story specifically about you, which only you can share/show via recounting your memories. Avoid generic statements about your skills, talents, traits, or passions; SHOW those qualities--don’t merely tell about them.
2.  Use a retrospective narrative style: a) start in the present, to briefly introduce the theme; b) then bring the reader back in time, into a vividly recalled memory; and c) conclude with an introspective reflection, looking into yourself and what you have learned/gained.
3.  Use fiction techniques, such as Susan L. Lipson’s “D.A.D. Technique” (Description, Action, Dialogue), to share a story that illustrates your specific traits and/or accomplishments via an event.
4. You can borrow some other writer’s wise words (a quotation) as your opening, but be sure to build upon those quoted words as you begin your first sentence. Don’t just use a quotation as an opener without directly referring to its wisdom as it relates to your personal story.
5. Read your essay aloud and delete repetitive words (even entire sentences that only restate what you have already said before, just in different words).
6. Delete also any words that veer off the topic.
7. Listen to someone else read your essay aloud, slowly, and make notes about any lines which cause the reader to halt, stammer, seem confused, or sound bored or repetitive. Based on your notes, find ways to clarify or enhance the power of your word choices (see the next item, below).
8. Replace all vague words with specific details that create mental movies in the minds of readers. For example: instead of merely telling readers, “I was disappointed that I spent most of the baseball season on the bench;” show them your perspective, how you watched through the fence as your teammates played instead of you.
9. Delete passive verbs (such as am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been, go, goes, went, do, does, did) and replace them with active, precise verbs that create images in the reader’s mind. DON’T RELY ON WEAK VERBS ENHANCED BY ADVERBS (ending in -ly). TOO MANY ADVERBS MIGHT MEAN THAT YOU HAVEN’T FOUND PRECISE ENOUGH VERBS. For example, replace "walked softly" with "tiptoed."
10. Replace all clichés with original expressions; don’t rely on words so commonly used that they feel predictable.
11. Finally, ask yourself, will my reader know me better after reading my essay?

Writing Teacher as Choreographer

Choreographed Prompt

by S. L. Lipson

My student does not like it

when I play peppy classical music--

or does he?

He fidgets with his pen,

raising and lowering it,

but not onto his paper,

where he is supposed to be writing.

He waves the pen,

watching it as if watching a windshield wiper,

to the rhythm of the music.

He's conducting, not creating,

joyfully unproductive.

Maybe classical music deafens his muse. 

I switch radio channels to blues 

and his pen stops dancing, 

as he leans back in his chair

and takes a deep breath,

then leans forward and lowers his pen slowly

to his mostly blank page.

He starts writing, word by word at first,

and suddenly in a stream.

His posture projects passion through his pen.

Finally, he clicks his pen shut, rereads, sighs, 

and looks up at me.

"Wow, this is the saddest thing

I've ever written."

His eyes look glassy.

I smile,

a content choreographer.  

For more poetry by S. L. Lipson, check out www.susanllipson.blogspot.com, my other blog titled "Writing Memorable Words."

To Write Moving Words, We Must Read Them

The more we read, the better we write; the greater the variety of genres we read, the broader the expansion of our writing styles; the deeper our admiration and understanding of the artistry in what we read, the richer the complexity and innovativeness of what we write.

            Because I pride myself on practicing what I preach--"Show, don't tell!"--I'll now show you what I just told you, via an anecdote: 

Yesterday, a 13-year-old student, who aspires to be a published author, presented to me the opening pages of her novel-in-progress, a YA novel written in verse--a genre that she was unaware even existed until I introduced her to poetry novels.  Before starting lessons with me a couple of years ago, her reading consisted primarily of fantasy novels, most of them plot-driven with archetypal, but unrealistic characters and relationships. Hence, when she started her lessons with me, her writing style reflected what she read, and her characters seemed like mere plot puppets. I suggested that she read more literary, character-driven stories to balance her sense of style; initially, she seemed wary of reading books outside of her usual genre. So we would read a chapter of a literary novel aloud together, and then I’d send her home with the book, and guiding questions. Often I’d have her write short pieces in emulation of the book’s style and using one or more of the author’s characters. Other times, I’d assign essay-style responses to the stylistic techniques used by the author. Her range of interests grew, and she began exploring classics on her own with the approach of a determined writer-in-training.

