Brainstorming Like a Boss: How to Write Your College Essays
May 09, 2025 :: Admissionado
Okay, deep breath. Let’s hit reset on what you think a college essay is. Odds are, you’ve heard conflicting things. “It’s your personal statement!” “It’s different from the personal statement!” “It’s like your resume, but with feelings!” (No, no it is not.)
Here’s the truth: the college essay is your story—but not every story. It’s the highlight reel of your greatest hits as a human being, not the greatest hits of your GPA or extracurricular list (those bad boys have their own VIP sections in your application). The essay is your chance to reveal something that doesn’t show up anywhere else. Not your stats. Not your titles. You, the person.
So, what’s the deal with the personal statement? Sometimes, yes, it’s the same thing. For Common App schools? The personal statement is the college essay. For other schools, you might get a few essay prompts in addition to the personal statement. Some schools call them “supplemental essays.” (Fun fact: none of these names actually tell you what they’re looking for.)
And just so we’re crystal clear: a good essay doesn’t mean you’re a good writer. Pause for gasp. Nope, it’s about telling a story that makes an admissions officer sit up and think, “Whoa, I need to meet this person.” Good essays show self-awareness, reflection, growth. So, yeah, you’ll need words—but the magic is in what you’re saying, not just how you say it.
Forget the Word Count for a Sec: How to Brainstorm Like a Pro
Okay, exhale. Forget the word count. Seriously, shove that little 650-word limit into a box, toss it in the closet, and we’ll dust it off later. Right now? We’re on a mission to uncover the stuff that actually matters—the stories, obsessions, scars, triumphs—that make you interesting.
This is where we introduce you to what we like to call Rubble Writing. Mark Twain (king of the quotable mic drop) once said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” Translation? The gold comes later. First, you need rubble. Shards. Bits of ideas. Messy, scattered, unfiltered. Your job is to excavate those raw materials. Editing? That’s future you’s problem.
So, how do you dig up the good stuff? Welcome to brainstorming, Admissionado-style:
1. The “Dinner Table Test”
Think about the stories that make people lean in at family gatherings or friend hangouts. Not the “I aced that test” stuff. The human moments. The time you accidentally dyed your hair green before prom. The time you tried to start a business selling duct-tape wallets at age nine and had zero customers—but learned how to hustle. The moments that get told and retold—those are clues.
2. The “Obsession Inventory”
List five things you could talk about for hours without checking your phone. Could be anything. Quantum physics. Baking the perfect sourdough. K-pop. Speedcubing. Collecting weird-shaped rocks. These aren’t just hobbies—they’re windows into what lights you up. A good essay glows with that energy.
3. The “Adversity Audit”
Catalog moments when life pushed back. Bullying. Racism. Failure. Illness. Family stuff. These aren’t pity-party prompts—they’re opportunities to show resilience, growth, perspective. Key move here: Don’t just tell us what happened. Show us how it changed you. How it shaped your worldview, fueled your ambition, softened your edges, sharpened your focus. The angle is everything.
And yes, edgy topics? Fair game. But handle them with care. This isn’t about shock value—it’s about insight. If you write about being bullied, for example, don’t just recount the pain—reveal what it taught you about empathy, or standing up for others, or finding your voice. It’s not about what happened to you. It’s about who you became because of it.
Now, go. Make a mess. Get those ideas out. The word count can wait.
From Rubble to Structure: How to Start, Shape, and End Your College Essay
Alright, you’ve got your rubble—those messy, brilliant raw materials. Now what? Time to build something that slaps. That flows. That lands the plane like a boss.
Starting Strong: Hooks That Slap
Let’s banish “Ever since I was a child…” to the essay graveyard. Admissions officers have read that line so many times it haunts their dreams. You need a hook that jolts them awake. Think:
- A sharp image.
- An unexpected fact.
- A one-liner that drops them into the middle of something.
Example:
Instead of “I’ve always loved music,” try:
“My first piano recital ended with me in tears, a broken G-string (the piano kind), and a standing ovation I didn’t deserve.”
Boom. We’re in. No fluff, just action.
Structuring the Middle: Flow > Paragraph Count
How many paragraphs should your essay have? Wrong question. Does it flow? That’s the question. You’re telling a story, not submitting a five-paragraph English paper. Some essays glide in three sections. Others zigzag in seven. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that each part earns its keep and transitions smoothly.
