Everyone’s Not A Writer. But Everyone Has A Story.

 

I consider myself a writer. Reading and writing have always been among my great passions in life. I was one of those kids who took great delight at library visits because this is where I felt at home. So many books and so many interests, I wandered up and down the aisles in search of my next great adventure.

In time, I wanted to write, and I did. I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote as a middle schooler and high schooler. When faced with the decision of what to major in in college, I was torn between English and Psychology. Psychology won out (with some parental guidance) and I designated English as my minor.

Throughout my college, grad school years, and beyond, one of the most consistent praises I’ve earned is for my writing style. My first college-level paper submitted for my English Composition class: “You’re such a great writer,” the professor wrote in the margins in red ink.

I’ve gone on to have original research published in academic journals and edited book volumes. Generally speaking, people don’t read peer-reviewed journal articles just for fun, so needless to say I haven’t made the New York Times Bestseller List.

I tried my hand at writing for a wider audience of women when asked to contribute a chapter to The Legacy Letters: 30 Women Address The Next Generation anthology. The project creator shared (and I take it as an extremely high compliment):

You write with an authenticity and transparency that is interesting and inspiring. – Lisa Nicole Bell

I’m a writer. A pretty damn good one.

Yes, that was the distinct sound of me tooting my own horn. I’ve been doing this for over half my life. I love it. I enjoy it. Writing with honesty and deep reflection is what I pride myself on. It is my superpower. Beyond technical skill (here’s looking at you, Advanced Grammar class), writing is also part art: You shift and substitute words around until they vividly and eloquently portrays the jumble of thoughts floating around in your head.

I scrunch my forehead in deep concentration as I type. I pace the floors when the right word just doesn’t come to me. I write whole paragraphs and delete and write some more until everything makes sense. It is pure intuition run amok.

Yet, everyone is not a writer. Even really smart, talented, going-somewhere people.

Where I see this the most is is when writing an essay to apply for college or graduate school. Maybe you’re stuck on starting. You have no idea what to write about. Perhaps you’re struggling to come up with a brilliant, pithy opener to kick off the essay with a bang. Even better, you’ve started, but came down with dreaded case of Writer’s Block.

Or you write and write and write and now your essay is too long. Where can you cut but still keep the essence of your ideas in place? Or you just have a nagging intuition that something is not quite right, but you cannot pinpoint exactly what needs improvement.

Beyond Proofreading

I don’t write essays for applicants, but I do coach through the writing process. There are a variety of reasons why applicants may struggle; I help pinpoint the roadblock and we brainstorm solutions. Over the course of my academic career, I’ve read countless essays and have assisted students with writing assignments in my own classes. Translating this practice over to college or graduate school applicants is a piece of cake.

My number one pointer: Use the essay to introduce and advocate for yourself. Together, we discuss essay themes. Now you take on the task of committing them to paper. I read through with a critical eye to assess if our writing goals were accomplished.

This really isn’t about me. It’s about helping applicants piece experiences into a coherent theme and commit their story to paper. Your essay is an opportunity to convey your personality, what makes you tick, what you believe in, and what you’re passionate about. Everyone has a story, a perspective, a set of diverse experiences and fundamental beliefs.

With a well-crafted essay, you are more than a grade point average, standardized test score, or a list of extracurricular activities. You are a living, breathing person to round out a collective of applicants they want to admit.