I want to have deep conversations. I want to study hard. I want to find new ways of looking at horror movies, and politics, and everything. I’m thirsty for knowledge. I can’t wait to find it at UVA.
A little muddled at the end . . . I know you can do better than this! Let’s try again.
DRAFT 3 V1
Last night, I was awake until three o’clock in the morning, chatting with my friends on a message board about whether or not I should write this essay. These friends are my closest friends in the world, although none of us have ever met. We have two things in common. The first is that we are all fans of horror movies, and we watch them together while chatting online every Saturday night. The second thing we have in common is that we are all survivors of sexual assault. Through their friendship and support, I’ve learned to be grateful and maintain a positive attitude even on the hardest days, and I’ve learned to focus on building a positive future for myself. I see that positive future at the University of Virginia.
My friends have always given me great advice. But when I asked them whether or not I should write this essay on this topic, they were of two minds.
Some of them believed that I should steer clear of the topic entirely. Friends like AlaskaWitch and Blink1982 reminded me that their guidance counselors and parents told them to write their essays about constructive experiences and not traumatic ones. Like learning a new skill, or being proud even to be on a losing sports team, or the lessons taught to us by a parental figure. Talking about your rape is too easy to turn into a pity party, Blink1982 told me, which she said a guidance counselor told her.
Others of my friends, like JillyBean16, believed that I could write about it, but only as long as I was careful. They argued that it was a serious and weighty experience and also that I did need to explain the dip in my grades in the spring of my junior year, and the nontraditional academic path I’ve taken since.
But they agreed with the others on one point—everyone says that if I do write about this, I should focus not on the trauma itself, but on my recovery, and the way it has changed my outlook and my character, rather than on how bad things were for me last year.
So: I’ve been working hard and taking good care of myself this summer and fall. After dropping out, I went back over the summer for community college classes to catch up, and I’m on my way to a GED. I’m sad that I won’t be walking up at graduation with everyone else. But as my real friend RedHotChiliSarah put it, Why would I want to walk with those people anyway?
What I learned from the experience is to find constructive ways of dealing with my emotions. Like I have learned to be optimistic, and handle my emotions in healthy ways. And . . . I can’t think of anything else actually.
DRAFT 3 V2
Last night, I was awake until two o’clock in the morning, chatting with my friends on a message board about whether or not I should write this essay. These are my closest friends in the world, although we’ve never met. Like me, they are all survivors of sexual assault, and their friendship has helped me get through a very dark time in my life. Most of them say that I should not write this essay. Their guidance counselors and parents have told them to write about constructive and character-building experiences instead of trauma.
But, UVA, I keep going back to your question. You asked me to “evaluate a significant experience” and its “impact” on me. Nothing in my life has had as much impact on me as this, and I feel like I have to tell you about it. Plus, I do have to explain the dip in my grades last year, and why I’m taking courses at the community college.
In the middle of my junior year, I passed out in the back of a car after a party, and two boys took advantage of me. The thing you might not expect is that the worst part of the experience was the months afterwards, when rumors flowed all around my school about me, and I was bullied viciously. At the time, I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. That was part of the reason I went to the party when I wasn’t supposed to, part of the reason I got so drunk, why I was so vulnerable. It was the reason I couldn’t handle the teasing and ostracizing afterwards. It got so bad, I even tried to kill myself. My grades fell so far that spring because of all that.
I was on a bad path for a long time. But it turned around when I found my friends online. If it weren’t for the internet, I don’t know if I would be here to write to you today. At first, they helped me just by understanding what I was going through. It was so nice to settle in and talk to them about what I was feeling. And they knew exactly what to say because they felt it too.
The other thing that helped is that we are all horror fans. We all pick the same movies to watch on Saturday nights, and we talk about them the whole time. It’s a kind of escape for us. There is only so much you can say about your own disgust and worry and guilt. It’s fun to switch over and debate, instead, about whether Morgan Freeman should have stopped Brad Pitt from killing Kevin Spacey at the end of Se7en or not. (I hope I didn’t just spoil the movie for you.)
But through these conversations, these friends have helped me find a way to talk about what happened to me to people who haven’t had the experience. I feel them now, standing beside me as I try to write this essay and explain.
The part that is hardest about it is that I don’t really know what happened. So how can I explain? I was unconscious for it. I’m almost jealous of my friend JillyBean16, who says she told her story so many times, to family and police and eventually in court, that she feels like the thing didn’t even really happen to her. It’s turned into just this story she tells; whenever she wants to not think about it, she just has to tell herself the story, and the memories settle back down into this kind of blank feeling. I’ve told her I’m jealous of that, because I don’t even have a story to tell. I start out with that blank feeling, and sink lower from there.
