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.