Writing Naked

My senior students have been working on college scholarship essay writing sporadically over the first semester. I decided to start the second semester with a real-world contest of sorts: "Dykstra's Great Scholarship Challenge." Each student worked for a week on their best 400-word scholarship prompt from earlier in the year then turned it in without their name on it. I randomly assigned each essay a number, and those essays were then placed in an NCAA tournament style bracket to essentially face other essays in one-on-one, win-or-go-home competition. I have two sections of seniors, so to maintain anonymity I had the opposite section be the judges for each matchup. The field of 32 has now been whittled down to a Final Four, and those four have been sent on to ten faculty members to decide on an ultimate winner. At stake for this scholarship: pride, my undying love and respect, northeast corner of the 2nd story fame, and perhaps a Snickers bar.

The conversations from students have been tremendous. First, listening to them discuss with each other the qualities of each essay and its worthiness (or lack thereof) to move on in the competition has been of great value. Hearing what impresses them and their classmates as an audience, what rings hollow, and what draws their sharpest criticism should speak to them for the next high-stakes essay they sit down to write.

Additionally, listening to the way students talk about their own papers speaks volumes. Some are much more engaged because they perceive more to be on the line than with other essays for class. Not everyone will be a winner. There is no "good enough." There is only best. It has raised their game. Or it has raised their anxiety because they know it didn't raise their game until too late.

More prominently, though, is the anxiety of realizing that nothing matters other than what's on that sheet of paper. They are being judged solely on their ability to communicate and what they portray about themselves using a measly 400 words. Their name isn't on the paper. They are, in many ways, writing naked. And writing naked, like I suppose many activities performed without clothing, can be quite intimidating. Place yourself in their shoes for a moment.

The frightening thing about writing naked is knowing that this is it. This communication. These words. There is no protection, no cover from your reputation, your previous actions, your money, or even your best intentions. None of it matters. These words do. There will be no making up for them later. There is no averaging it out if your best doesn't get down on that sheet of paper. Your mother or grandpa or best friend cannot convince the committee later of what they have convinced you of so many times - that you're a good person, a talented person, a person worthy of recognition. If those people were reading this - your friends and family - they would immediately assume the best and see the best and understand what you might be saying. But they aren't there. Nor is their recommendation. All that's there is a blank slate, a brief interaction, and an audience who will walk away with a clear and firm and confident judgment of who and what you are.

You will want to use previous words. You will want to go to your file and find something that was perfect before, something where each sentence inspired, where every metaphor illuminated, where you know you were at your best and you were well-rested and enjoying life and feeling really really good while the characters flashed effortlessly before you on the screen. But it will not. Not this time. It just won't fit. For this is a new time, a new prompt, a new audience, and in many ways, a newer and slightly wiser you.

My students want their resume to be attached. They've lived for that resume. They've worked hard for it. They've put in hours - hours of activities, hours of studying, hours of volunteering. And perhaps that should count for something. But here's the difference: in the writing, the pressure is on now. Today. The actions matter, and everyone knows it. It's harder. No one has organized this essay for them. They have to do more than just show up. They have to do more than do what they've always done: participate and even work hard when it's been requested of them or when it's regarding something that draws great passion from them. Instead they have an imperfect prompt, an audience they can't control, and a medium that intimidates them. In the writing they can display who they are and what they can do under pressure, under circumstances they didn't choose, in a situation they couldn't necessarily prepare for.

So they've got to use their words to be memorable. To grab attention. Now. They've got to say something that matters and approach with great purpose and attention every syllable they attach to this, the representation of their character. They will not get this opportunity, with this audience, again. And in this desire to be noteworthy, they know they must compete against a whole host of other essay clamoring in each clause for the same attention.

Perhaps we all would do better to write naked more often. To write naked at the grocery store when checking out. To write naked at the restaurant for those serving. Or with the co-worker we just met. Or the co-worker we've known for a long time and can't stand. Or with our spouse. Writing with this care, with this focus, with this pressure on each and every word. Every day, an essay due; every day, a blank slate with no past resume and no recommendations to lean on; every day's word count doing all the speaking for our character, for our values, for our worldview.

Whether we feel that pressure or not, an audience will read our essay every day. They will get our words, and nothing else. And what we represent, whether that be ourselves, our family, or our God, will be spoken for right along with it.