I am on draft #12 of my personal statement for my fellowship applications and, honestly, I’m actually not in the process of editing. I’m still trying to create better prose. You know, hoping that The Muse will bop me on the head with her sparkling Sceptre of Novel Ideas and Captivating Narrative (she obviously hasn’t hit me with the Wand of Brevity) to enable me to write a thoughtful piece that shall successfully persuade the readers to offer me an interview.
Draft #12! And it still feels like I’m working on a difficult crossword puzzle—you know, the kind with clues like
- Antihelminthic.
- Has a Poisson ratio of 0.259.
- Large fish eat small fish on canvas?
My personal statement for medical school went through about 22 drafts. For the residency application, I went through 17 drafts. Perhaps I am romanticizing the past, but I believe that I was not raking my fingers through neuronal sludge for ideas and narrative for those two essays.
Draft #1 (dated April 12th!) for my current statement is a concise list. I know my reasons for pursuing this fellowship. The reasons are legitimate, honorable, and honest.
Lists, however, do not charm people; stories do.
There is no story. There is no narrative. There is a brief description of an individual. Then there are many vague and bland sentences that could neutralize stomach acid. It’s not a personal statement; it’s a treatment for heartburn.
It all seems so usual. It’s like reading a recipe. These are the ingredients, these are the cooking instructions. Blah blah blah.
But! If, instead, I could write about the delectable cookies, the way the coaster-sized confections are arranged symmetrically on the glossy black plate, the wisps of grey steam floating from their surfaces, the column of milk standing at attention nearby, the lone candle, with its slender purple stem bursting into a bright yellow-orange blossom of flame, the corner of a cream-colored envelope tucked underneath the plate, the name “Matthew” ornately written in dark blue ink, with the tail of the “w” arching gracefully towards the top right corner of the envelope, a hastily scribbled heart in red ink above the name—
—that’s a narrative. That has shape, color, and direction. That has purpose.
Unlike this current entry. Gah. I just want a story.
In unrelated musings, I am contemplating another literary project for the medbloggers, though my current idea isn’t actually all that literary and would be relatively labor-intensive (for me). Plus, another medblogger has informed me that he intends to launch a curious project (you read it here first!) and I am uncertain of medblogging project etiquette: Is it poor form to launch a project when someone else has suggested a pending project launch? Will less fewer medbloggers participate in my project if conducted concomitantly with his project? Would it be better if I refrained from creating and just consumed online content? Will I be contributing to interblogger conflict with the introduction of my project? Is it clear that I am joking?
Thirteen may be a lucky number. I don’t want to dredge this out to 42 drafts. I just want a story.
20 May 2007 |
“You should hire be because I am that good.” is all you need. Actually my cover letter says something almost as brief as just as modest. It’s never failed to get me an interview. :-)
You’ve told so many stories here about your experiences, is there a way you can draw on those? They truly say a lot about how good you are, how thoughtful and caring you are about your patients.
Comment by Jesse | 20 May 2007 @ 9:22pm
I just wrote a first draft of a personal statement a few minutes ago, though I’m afraid I don’t have the time (or stamina) to go through as many iterations as you. That’s a lot of drafts. I’d wish you luck, but I know you’ll have no trouble writing engaging narrative - this blog is proof that your statement will stand out amongst the others.
Comment by Ali | 20 May 2007 @ 11:01pm
Lists, however, do not charm people; stories do.
The readers of digg would beg to differ. ;) People almost universally love lists.
But you’re right. This probably isn’t the best time to be utilizing one…
Unless you could do it David Letterman style, starting at #10 with the bullet item bolded, and a paragraph explaining it in detail. From 10 to 1…
Hmm, that probably wouldn’t work with a stuff fellowship adcom either.
Comment by RJS | 21 May 2007 @ 7:24am
It jumps out that you said, “Will less medbloggers participate…” when I am pretty sure it should be fewer, not less. I don’t care how you write; I just mean, it jumped out. Don’t know what you can get from that.
I was musing about the “title”: The Journey: from Engineering, to Transactional Analysis, to Re-Evaluation Co-Counseling, to the Dynamics of Organizational Behavior, to the Gestalt Experiential Learning Cycle, to Praying to God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, when I decided to check out your blog and came upon “Draft #12.”
In this journey, next steps do not replace previous ones—-each has taken me to the next level, still standing on the shoulders of all that has come before.
Would writing about your “journey” provide the storyline you need?
Comment by Don Austin | 21 May 2007 @ 10:17am
(Editor’s note: Jesse and I have actually met and, I am certain, is offering public compliments to hasten his receipt of a batch of my legendary chocolate chip cookies. I can read between the lines, you know. ;)
Comment by Maria | 21 May 2007 @ 8:46pm
“…Will FEWER medbloggers participate in my project if…”
Alls fair in love and war (and web). Start your project immediately. As far as all the drafts go…They either want you or they don’t. Many fellowship programs are begging. Don’t try to impress by over-intellectualize.Sound down to earth and use as many cliches as you can.Stick in a reference to two studies that support your decision. Good luck!
Comment by Hon | 22 May 2007 @ 9:15am
[…] Draft #13 did materialize nicely—and though there are still more colors and shades to add to the prose, I can now primarily concentrate on editing. […]
Pingback by intueri: to contemplate | 22 May 2007 @ 10:48pm
Hmm…do I sense that assistance in your efforts could pay off in cookies? If so, where do I sign?
Comment by bill | 24 May 2007 @ 11:59am
Well, 42 is the meaning of life . . .
But hopefully you won’t have to draft quite that many times.
Comment by catherine | 24 May 2007 @ 6:14pm
[…] applied for a fellowship position in consult-liaison psychiatry, went through several drafts of my personal statement, and ultimately got accepted at the program of my […]
Pingback by intueri: to contemplate | 31 Dec 2007 @ 7:15pm