Undergraduate / "I caught my target unaware of my presence"; USC -Visions and Voices [10]

I am planning on using this essay for this USC prompt: Tell us about an activity that reflects your vision or voice.
I know it's a little on the long side (720 words!) so I wanted some help with cutting out uneccessary parts and fluff. Also, any feedback on if this effectively conveys me to the adcom, etc. will be very helpful! Thanks in advance! :D

I caught my target unaware of my presence. I shoot. Blackness. Rats, I missed, I chastised myself when the seagull dropped its meal and took flight. I had left the lens cover on.

My passion for photography stems from a mysterious package I found sitting on the kitchen table on my tenth birthday. My trembling fingers kept slipping from the corners of the silver wrapping paper as I tried to contain my excitement. When I finally wrestled the box open, my first camera lay in a cheery crumple of turquoise tissue paper: a chunky Kodak that my mother bought at a discount from Wal-Mart. But the model and price played second fiddle to my excitement over having a new camera to play with. The first experimental shots captured the living room, Mr. Lion (my sister's stuffed bear), and my sneaker. I was amazed and perplexed by the lens. How, I wondered, could this machine see the same things I see with my eyes?

With my Kodak in hand, I set out to satisfy my curiosity. Nature, with its bountiful beauty and picturesque scenes, was my first client. The way the morning sun danced between two honeyed leaves in autumn, the reverent bow of daffodils after a heavy rain, and the sleepy droop of morning glories made their way into my collection. My dad would be watching by my side, encouraging me to think about the ideas I wished to convey or the words I wanted to speak through a photograph.

A change of style accompanied my next camera, a small but bulky Hewlett-Packard. The static still-lifes gave way to proper portraits of people and places. Aware of my love of taking pictures, my dad appointed me "event photographer" of the family. I must admit, though, that I wasn't very skilled initially; unlike nature, where you can take shots from all angles, I had to learn to position the camera to take the most flattering picture of the subject (and deal with grouchy or squirmy subjects, too).

My current camera is a sleek Sony in a girly pink, but ever since my dad purchased his Nikon SLR digital, I have surreptitiously "borrowed" it for my shooting pleasure. However, even the best camera needs to be used correctly. I had mistakenly believed that just pressing the shutter on a fancy camera could automatically create perfect pictures. Wrong. In teaching myself how to use it properly, I started to tinker with the manual settings instead of relying on automatic and developed my own style with practice. My choice of subject switched again, from static objects to dynamic movement. A Parisian pigeon feasting on bread, shoppers bustling and bargaining in a Chinese market, or my own sister swinging in between the shadows of two trees; wherever I went, my camera accompanied.

My dad had taken note of my growing skill, and joked that I should put my pictures on the Internet and become famous. Although it was only an offhand comment, it sparked a new enthusiasm for my hobby; why be content with keeping my pictures to myself when I could share them with the world? I created an account on an artistic community on the web, and began to post my works. After a user was impressed and suggested that I start selling prints, I made my photographs available for purchase. Success rate: 2. However, that hasn't deterred me from pursuing my current project: creating my own website dedicated to photography.

Photography has grown from toying around with a picture-box to become a new way through which I see the world. I contemplate and appreciate those mundane but significant details of life which are often overlooked. Even the wad of gum that your sole occasionally finds on the sidewalk can represent the daily dose of "sticky" trouble life hurls at us. But a photograph can't capture everything. Every possibility lies outside the borders of those familiar photos. I still have much to learn and explore. There will be too many sights, too many experiences, and too many daunting new things that will be thrown my way in the oncoming years. But I will drink it all in with the same feverish excitement, dedication, and fearlessness that photography has taught me. My camera will be my extra set of eyes. And this time, I'll make sure the lens cap is off.

Undergraduate / CommonApp Essay- Power of Fiction and the short answer [2]

'Lil baby short answer (elaborate on extracurricular)

I distinctly remember a certain Peanuts strip: as Lucy leans on Schroeder's toy piano, she asks him "What happens if you practice for twenty years, and then end up not being rich and famous?" I have often asked myself the same question. Being a violinist is not without its sacrifices; hours of practicing, Friday nights devoted to lessons, and weekends spent at music festivals. The very nature of playing an instrument makes being a good musician both tiring and time-consuming, but I have kept up with it since I started at age eight. Why? Schroeder answers for me in the next panel, stating "The joy is in the playing." The tedium of practicing pays off in every orchestral performance, when those not-so-enjoyable memories of repetition become insignificant to the melodious collaboration of instruments. Playing the violin can be exhausting, but the happiness of creating music uplifts and inspires me.

Topic of your choice.

Tick, tock. The clock's perpetual noise punctuated the night's silence. The furniture seemed to come alive, the cat-shaped nightlight casting their gloomy shadows down the hallway. A little girl, no more than five, nervously looked around before darting into her bedroom. Breathless, I ducked under the covers with my treasures for that night: a flashlight and a book of fairy tales that I had received for Christmas the year before. The book divided the stories into smaller sections, designated by dates of the year. I turned to page 39, January 26th, and began reading.

I have traveled through scorching deserts, icy mountains, and an infinitesimally small world that resides on a flower. Chess pieces visited me while I had breakfast with the Mad Hatter, before a great hawk swept me away and transported me to a kingdom among the trees. In no other way could I travel across the world, through universes and folds in time. Where else could I find playmates who accompanied me on my daily adventures? Where else could I casually stroll through the woods, only to be smacked in the head by a falling rope of hair? I was able to experience all of this before my tenth birthday even arrived.

Back then, I didn't understand how cats, mice, princesses, dragons, or green breakfast foods made any rational sense in the real world. To me, they were just things that delighted and entertained, nothing more. My mother would also contribute to my exposure to fiction, recounting old Chinese folklore that she had heard as a little girl. I didn't appreciate them any more than those fairy tales, although I later learned that their purpose was to teach me important values and lessons. When I asked my mother what it all meant, she didn't reply; she never gave me straightforward answers, preferring to let me figure things out on my own.

It wasn't until I became exposed to the daily stresses of high school that I learned to fully appreciate the power of fiction. These weren't just stories, but ways to express emotions and convey meaning without the secular boundaries of reality. The limits are positively and negatively unbounded; it's easy to be seduced by its possibilities. Remorseful that I didn't pay enough tribute to the stories of my childhood, I revisited my bookshelf and began rereading those tales.

During my nightly readings, I discovered that the situations of fictional characters, whether fantastical or realistic, closely parallel the struggles of real people. They strike a familiar chord with the reader, and the story works to its full effect. They present perspectives from different cultures, allowing me the view similar subjects with multiple points of view. Fiction creates worlds that aren't limited to dimensions or time. It creates the "rabbit hole" that every child and adult secretly years to encounter, where fanciful dreams can teach lessons, entertain, and dispel the mundane anxieties which cloud our mind. I am transported into that mysterious, elusive world beyond the pages where words and pictures come alive-at least, until my flashlight burns out.

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I would like to know if this shows enough (because I think it tells, but I can't really judge)

Any feedback is greatly appreciated!