I also used poetry prompts for many of our early lessons, since I wanted to heighten her focus on the power of word choices and on showing, instead of telling, with the most concise words. Over the next year, my student discovered that she has a natural talent and affinity for poetry. She would lose interest in the short stories she had started, after we discussed the many holes that needed filling between her lines, due to logical flow problems or awkward exposition of characters. “Can I do another poetry prompt instead?” she would often ask, eager to set aside the confounding prose pages. Of course, I encouraged her poetry writing, but I didn’t want her to lose interest in writing novels, since that was her reason for starting lessons with me.

“Have you ever read a novel-in-verse?” I asked her.

“What’s that?”

“A poetry novel. It’s a story composed entirely of poems, each one building upon the one before it, in free verse…. Here. I bet you’ll enjoy this one.” I happen to have in my home library a number of poetry novels (because I’m a poet, as well as a poetry lover), and I handed her One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies, by Sonya Sones. She looked askance at the title, and quickly flipped through the free-verse-filled pages of the novel. “Let’s read the first poem together,” I offered.

She wanted me to read it aloud to her. Her eyebrows rose with interest as I finished the first poem. “Can you read the next one, too?” she asked.

I read one more, as I recall, and then told her she would be reading it at home, for homework. She loved the book. In subsequent lessons, we discussed the subtle character development achieved through the poet’s careful selection of the most concise, powerful words. We discussed the imagery and voice that established the cinematic quality and the engaging tone. And she hunted for evidence—quotations—that aptly illustrated her assertions. Over the course of our next few weekly lessons, she wrote with much greater enthusiasm to writing prompts that required her to develop characters’ emotions without the ease of her preferred first-person narration, and to show their emotions via my D.A.D. (Description, Action, Dialogue) technique and the interactions with other characters. Depth began to creep into her style with the help of poetry—the essence of word power.

Thus began my student’s poetry novel binge, which most recently led her to read Perfect, by Ellen Hopkins. I presented this poignant, gritty YA book to her as another example of how to develop realistic characters with distinct voices. We read and she analyzed a few of the poems in class, writing essay responses about the subtle revelation of various characters’ back-stories. I asked her to try writing her own poem in Ellen’s style, pulling out certain words from the ends of lines to form a poignant, poetic message in the right margin (if you can’t figure out what I’m describing, please read Ellen’s poetry—it’s a very engaging style). My student’s first attempt at emulating Ellen’s poetry style was earnest, but seemed forced; however, I had unknowingly laid down a gauntlet when I told her that if she wrote a really strong poem in that style, maybe I’d send it to Ellen, since she is my friend.

Weeks went by without further mention of the poetry challenge, and without our working on fiction or poetry at all. This girl had essays due for school and scholarship programs, and she wanted my help. She spent her tutorial hours with me focused on writing, reviewing, and revising, until her due dates.

The other day, she arrived for her private class with sparkling eyes, and it seemed to me that she was almost vibrating as she settled into her seat and announced that she had something new to show me. She booted up her laptop computer and passed it to me. “It’s only about six pages so far, and I’m not finished introducing all of the characters yet….”

On the screen was a free verse poem, with a title and a girl’s name—a protagonist. I noticed the Ellen Hopkins style of the free verse poem with a sidebar message formed by words pulled over to the right margin. Holding my breath and hoping that I would share her enthusiasm for the unfolding dystopian fantasy, I read straight through. By the sixth page, I had met three of the four main characters, and knew some intriguing details about their back-stories. Even the sidebar messages added intrigue and poignancy. She had hooked me. We began discussing where the story was headed, and now both of us were vibrating!

