Grammatical advice is great, but what I am really looking for is advice on which is simply better as an undergraduate admissions essay. I have two right now, however I've been having a hard time writing, and I really don't think either are particularly good, but would like opinions as to whether I should continue with one or scrap both. So you know where I am coming from, the sorts of colleges I am applying to and academically suited for are: Emerson College (stretch), Ithaca College (target), Syracuse University (target), and UNH (safety). Thanks so much in advance.
ESSAY 1, 448 words, afraid to use because along with activities section, I think my app will have too much horse
"Manure"
I do not think there are many things in life that will bring you down to Earth faster than picking up another creature's poop. I have been doing it for most of my life. Since I can remember my after school hours, my summers, and my weekends have all been spent picking up manure. Mucking horse stalls on a daily basis has a way of humbling even those, pardon the pun, riding on the highest of horses. Perhaps it is because of the accountability, having to care for someone other than yourself, and not because you are being paid to babysit or your mother told you to, but because you have voluntarily taken it upon yourself to care for something that is entirely helpless.
Every little girl dreams of having her own pony, I was lucky enough to have my dream come true, but I was also dedicated enough to keep my dream, when in reality it was all but glamorous. While other girls were playing with their barbies by the woodstove during winter snow storms, I was cracking the ice from frozen water buckets. Most every woman raised in a suburban or rural environment has had a brief career in horseback riding, however, few people remain consistently involved in horses. Being one of the minority able to say "I ride horses" and not "I used to ride horses" I think is a testament to the enduring commitment horse ownership requires.
However, years worth of shoveling poop in sweltering summer heat and leaving the training arena in complete frustration does not seem so bad when you find yourself in the center of a show ring, multicolored Championship ribbon wrapped around you horse's neck like a Miss America Pageant shawl. Horses have a way of reflecting your own character, if you give them two-hundred percent, they'll try just as hard. If you spend the entire summer caring for you horse and training it, you reap the benefits in the show ring, because horseback riding is the result of teamwork. The bond that a weekly lesson on your horse creates is incomparable to that of someone who is entirely responsible for their horse.
Many people may think it is a waste that I have spent my entire life working with horses and yet I do not want to pursue an Equine Sciences degree. What they don't understand is that I haven't just learned about horses from horses, but that I have learned about people and life from horses. Because I have owned horses I understand responsibility, dedication, cooperation, patience, resilience, and hard work. If anything, I have learned the most about life from the horses that have been in mine.
ESSAY 2, 620 words, kind of risky choice I think, but maybe not good risky
"A Life of Crime"
I was an elementary school renegade. During the second grade I moved and started attending a new and strange school, which sparked my descent into a world of crime. I was the new kid and at high risk of being picked on, lacking friends and being severely dyslexic. It would not be long before the cruel school children spotted my backwards writing and complete letter confusion, and then descend like vultures and pick me apart with their words. So I beat them to the punch and asserted myself.
My mother kissed my cheek goodbye at the bus stop, unaware yet that her child had turned to the dark side. I climbed the steps into bus and quietly found my assigned seat, unassuming and inconspicuous. Although, today something was out of place, I carried a baggy of craft supplies with me for a class project, or so my mother had thought, and it was drawing attention. "Hey, what's in the bag?" Matt, who sat in front of me, asked as he turned in his seat to look into mine, everyone else' eyes rotating to also see. I untied the shopping bag and revealed an assortment of craft glitter, handing out the shimmering bottles for all the kids to see. I kept in my own hand a container of brilliant gold glitter, worked the cap off, and poured some of the sparkling flecks into my palm. With a balled fist I assaulted Matt with a rain of gold glitter.
By the time the bus driver noticed what was happening, it was too late. Glitter coated every surface, it collected in the cracks of the worn leather seats and settled in our lungs, causing all the kids to partially hysterically laugh and partially hack. Glitter vials lay strewn on the floor, empty. And I found myself in the principals office immediately upon delivery to school. I don't know if you've ever tried to clean up pounds of glitter, but it is impossible, I swept the bus floor all afternoon, but didn't remove a single shimmering fleck. Who would have thought you could damage property with something as blissfully harmless as glitter.
My permanent record did not matter, because I was a legend. Still, I thirsted for a life of crime. Though this time, I knew I had to go about things more subtly now that the principal knew me by my first name.
It was in art class that my black market business started. Because I had finished the project ahead of time, out of boredom I started creating finger puppet chickens with scrap paper and pipe cleaners, which turned into an entire colony of finger chickens. Some of the other children saw my 'way cool' finger chickens and begged to have one of their own. I said they could any one they wanted, for two quarters that is. Well, except for the premium finger chickens with eye patches and tiaras, those were seventy-five cents. Lunch money was slapped down on the table in exchange for finger chickens.
Mrs. Stottler was delighted to see our class when we returned from the art room. She especially thought the finger puppets every one made were charming. Someone let it slip that I was the one who made all the finger puppets. "Oh how wonderful of you Corin for making everyone finger puppets," Mrs. Stottler chimed and I smiled innocently. Until some big mouth blurted that the finger puppets were only fifty cents (what a deal!). I emptied my pockets in the principal's office.
