It's not just a CV or laundry-list of goals and accomplishments. It's another chance to make a writing impression. Make it count.
The rub with the personal essay is that depending on the school, you may be writing an autobiographical statement, a personal essay, or a statement of purpose, and there may be subtle or not-so-subtle differences among the three. In some cases you may be required to submit all three, with those subtle or unsubtle differences embedded in the text.
Because it’s really going to seem like they’re going out of their way to confuse you on purpose. Don’t let them get the best of you!
Have you ever tried to convince someone to buy a "widget"? Say, in a a job as a salesperson? Or as a child begging for a birthday present? If you've ever tried to sell a widget, you're in similar territory with the personal essay—except this time, the widget is you. You're the product. Some things to keep in mind.
There is no such thing as a "standard story"
I have a good friend who once applied to a grad program in a different field—she has since graduated from a stellar school and is now working as a heavy-hitter in her industry. But back when she was applying, she ask if I thought the story of her heritage (minority female from lower socio-economic stratum who hit the big time financially through diligence and hard work) is old and tired and overused. My answer was, is, and will always be “no.” Why? Not because “minority stories” still have some life left in them. but because there is no such thing as a “minority story.” There are only individual stories belonging to real people.
If you’ve got a compelling story, tell it. Just don’t sell yourself short by flattening your story into a trope. Round it out. Find those nuances. Make your story vibrate with energy, as though it just happened yesterday.
Write from an honest place.
Just like your prose or poetry, your story has to resonate as authentic, heartfelt, and unique. You can’t wear these adjectives like you would throw on a bathrobe; your essay will be authentic, heartfelt, and unique only when you go to those places that feel a little uncomfortable, a bit too raw. You will dredge up those details that make your story yours alone. And someone reading your essay on the other side will reach into your words and see you. Not just black ink in the shape of Times New Roman on white paper, but YOU: the writer, the individual, the voice that cannot be duplicated.
Don’t just tick off your achievements like you’re submitting a report card.
This is the one time you’re not going to pull together a checklist. Treating the personal essay as a CV—a means to list your honors studies and publications and references—is a sure-fire way to end up in the circular file of rejection. Sure, take note of the items you want to cover, but go to that meditative place as you would before writing a creative piece. Call up the magic. If the MFA admissions folks wanted a simple CV, they would’ve asked for one. Don't miss the opportunity to.
Treat the personal essay as another chance to showcase your work. Yes, the writing sample is your number one priority, but you can look at the essay as another way to show off your writing chops. The essay must be honest and heartfelt and reflect your own personal experience, but imagine pulling together a well-crafted personal essay that reads like a page-turning memoir. If you were on the receiving end of such a riveting piece (e.g., a reader on the admissions board)—would you be happy or sad after having read 200 manuscripts with 600 more to go? You’d be happier than Ernest Hemingway swimming in a pool of rum, is the right answer.
Show your commitment. Demonstrate that you are dedicated to the craft of writing and that you can accept, comprehend, and act on criticism as appropriate. All MFA programs—bar none—are heavy on workshopping . This is what MFAs do, day in and day out, while other grad students are doing boring stuff like writing research papers and pulling eyelashes off parasites. If you can, talk to your experience in past workshops to demonstrate your ability to put on your big boy/girl pants and take constructive feedback—and that you know how to offer respectful and rigorous criticism back to your cohort as well. The more committed you are, not only to writing, but to the improvement of your writing , the more likely your chances of consideration. While program directors and professors who run workshops love to discover new talent, I think most would agree on this:
And, by the way, if you can’t accept criticism, you should probably not apply. It’s a waste of time for everyone involved, and you are taking away someone else’s chances of getting in—someone who’s actually serious about improving their craft.
Outline your writing goals.
Some programs specifically ask for a statement of purpose that addresses your program objectives. For those programs with a pedagogical component, this may include your teaching philosophy, but more than anything, the admissions board wants to get a sense of your long-term plans as a writer. This may or may not include a sense of what your thesis will be (a novel, a collection of themed stories, a discussion on why the work is or will be important to you) but more than likely, the admissions folks, again, want to know your commitment level, what you think you can learn from graduate-level workshops, and that you plan to Write long after graduation. One prominent MFA program states that they're looking for students who'll produce important work with staying power. It doesn't have to happen the year after graduation, three years after graduation, or even ten or twenty years after graduation, but they're looking for writers who will someday contribute to the literary canon. If that sounds daunting, it is.
What do you want to get out of your MFA? This question is similar to, if not an exact mirror of, the last. But I've seen these two questions separated in the application. I'm not sure why that is, exactly, but suffice it to say t he school wants to know why you're applying. What's your skin in the game? I can tell you first off that you should never, ever say that you’re getting an MFA to “get access". to agents, famous authors, publishers. First of all, most MFA programs (UC Riverside’s low-residency Palm Desert program is an exception*) pride themselves on focusing on craft rather than commerce. Who's got time to talk agents when it's hard enough learning how to write well-told stories? Second of all, it’s obnoxious. Saying that you’re just interested in tagging those three letters to the rear end of your name feels like you’re using the school for meaningless, non-existent, delusional gain. It’s like you’re saying, “I’m a great writer. I don't need you to teach me anything. I just need you to confer the degree and introduce me to agents and stuff.” This flags an immature writer who may be fueled by ego more than talent.
A Word on Letters of Recommendation.
Behind the writing sample and personal essay, letters of recommendation are a distant third (a little more on planning for LORs here ). The only thing I've got to say about the letters is this:
