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Or rather, I was gathering the necessary stamina for our church’s annual pie sale.
" I met Cheyenne through Freshman year volleyball and we were friends because I tried; I borrowed cowboy boots for football games, didn't discuss my quirky music, and washed my shoes.
As I grew, however, it was our differences that brought us together.
Over the years, students who tell me they absolutely love to write have said they struggle with the application essay.
So if you’ve been biting your nails or tearing your hair out even a little, you’re not alone. I’ve been in the admission business long enough to have gleaned a few tips that I think are worth passing along.
That there was no heat in the flooded building and they had rejected everything and had gone home early. Those were the facts — no opinions, no emotions I could translate into ink on a page, touch, understand. I sat at my computer with my fingers on the keys, shaking, sweating, smudging, but there was nothing to say.
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Everyone went to the memorial service and everyone brought flowers, and in the silence, we cried.And there was anger, too, later — a bursting, a hush that imploded.I went home after the service and threw my laptop open and wrote about all that was unfair, and there was a lot to write about. I revised the novel and sent it to my agent who began the submission process once again. Walking down a busy street, I see the quick glances and turned heads. I try to ignore the buzz, interspersed with, “Oh my God! ” Then, a complete stranger asks for a picture, so I stand with people foreign to me and politely smile and laugh.Time progressed, however, and dirt, guitar chords, and conversations eventually covered the canvas of the shoes.When I first moved to Houston in eighth grade, I tried to follow the status quo and keep my shoes white. Ed Sheeran--I began to realize how important it is to listen to the other side and to maintain the confidence to pursue my passions while inspiring others to do the same.These essays are in addition to three similar collections from the Class of 2022, Class of 2012, and Class of 2007.On the day my first novel was rejected, I was baking pies.On my first day of high school, a girl dropped her books in a busy hallway.I crouched down to her level and gathered some of her notebooks.She forced me to see the other side, forced me to make my own conclusions without the influence of my background or parents.In Portland, opinions are liberally voiced, and it's similar in my community in Houston, except rather than an abundance of Lizzie Fletcher stickers it's "Come and Take It".