<p>I've been lurking, and found that my 1,700 word essay is extrordinarily too long for my application. I have already cut it down from 2,400+ words-- I just simply can't "sum it up". If anyone wants to take a look at my condensed (or full) version, I was extremely proud of it. When I found out I can't use if, to say the least, I was upset. Now I'm curious, should I just scratch it and start over? Any help would be awesome.</p>
<p>Anyway, here’s my super-super-condensed version of it (1,700 words… ugh)</p>
<p>We stood in the aisle of JCPenny’s, the local anything-you-need-we-have store. It was late August, school-supply shopping time. The debate began as a small one between me and my mother, whether we were to buy the plain old “JansPort” backpack on the left, or the one with the cool looking red guy on the front. There I was, a seven year old, “throwing the bait” out into the fish pond, hoping this new shiny red backpack would be my “catch”. Meanwhile, my mom was adamant about getting the plain ugly blue one. I had learned, in a mere 2 minutes, to loathe everything about this blue backpack. With constant persisting, she started to nibble, but no bite yet.
School was always good to me; I always did “well,” well enough to get my parents to not ground me, well enough to go to the Shiki Steak House for dinner after my report card, well enough to not get picked on by class peers. As good as I was in school, I was a little lacking in the “friends” department. That is not to say I didn’t have friends, I had plenty, and spent a lot of time with them. But I didn’t have a best friend, someone I could tell all my secrets to, someone I could giggle with while we watched the girls play soccer, someone who would listen when I ranted, and hug me when I cried. I wanted a best friend. I needed a best friend.
“What’s so good about this one?” my mom asked, half-amused and half-intrigued. Careful not to mention the fact that the big red face on the front was probably the coolest thing I’d ever seen, I began my argument. “Look at how much room there is, mom! Second grade is going to be so hard! I need it for my books! Look at the lunch container! I’ll never forget my lunch again! Please mom? Please? Pleeeeease?” There, I did it, I resided to that I’m-a-cute-little-kid-so-I’m-going-to-beg phase of this epic debate.
I was good at begging, but terrible at winning. My mom has never lost an argument—she hasn’t to this day. She was, and still is, the best mom in the world. Her best qualities couldn’t fit in these pages, no matter how small I make the text. She prided herself in the fact that she raised (and is trying, still) me to be a polite man. If I am to be polite, I need to stay calm. I need to stay calm. Those five words repeated themselves over and over in my head. I know that her stance isn’t going to budge if I get to the ‘argumentative’ stage. I love her with all of my heart, but emotions have to be put aside for right now. This is a fight. This is a war. You don’t understand, I have a cool backpack on the line.
After more “I’ll do the dishes, I’ll clean my room, I’ll donate my snack money to the hungry” jibber-jabber, she gave in. I won. I have hands down the coolest backpack in school. I’m going to be the toast of the town—“Hey, did you see that Norman Kennedy with the awesome book bag? Yeah man, he’s so cool.” School was 3 days away, but those three days took forever. I couldn’t wait to show off my new backpack. I’m going to take that school by storm, come Tuesday morning.
That morning is permanently engraved in my memory. My mom’s hand in mine, I walked to my bus stop. The bus ride was loud, like always… but this time, for the first time, it went fast. I walked proudly through the tan-and-red hallways, turned right, and found my way to Ms Korie’s class. I was going to be great. I was so cool-- I was the coolest kid in school, with the coolest backpack in school. I was on top of the world. I was so…
“Hey Norman!” yelled my friend Rick Incremona.
I whirled around, grinning from ear to ear. I already had a bite, I’m already cool. This is going to be as easy as I imagined it.
“Look, you have Matt’s book-bag!”
Now, in no way is this “crushing news” in retrospect, but at that point I could feel everything: confusion turned to realization, realization turned to anger, anger turned towards hate. Hate. I had no idea who this kid was, ‘Matt,’ but he had my backpack. My glory. My pride. Mine.
The rest of the day went how “rest of days” go after something like that happens. I didn’t talk to many people, as the little red hand on the clock seemed to be going backwards. But, alas, school ended and I went over to Bus 4 wearing my “Hi, I’m Norman!” pencil-shaped cutout around my neck, I can still feel the itchy string they put around it. It wasn’t yarn, it was some sort of “fraying” brown string—I didn’t get why they made you wear these name tags, especially if the bus driver is your next door neighbor.
Regardless, I had struck up a conversation with my 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Jackam, and heard Mrs. Denehee, the bus driver, calling my name to get on the bus: so I did. As I walk down the narrow walkway through the noisy bus careful not to step on anyone’s gum they left behind, I realize that there are no empty seats. Except one. The seat next to Matt. The Matt that stole my glory. The Matt that killed my entrance. The Matt that was going to stop me from getting a best friend. I threw my bookbag on the floor, as he did the same to make room for me. “Man, these ‘two-seaters’ should be called ‘one-seaters’.” I thought to myself. I don’t remember if Matt and I talked, but I do remember hating the bus ride. Hating everything. Hating my mom for giving in. Hating the bus driver for ending my conversation. Hating Matt. Hating this stupid red book-bag.