So I don’t know what else to tell you. I guess, to conclude, I’ll just say that I’ve already been through an incredibly hard experience, but I survived. And I’ve gotten better. I’ve been working hard at my classes. I feel strong. I feel ready for UVA.
Alice Lovett
10/27/2000
588 words
College Application Essay DRAFT 3
Last night, I was up until two o’clock talking to my friends on a message board about whether or not I should write this essay. Most of them said I should not. GREAT opening! I’m hooked!
These friends are my closest in the world, although we’ve never met in person. But we have two things in common. The first is, we are all fans of horror movies. Every Saturday night, we all pick two movies that we watch together, pressing Play at the same time and then chatting as we go. It’s not only fun, but I learn so much.
For example, one thing I learned from my friend JillyBean16 is that in the book The Shining, the family drives a red punch buggy. In the movie The Shining, when Hallorann is driving up to save them, he passes a red punch buggy crashed on the side of the road, impaled by an 18-wheeler. It’s a foreshadowing about Hallorann (who’s about to get smashed himself), but also, because Hallorann doesn’t die in the book, it’s also Stanley Kubrick’s way of saying to Stephen King, this is my movie, I’m smashing your book.
I include that story because I want to tell you something similar: this college essay is not going to go the way you expect. Wow. Yes! You have my attention.
Because the second thing my friends on the horror message board and I have in common is that we are all survivors of sexual assault. I was assaulted last winter. Afterwards, I was bullied so badly, I had to go on medical leave from school and had to work hard to repair my grades and get to the point where I am today. I was only able to do it because of the support of my friends online.
Most of them say that I should not write this essay. Their guidance counselors and parents have told them to write about constructive experiences instead of their trauma. But this isn’t the first time I’ve disagreed with them.
We have another running argument, about a famous Stephen King quote, which they all love. King wrote, “Monsters are real. Ghosts are, too. They live inside us—and sometimes they win.” My friends all agree that the worst monsters are our own internal demons, like jealousy and anger, and that those demons torture us much longer than it would be humanly possible for any real person to do.
I think that’s a very mature way of thinking about the world, and it’s a good way to help yourself recover. But I disagree. I think that there are real monsters. They cheat, and lie, and cause injustice. And I believe it’s we have to stand up to them.
That’s why I decided to write this essay. Terrible things are possible. I don’t want to have to smile and write a sweet essay pretending that I’ve overcome some kind of adversity and reached a happy ending. I’m doing better, but I still have a long way to go.
I want to be a journalist. And as a journalist, you have to tell the truth. You tell the world about the monsters, so that everyone knows to watch out.
And that’s why I want to go to UVA. I know I can’t reach this goal alone. I’ve learned that I need the support of other passionate people. I know that with the new friends I will make in Charlottesville, and with my own hard work, I’ll be ready to reach my goals and stand up to all of the monsters, inside and out.
Alice: Let’s talk.
- Ms. MC
DRAFT ONE MILLION
Stephen King once wrote, “Monsters are real. Ghosts are, too. They live inside us.” I’m a member of a message board of other horror fans who all debate this quote a lot. We are also all young women, and we all have seen examples of sexism in the world.
We talk to each other about how we’re going to overcome sexism. That’s the biggest adversity young women face today.
DRAFT ONE MILLION AND ONE
One time my mother took me on a very special shoe-shopping trip. We bought shoes, and I can’t wait to wear them at UVA.
See? Everything has been fine in my life. The end.
DRAFT FORGET THIS STUPID THING
Stephen King once wrote, “Monsters are real. Ghosts are, too. They live inside of us—and sometimes they win.” My mother and I debated this quote once on a very, very, very special shoe-shopping trip.
Alice Lovett
11/21/2000
535 words
College Application Essay DRAFT 4
My mother stands in the doorway, still wearing her work outfit and the white tennis shoes she wears to commute. “I’m taking you to the mall,” she says.
I clean up my physics homework, shuffling papers and textbooks into a pile, and wonder why we’re going to the mall. We’ve always been close. But my mother works long hours at her job, and I’ve been studying nearly nonstop this year, catching up and finishing my high school diploma after an illness took me out of school in the spring of my junior year. We don’t have a lot of time for mother-daughter shopping trips.
But in the car, I knew that this day was special. She turned down the radio and told me a story about the importance of shoes. Could be a good opening line?
After college, my mother moved to Philadelphia and got a job at the city’s planning department. When she had interviewed, she didn’t have anything to wear except for a pair of sensible, flat brown loafers that were hand-me-downs. The interview didn’t go well. The boss was brusque and cruel. Can you show this? Maybe with a quote? This was in the seventies, when women still had to fight for respect in the office. The boss even put a hand on her lower back as he walked her to the door. He insulted her and gave her the job in the same sentence: “Our top candidate took a better-paying job already.” Wow. Great (& terrible!) line.