I am so excited to see how her novel grows, along with this extraordinary young writer! Perhaps she'll let me share a poem or two from that book here, in the coming months....

Aim To Change the Way Your Reader Sees the World

Do you want a goal for laboring over word choices, to justify the time it takes to come up with that perfect description? How about aiming to change the way your reader sees the world in some small way? Now that may sound like a lofty goal, maybe even overdramatic to you; however, I achieved that goal during a private lesson the other day, according to my 8th-grade student, B.

I opened my lesson by explaining to B that "literal language says just what it means, nothing more; whereas figurative language means more than what it says." She smiled and replied, "Huh...I never thought of it that way, but you're right."

Then I presented some examples of figurative imagery. First I asked her to read this sentence aloud:


The sand is like crumbled mountains, dissolved by lapping waves.


I asked, "If you read that sentence without the simile, you have a literal description of sand being lapped by waves, right?" She read it softly to herself and nodded. "And if you substitute the simile 'like coarse brown sugar' for the crumbled mountains simile, how would the sentence change?"

She wrinkled her brow. "Hmm. Well, it would describe what the sand looked like. But it's not as good as the first simile."

"Why not? It's a sweeter image, right?"

She chuckled. "Yes. But it's not as descriptive as 'crumbled mountains.' It only says what the sand looks like, but not what it's...what it's LIKE."

I prompted her further: "Okay, elaborate on that. What else, besides how the sand looks, does the image of crumbled mountains suggest to you?"

Her eyes lit up. "Time passing! It takes a long time for mountains to crumble." I was still nodding happily as she added, "Erosion!"

"Yes, yes! So it makes you think of sand a-a-as..." I led her with my rising tone.

"As pieces of mountains, not just...sand."

"Yes!" I then gave her a short metaphorical poem I wrote as an expansion of the same image. "Here. Now read this poem, please. 'The Sands of Time.'"

She read it aloud:


SANDS OF TIME

Former mountain fortresses,
eroded by the sea:
the children now rebuild your grains
into tiny castles,
still threatened by the tides of change.


"Ooh, I like that," she murmured.

"From fortresses to tiny castles, eh?" I asked, smiling.

"Yeah. I never would have thought of that. That's really cool."

I was beaming, I'm sure. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Okay, so how does figurative language affect a reader's perception of a scene?"

She explained, "It makes me see a new perspective, something I might not see it on my own." She paused. "Like, I'll never look at the sand at the beach the same way after reading your poem."

"You've just summed up the very reason I write, B! So that I can change the way people see the world, even in a small way!"

Now she was beaming, too.

Handing her a selection of gorgeous landscape photos torn out of an old calendar, I asked her to write her own unique perspective on one of the scenes, focusing not on how it looks, but on what it looks LIKE. "Write your own metaphorical poem." She selected a photo of rolling green hills and wrote a first draft about Mother Nature covered by her thick green blanket, slowly shifting under the grassy fabric over time--a peaceful napping earth. I will remember her metaphor when I go hiking over the green hills near my home tomorrow morning!

“D.A.D.” and “M.O.M.”: Memorable Guides To Improve ALL Forms of Writing

Truly memorable fiction usually includes description, action, and dialogue (what I call the D.A.D. technique of creating vivid word pictures). Remember D.A.D. as a kind of checklist for your writing--even if you have only one character (the D for Dialogue could translate to a person talking to him/herself). Examine your favorite stories and novels—the ones that created virtual movies that still play in your mind when you recall them—and you’ll see the important role of D.A.D.

As for nonfiction, vivid writing has as much importance as it does in fiction, and the D.A.D. technique will liven up essays, reports, and articles, too. You may be saying to yourself, “Sure, I understand how I can use description and action in creative nonfiction…but dialogue?” Simply remember to include words “spoken” by others—QUOTATIONS—to illustrate your points. And when revising your nonfiction and checking for the D.A.D. elements, look for quotation marks to ensure that you’ve painted a vivid nonfiction word picture. Using my D.A.D. technique in everything you write will immediately improve your written works, whether you write fiction, poetry, or nonfiction.