“Norman honey, your bus stop!” Looking back on it, I’m amazed I heard my bus driver’s voice over the guys in the front talking about football, the girls in the back singing something about “baking a cake as fast as they can”, and the “older” kids throwing themselves around the bus like a bunch of monkeys hopped up on caffeine. I picked up the bookbag on the floor and walked down the steps.
I could see my mom crack open the door and wave to the bus driver as I walked gloomily to the house. She greeted me with her wonderful smile and a big hug, while I forced a smile and hugged her back. My smile may have been fake, but my hug was the classic “I need my mommy” hug. All I wanted to do was do my homework, have my dinner, and go to sleep. I plopped my stupid book-bag on the stupid table to take out my stupid books and do my stupid homework. I took out my gigantic agenda book and noticed something… my name wasn’t on the cover. I opened it up to see the inevitable: in neatly written handwriting, the name “Matthew Lehotay” plopped on the middle of the page.
My mom interrupted my mini-panic attack to tell me to get my shoes on, we were going out. I didn’t ask where we were going—I already knew. His house. I followed her out to her car, and we were off. We pulled up in front of that brown colonial style house, I felt as if I was staring at the gates of hell. My own little version of Dante’s Inferno.
“Hi! Are you Kerry? Come on in! Hi Norman, nice to meet you!”
For the “devil himself”, he had a really nice mom. She brought us inside, as standing at the steps was him, Matt Lehotay, holding my bookbag. Oh, how I hated him. Oh how annoying, mean, and pure evil he was. Oh, how—how—was that a mini- Jeff Gordon car in his den? I asked myself. Couldn’t be, could it? Stop, Norman, you must focus on how much you hate him. But I haven’t seen a Gordon mini-car before… that’s really, really cool… Against better judgment, and an incredible amount of internal arguments, I blurted ‘it’ out… “So, are you, a, uh, Jeff Gordon fan?”. I nervously awaited his answer, because truth is: I really wanted him to say no. I wanted him to be as mean as I knew he was. To the contrary, Matt beamed. “Heck yeah! I love Gordon!” he replied. “Come in, I’ll show you my whole collection!”
And, as clich</p>
<p>EDIT: I just realised “italics” don’t convert, so the last few paragraphs might not mak as much sense.</p>
<p>I wouldn’t scratch it yet unless you very strongly disagree with the following advice:</p>
<p>It is long. I found myself losing interest and starting to skim a few times. Condensing it would be more than just making it “follow the rules,” it would honestly make it a much better essay.
I would cut out almost all of the extra info about your mom, and minimize description and dialogue. Focus on the meat of the story: You needed a friend and found one. Emphasize more how you didn’t have any real friends before; instead of just saying you didn’t have a best friend, I’d mention how you felt about that (isolated? lonely?). Then read all the way through and strike out all the unneeded adjectives and adverbs, replacing them with possible without powerful verbs. Get rid of every instance of passive voice—this makes for much better writing while often shortening and simplifying your sentences.</p>
<p>Also, I’d make it clear VERY early that the story is about the second-grade you. For a while I thought you were standing in the mall with your mother arguing over a backpack as a teenager, which doesn’t come across too well. </p>
<p>As a warning, I should tell you that while the story describes well how you got your best friend, it tells me very very little about who YOU are. It wouldn’t even be so bad if it was a more recent story, but because it’s about a second-grader I can’t even infer much about your personality from your reactions. Unless you remain a stubborn, childish, temperamental, and easily-upset senior in high school 
The solution to this is to chop out almost all of the narrative—it could be accomplished in a single paragraph, if you put your mind to it—and then recount a more recent experience with your friend that shows more about your own character and personality. But even if you don’t want to mess with all that, I would definitely do the other stuff.</p>
<p>Hope that helped!</p>
<p>P.S. — You can type italics if you put do this with your [ i ] words <a href=“without%20the%20spaces”> / i </a></p>
<p>Wow, thanks for the quick reply! I’ll get started on that. </p>
<p>I just realized that when I cut out my intro, I also cut out the part about me being a second grader: so that wasn’t referenced until the 3rd or 4th sentence. Nice catch!</p>
<p>Which paragraphs would you eliminate? If I need to add more about me, I’m finding it harder and harder to believe that this story should even exist as a college essay. Thanks!</p>
<p>Well, you could pretty easily cut and combine the first 5 paragraphs into one. You got a new backpack that you were proud of, and you were good in school but didn’t have a best friend. Look, I just did it in one sentence! The middle section could also be made much more concise, in a very similar way. If you wanted, you could even put everything leading up to the encounter at Matt’s house in one or two paragraphs. That would give you plenty of time to flesh out your CURRENT relationship and its impact on your life.</p>