However, I assure you that I am now reformed. I promise to bring people together with glitter, but only because of festive reasons, and that my next entrepreneurial ship will be legal.
ESSAY 1, 448 words, afraid to use because along with activities section, I think my app will have too much horse
"Manure"
I do not think there are many things in life that will bring you down to Earth faster than picking up another creature's poop. I have been doing it for most of my life. Since I can remember my after school hours, my summers, and my weekends have all been spent picking up manure. Mucking horse stalls on a daily basis has a way of humbling even those, pardon the pun, riding on the highest of horses. Perhaps it is because of the accountability, having to care for someone other than yourself, and not because you are being paid to babysit or your mother told you to, but because you have voluntarily taken it upon yourself to care for something that is entirely helpless.
Every little girl dreams of having her own pony, I was lucky enough to have my dream come true, but I was also dedicated enough to keep my dream, when in reality it was all but glamorous. While other girls were playing with their barbies by the woodstove during winter snow storms, I was cracking the ice from frozen water buckets. Most every woman raised in a suburban or rural environment has had a brief career in horseback riding, however, few people remain consistently involved in horses. Being one of the minority able to say "I ride horses" and not "I used to ride horses" I think is a testament to the enduring commitment horse ownership requires.
However, years worth of shoveling poop in sweltering summer heat and leaving the training arena in complete frustration does not seem so bad when you find yourself in the center of a show ring, multicolored Championship ribbon wrapped around you horse's neck like a Miss America Pageant shawl. Horses have a way of reflecting your own character, if you give them two-hundred percent, they'll try just as hard. If you spend the entire summer caring for you horse and training it, you reap the benefits in the show ring, because horseback riding is the result of teamwork. The bond that a weekly lesson on your horse creates is incomparable to that of someone who is entirely responsible for their horse.
Many people may think it is a waste that I have spent my entire life working with horses and yet I do not want to pursue an Equine Sciences degree. What they don't understand is that I haven't just learned about horses from horses, but that I have learned about people and life from horses. Because I have owned horses I understand responsibility, dedication, cooperation, patience, resilience, and hard work. If anything, I have learned the most about life from the horses that have been in mine.
ESSAY 2, 620 words, kind of risky choice I think, but maybe not good risky
"A Life of Crime"
I was an elementary school renegade. During the second grade I moved and started attending a new and strange school, which sparked my descent into a world of crime. I was the new kid and at high risk of being picked on, lacking friends and being severely dyslexic. It would not be long before the cruel school children spotted my backwards writing and complete letter confusion, and then descend like vultures and pick me apart with their words. So I beat them to the punch and asserted myself.
My mother kissed my cheek goodbye at the bus stop, unaware yet that her child had turned to the dark side. I climbed the steps into bus and quietly found my assigned seat, unassuming and inconspicuous. Although, today something was out of place, I carried a baggy of craft supplies with me for a class project, or so my mother had thought, and it was drawing attention. "Hey, what's in the bag?" Matt, who sat in front of me, asked as he turned in his seat to look into mine, everyone else' eyes rotating to also see. I untied the shopping bag and revealed an assortment of craft glitter, handing out the shimmering bottles for all the kids to see. I kept in my own hand a container of brilliant gold glitter, worked the cap off, and poured some of the sparkling flecks into my palm. With a balled fist I assaulted Matt with a rain of gold glitter.
By the time the bus driver noticed what was happening, it was too late. Glitter coated every surface, it collected in the cracks of the worn leather seats and settled in our lungs, causing all the kids to partially hysterically laugh and partially hack. Glitter vials lay strewn on the floor, empty. And I found myself in the principals office immediately upon delivery to school. I don't know if you've ever tried to clean up pounds of glitter, but it is impossible, I swept the bus floor all afternoon, but didn't remove a single shimmering fleck. Who would have thought you could damage property with something as blissfully harmless as glitter.
My permanent record did not matter, because I was a legend. Still, I thirsted for a life of crime. Though this time, I knew I had to go about things more subtly now that the principal knew me by my first name.
It was in art class that my black market business started. Because I had finished the project ahead of time, out of boredom I started creating finger puppet chickens with scrap paper and pipe cleaners, which turned into an entire colony of finger chickens. Some of the other children saw my 'way cool' finger chickens and begged to have one of their own. I said they could any one they wanted, for two quarters that is. Well, except for the premium finger chickens with eye patches and tiaras, those were seventy-five cents. Lunch money was slapped down on the table in exchange for finger chickens.
Mrs. Stottler was delighted to see our class when we returned from the art room. She especially thought the finger puppets every one made were charming. Someone let it slip that I was the one who made all the finger puppets. "Oh how wonderful of you Corin for making everyone finger puppets," Mrs. Stottler chimed and I smiled innocently. Until some big mouth blurted that the finger puppets were only fifty cents (what a deal!). I emptied my pockets in the principal's office.
However, I assure you that I am now reformed. I promise to bring people together with glitter, but only because of festive reasons, and that my next entrepreneurial ship will be legal.