What my mother hadn’t realized was that she wouldn’t get her paycheck until she had worked two weeks. She ate nothing but peanut butter that whole time, stretching out the last of her graduation money.
And when she finally got that paycheck? She felt so good. She was the first woman in her family to go to college, and most of her aunts and female cousins had never even worked. Delirious with the pleasure of having earned her own money, she spent the entire paycheck on a pair of new shoes for herself.
We looked for the same pair of shoes at the store, but of course they don’t make that style anymore. Instead, we bought a pair of black Mary Janes.
Like my mother’s shoes, I know this pair is going to help me stand tall. Because my mom said that her shoes were like magic. Even though the heels were only an inch high, she was amazed on Monday morning when she found herself in the elevator, standing next to her intimidating boss, and discovered that they were eye level. All along, he’d only been an inch taller than her. But that tiny difference was invisible until she’d overcome it.
This story inspired me. I won’t have to face the same kind of sexism when I get a job, but as an aspiring journalist, I know that there are still hurdles I’ll have to face. I know UVA will prepare me for them. Let’s get specific.
And I know that my mother prepared me for them. I’m saving the shoes she bought me that day, a pair of nice black Mary Janes, for my first month at UVA. I want to wear them at convocation. That extra inch of height will remind me that I’ll go far, because I’m standing on my mother’s shoulders.
Alice: I’m so proud of you. This is a GREAT essay! One more draft to iron it out and make it sing—plus a proofread!—and we’ll be there! You’re going to do big things—I can tell.
- Ms. MC
STEPSISTERS
WHITE DRAFT: 3/21/96
BLUE DRAFT: 4/14/96
PINK DRAFT: 4/23/96
Written by Alice Lovett & Haley Moreland
Directed by Haley Moreland & Alice Lovett
Cinematography by Alice Lovett & Haley Moreland
Special effects by Haley Moreland & Alice Lovett
Starring:
Haley Moreland
Alice Lovett
FADE IN:
INT. CORNWALL HOUSEHOLD — THE TV ROOM — DAY
A normal TV room in a normal house. Two girls are standing in the middle of the room: CYNTHIA CORNWALL and MARGARET RUSH, both thirteen. They’re in a tug-of-war over the REMOTE CONTROL.
MARGARET
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
CYNTHIA
Not as much as I hate you!
They keep STRUGGLING over the remote. Cynthia PULLS and the remote goes FLYING, breaking against the wall.
CYNTHIA
You broke it!
MARGARET
No, you broke it!
CYNTHIA
Ugh, I hate you!
Both girls FLOP onto the COUCH with their arms crossed.
MARGARET
I never wanted a stepsister.
CYNTHIA
You think I did?!?
MARGARET
Well, at least we’ve got that in common.
Cynthia CHUCKLES despite herself.
CYNTHIA
It’s like that “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” song.
Margaret CHUCKLES, too.
CYNTHIA
Also, we both hate my dad.
MARGARET
You hate your dad?
Cynthia nods.
Margaret thinks.
MARGARET
What about my mom?
Cynthia looks slyly over.
CYNTHIA
I hate her, too.
Margaret sits up straight, looking at Cynthia.
MARGARET
(excited)
Me too!
Cynthia sits up straight.
CYNTHIA
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Margaret holds out her hand to shake.
MARGARET
Friends?
CYNTHIA
Friends.
They shake hands.
FADE TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: Three weeks later
INT. CYNTHIA’S BEDROOM
Cynthia and Margaret are sitting on Margaret’s bed, looking at magazines. They are drinking ORANGE JUICE. They are wearing GREEN FACE MASKS.
CYNTHIA
(pointing to the magazine)
He’s cute.
MARGARET
Not my type.
They laugh.
Cynthia rolls on her side and looks at Margaret.
CYNTHIA
I can’t believe we’re friends now. Like, real friends!
MARGARET
I’ve never had a real friend before.
CYNTHIA
Me neith . . . .
Suddenly Cynthia puts her hand on her stomach.
She GROANS in pain.
MARGARET
(hesitating)
What is it?
CYNTHIA
(groaning)
I don’t . . . feel so . . . good . . .
Cynthia PUKES all over the bedroom.
TITLE CARD: Three days later
INT. CYNTHIA’S BEDROOM
Cynthia is LYING IN BED. She is DEATHLY PALE, her hair is stringy and wet. She can barely open her eyes.
Margaret comes into the room and CLOSES the DOOR softly.
CYNTHIA
Margaret? Is that you?
True Story Page 8