<p>It may help just to begin again—not necessarily to scratch all of this, but to start over with the same topic. You’ll find yourself borrowing phrases and sentences from the original, but that’s fine; the only point is to free you up from this narrative. You don’t need to give every detail. Unless it adds to the point in a meaningful way, I don’t need to know your teacher’s name or that your nametag’s string was scratchy or the bus driver’s conversation or your mother’s personality.</p>
<p>Well, I’ve gotten it down to under 1000. Is this short enough? If not, how can I make it any shorter without taking away from the story?</p>
<p>We stood in the aisle of JCPennys in late August: school-supply shopping time. The debate began as a small one between my mother and I, whether we were to buy the plain, bland, JansPort backpack, or the one with the cool looking red guy on the front. There I was, seven years old, casting my bait out into the pond, hoping to get a cool red backpack as my catch. With relentless persisting, she slowly started to nibble, but no bite yet.</p>
<p>After what seemed like hours, but was actually only a mere few minutes of bargaining, she succumbed to the kind of pressure only a cute seven year old could apply. I had won. I was the proud owner of, hands down, the coolest backpack in school. I was going to be the toast of the town. I could already hear the hordes of on looking jealous students, and their conversations that would surely follow, Did you see Norman Kennedy with the awesome backpack?" they’d ask, "Yeah, hes so cool would come the replies. </p>
<p>The fact of the matter was, I was a little lacking in the friends department. Sure, I had friends, but I didnt have a best friend: someone I could tell all my secrets to, someone I could giggle with while we watched the girls play soccer, someone who would listen when I ranted, and hug me when I cried. I wanted a best friend. I needed a best friend. And this cool bookbag was gonna help me find one.</p>
<p>The first day of school remains engraved in my memory to this day. I entered the bustling classroom, boys screaming, girls giggling, but none were as proud, as confident, or as excited, as I was.</p>
<p>Hey Norman! yelled my friend Rick Incremona from across the crowded room.</p>
<p>I whirled around, grinning from ear to ear. I already had a bite, Im already cool. This is going to be even easier than I imagined. </p>
<p>Look, you have Matts book-bag! he said nonchalantly.</p>
<p>My emotions rushed through me like a runaway train: confusion, realization, anger, hatred. I had no idea who this kid was, but he had the one thing that was going to define me, my backpack. My prized possession, my glory, heck, my pride. I might not have known who he was, but at that moment I was sure of one thing, I hated this kid.</p>
<p>The day finished, as all school days do, at 3 oclock. As if my day wasn’t already traumatic enough, when I climbed the steps of my bus what did I see? The only seat left was the one next to him; Matt. Bookbag stealing, entrance ruining, most-evil-person-in-the-world; Matt. I threw my bookbag on the ground next to his, sat down with a snort and a growl, as the bus slowly pulled away.</p>
<p>Finally, after the worlds longest bus ride, my stop came. I saw my mom open the door and wave as I trudged gloomily to the house. With a big hug and a wonderful smile, she greeted me; I forced a smile and hugged her back with the classic Ineed-my-mommy hug. All I wanted was to do my homework, have my dinner, and go to sleep. I plopped that stupid red backpack on the table to take out my book and do my homework. Taking out my gigantic agenda book, I noticed something my name wasnt on the cover. I opened it up to see the inevitable: in neat handwriting, the name Matthew Lehotay stared back at me. Apparently, on the bus, like a scene from a bad movie, we did the old book-bag switcheroo: I now had his, which meant he now had mine. And that would mean I would have to go to his house, Matts house. As if she were reading my mind, my mom and I soon got in the car and headed off to the house of the devil himself. I walked up his cement path, expecting the worst, when his mom opened the door.</p>
<p>Hi! Are you Normans mom? Come on in! Hi Norman, nice to meet you!</p>
<p>For the devil himself, he had a really nice mom. She brought us inside, as standing at the steps was him, Matt Lehotay, holding my bookbag. Oh, how I hated him. Oh how annoying, mean, and pure evil he was. Oh, howhowwas that a mini-Jeff Gordon car in his den? Couldnt be, could it? Stop, Norman, you must focus on how much you hate him, I thought. But I havent seen a Gordon mini-car before… thats really cool Against better judgment, and several internal arguments, I blurted it out… So, are you a, uh, Jeff Gordon fan? I nervously awaited his answer, because truth is: I really wanted him to say no. I wanted him to be as mean as I knew he was. To the contrary, Matt beamed. Heck yeah! I love Gordon! he replied. Come in, Ill show you my whole collection! Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew right there. I found my friend.</p>
<p>And, as it turns out, I was right. He was my best friend throughout all of grade school. He still is my best friend today. Hes virtually my brotherand despite the fact that we go to different high-schools, we hang out all the time. Hes a shoe in for my best man, and I havent even had a serious girlfriend yet. We work out together, play sports together, watch sports together, talk together, sing together, run together, laugh together, and cry together. That whole time, when we were standing in that backpack aisle of JCPennys, I wanted the red backpack so I could find a best friend. It wasnt the way I planned it, but it worked.</p>