Now, along with D.A.D. comes M.O.M. (I don't discriminate when I make up mnemonic devices!): The M.O.M. technique will enable you to revise and edit your work for maximum impact by focusing on Mood, Order, and Matter. Let me explain. Mood refers to the tone of a piece of writing. Your word choices affect how your reader perceives the images or imaginary world you’ve created. How you choose your D.A.D. elements will determine the mood of your work, and you may have to alter the descriptions, actions, and/or dialogues to fit the mood you hope to convey. For example, to set a mysterious mood, you might describe a garden as “shrouded in mist”; and a man’s action as “shifting his eyes back and forth as he tiptoed through the garden”; and that man’s dialogue lines might read: “Where on earth could he have hidden?” Similarly, those basic elements would change for a scary story. For instance, the garden might feature a description of “a hedge of twisted junipers, contorted like writhing, green monsters;” and you might show the man’s actions as: “he sweated profusely as he darted between rows of thorny stems and spider-like tendrils”; and his dialogue lines might say: “This can’t be real—heaven help me, it can’t!” One word alone can alter a piece’s mood. A boy who "trudges," rather than "walks" shows us his unhappy mood; whereas a boy who "skips," rather than "moves," shows us a childish joy. Experiment with verbs that can change the mood of a sentence, not to mention the image of your character. Thus, Mood, the first element of the M.O.M. technique, both enriches and depends upon D.A.D.

In nonfiction, think of Mood as the tone you set using either formal or informal words. In an essay written to persuade the reader of your personal opinion about something, it is sometimes appropriate to “talk” directly to the reader and use contractions (like “it’s” instead of “it is”), rather than very formal wording. In a report of information, in which you present only facts, and no opinion, the Mood, or tone, must remain “objective,” like a factual newspaper article. Order refers to the order in which you supply information to the reader. If your story, for instance, grows from a specific setting—such as a creepy old mansion—and you want to introduce the characters slowly, as they enter the mansion, building the reader’s suspense, then you must first rely most heavily on the element of Description. You might decide to change that order if you prefer to speed up the plot and engage your reader in action from the first line, rather than risk boring him with a lengthy description of the mansion. The order in which you present your story’s D.A.D. elements will determine how you affect your reader—whether you offer subtle hints about the plot in advance, perhaps even revealing the end scene at the start, and then keeping the reader guessing all along about how that ending will occur; or you might supply intriguing tidbits of description or deceptive dialogue to keep the reader wondering about the character’s true personality. Notice the order of the story elements when you read the works of other writers. Experiment with changing the order of elements as you polish your own stories, poems, and—yes—your nonfiction reports and essays. In nonfiction, the order of your points, and your summation of those points in the end, determines whether your reader comes away from your piece feeling well-informed or confused, convinced or bored. Matter, the final element of M.O.M., means two things: first, I mean “matter” as the “substance” or “stuff” you wrote about; and second, I mean “matter” as “having a definite purpose.” Thus, the Matter consists of all those details that absolutely must appear on the page in order for the reader to understand the meaning of the entire piece. If you add unnecessary artistic details that don’t matter to the reader’s understanding, then you decrease the power of the Matter and confuse the reader. Deciding which matter matters is what we do in the final editing stage of our writing process, in which we delete superfluous words that slow down, or distract from, the work’s purpose. The Matter, Order, and Mood all influence each other in your writing.

Remind yourself to heed D.A.D. and M.O.M. whenever you write, and you will progress as a writer—I guarantee it. (You will also learn to appreciate, as a reader, the effective use of these techniques by your favorite authors.) Yes, embrace your “parental guides,” D.A.D., who helps you grow as a writer, and M.O.M., who helps you grow stronger through revision and editing. Thus, remembering D.A.D. and M.O.M. while writing will create writings worth remembering!