Ending with Purpose: Stick the Landing
Here’s where a lot of essays nosedive—they wrap up with a desperate “And that’s why I’d be honored to attend XYZ University.” Yawn. No begging. No summing up like you’re reading the back of a cereal box. Instead, end with vision. Show us where you’re headed. Show us the version of you that’s still growing. The you that’s ready to collide with new ideas, new people, new challenges.
Mini-Breakdown: Essay Types
- The Classic Personal Statement: This is your origin story. Show us a slice of life that reveals something essential about you. Maybe it’s the time you bombed a debate but discovered your passion for public speaking. Maybe it’s the why behind your love for environmental science.
- The “Why This College” Essay: This is not a brochure regurgitation. “I love your strong academic reputation” = fail. Instead, it’s about fit.
- Bad: “You have great research opportunities.”
- Good: “I can’t wait to work with Professor Nguyen on renewable energy storage because her paper on XYZ sparked my curiosity about battery innovation.”
See the difference? It’s personal.
- The Overcoming Adversity Essay: Yes, tell us what happened. But more importantly? Show us who you became. This essay isn’t about the obstacle—it’s about the transformation.
Pep Talk: Don’t Overthink the Format
Forget rigid templates. Just make it readable. Space things out. Don’t let your essay look like a wall of text. And trust yourself—if it feels right, if it flows when you read it out loud, you’re on the right track.
This isn’t about perfect formatting. It’s about telling a story that only you can tell.
Formatting, Word Count, and Other Boring (But Important) Details
Let’s tackle the boring-but-necessary stuff, shall we? The mechanics. The knobs and levers behind the curtain that—while not sexy—make sure your essay works.
How long should a college essay be?
For most schools (especially if you’re wrangling the Common App), you’re looking at 500-650 words. And guess what? That’s a sweet spot. Why? Because it’s just enough space to tell a compelling story without wandering into the weeds. Any longer and your admissions officer’s attention starts to drift. Shorter? You might not dig deep enough.
Here’s the mindset shift: Word count ≠ depth. This isn’t a Twitter thread. You’re not cramming as many thoughts as possible into the box. The game is making every word count (yes, that pun again). If a sentence doesn’t move the story forward or reveal something new about you—cut it. Ruthless editing = tight, powerful essays.
Formatting 101: Keep It Simple
Forget MLA. Forget APA. This isn’t a research paper. The only rule here is: make it readable.
- Font: Times New Roman, Arial, Calibri—12 pt. No Comic Sans. (Seriously.)
- Margins: Standard 1 inch.
- Spacing: 1.5 or double-spaced. Single-space feels crammed, like a tin of sardines. Give your words room to breathe.
The goal? When an admissions officer opens your essay, their first thought should be: Ah, clean. Let’s dive in. Not: Why is this in neon green cursive?
Title or No Title?
Optional. If a title adds something, go for it. If it’s just “My College Essay” or “Personal Statement”—skip it. Save those words for the story itself.
Contractions? Yes.
You’re writing like a human, not a robot. “I’m excited” beats “I am excited” nine times out of ten. Contractions keep the tone natural. Just don’t overdo the slang.
Bottom line: Don’t sweat the small stuff too hard. Clean, clear, readable—that’s the goal. Focus your energy on the story itself. The formatting? That’s just the stage.
The Final Polish: Making Your Essay Stand Out
Let’s get one thing straight: no one—and we mean no one—nails their college essay on the first draft. Hemingway didn’t. Beyoncé doesn’t drop an album without rewrites. Your favorite author? Dozens of revisions. Why should your essay be any different?
The magic happens in the revisions. It’s where that messy first draft (remember, rubble writing) starts to take shape. You refine. You sharpen. You realize that one paragraph? Total dead weight. You cut it. You tweak that sentence? Now it sings. But here’s the kicker—you need eyes on your essay. Trusted eyes. Brutally honest eyes.
That’s where The Admissionado Rubric comes in. Our secret sauce. We evaluate essays on the stuff that matters:
- Hook factor: Does your opening grab the reader?
- Depth and insight: Are you revealing something meaningful, or skating on the surface?
- Flow: Does it feel like a story or a list of facts?
- Voice: Does it sound like you—or like someone writing what they think colleges want to hear?
This isn’t about grammar-policing (though, yeah, we’ll catch that rogue comma). It’s about pushing your essay to a place where it genuinely stands out.
And hey, if you’re feeling like this whole process is a bit much? We got you. From essay reviews to full-on strategy consulting, we help students like you turn rough drafts into polished gems. No gimmicks. No templates. Just smart, tailored feedback that works.
Ready to level up your essay? Schedule a free consultation with us. Let’s take that rubble and uncover the gold.
