耶大招生官：美国大学申请文书如何完美呈现？

　　耶大招生官：美国大学申请文书如何完美呈现?

　　美国大学申请文书是您利用自己的声音为您的大学申请锦上添花的机会。许多美国大学要求将文书作为一种直接听取学生意见且更容易让招生官了解笔下的学生的另一面。同时吗，这是一个很好凸显出自己的绝佳机会，所以可以在您提供的成绩、分数和其他信息之外，个性化书写您的申请，直接导致的结果就是可以提升您对招生官的好感，从而作用于直接的录取结果！

　　下面是来自耶鲁大学本科招生官给与学生的提示：美国大学申请文书如何完美呈现?

　　1、不要随波逐流

　　不要试图猜测您认为他们想阅读什么。如果你真的对你的主题充满热情，你的文章会更容易写——读起来更令人兴奋。例如：如果你所有的朋友都在写关于现阶段环境下的申请文章，这可能是你应该避免它的一个很好的理由。(当然，除非你有过一次生动的、改变生活的体验，并且迫不及待想要分享。)

　　2、记住，一切都是关于你的

　　论文提示旨在为您提供很多自由写作时间，但他们希望您专注于个人和特定于您的主题。招生顾问说，最好的论文可以帮助他们了解有关候选人的一些知识，而这些知识是他们通过阅读申请的其余部分永远不会知道的。

　　3、听起来像你自己

　　不要使用您通常不会使用的词，不要使用您在现实生活中不会使用的花哨语言，(想象一下你在教室里大声朗读这篇文章，教室里全是素未谋面的人。)即使——尤其是如果——你没有那种感觉，也要保持自信的语气。留意单词和短语，如“也许”、“有点”、“我认为”或其他任何削弱这种语气的词。

　　4、给自己时间

　　很少有人能在压力下写得出色，所以试着在你交稿前几周完成你的初稿。你不必每天都在写你的文章，但你会想要给自己时间修改和编辑。你可能会发现你想改变你的话题，所以尽早创作初稿——越快越好。

　　5、请明确点、实事求是

　　利用现实生活中的经验，这篇文章可能会给你时间和空间来解释为什么某项成就对你如此重要。但要抵制夸大和修饰的冲动：招生顾问每年阅读数以千计的论文——他们很容易就会辨别出真假体验。

　　6、坚持且推荐的文章篇幅及长度

　　在Common App上，论文最多650字。因此，如果您提交250个单词，您的申请将脱颖而出——不是以一种好的方式。同样，如果您申请的学校“建议限制”为500字，请不要超过这个限制(无论您认为10,000字的生活故事多么令人兴奋)。

　　如果没有建议的长度，请借用 Common App 的 650 字限制。而且，如果您被要求提供补充论文，请记住，它们通常会更短。

　　7、校对，校对，然后再次校对。

　　当你认为你已经完成了最终稿时，在你的电脑上通过拼写检查来运行它，然后几天不要阅读你的文章。当你用平静的态度再次阅读时，你会更容易发现错别字和笨拙的语法。之后，请老师、家长或大学生快速阅读。(而且，当你在做的时候，也要仔细检查你的字数。)

　　内附：2021《纽约时报》最佳美国大学申请文书部分文章鉴赏

　　文书一，作者：Zoya GargNew York — Bronx High School of Science

　　***

　　My mom finds a baffling delight from drinking from glass, hotel-grade water dispensers. Even when three-day-old lemon rinds float in stale water, drinking from the dispenser remains luxurious. Last year for her birthday, I saved enough to buy a water dispenser for our kitchen counter. However, instead of water, I filled it with handwritten notes encouraging her to chase her dreams of a career.

　　As I grew older, I noticed that my mom yearned to pursue her passions and to make her own money. She spent years as a stay-at-home mom and limited our household chores as much as she could, taking the burden upon herself so that my brothers and I could focus on our education. However, I could tell from her curiosity of and attitudes toward working women that she envied their financial freedom and the self-esteem that must come with it. When I asked her about working again, she would tell me to focus on achieving the American dream that I knew she had once dreamed for herself.

　　For years, I watched her effortlessly light up conversations with both strangers and family. Her empathy and ability to understand the needs, wants and struggles of a diverse group of people empowered her to reach the hearts of every person at a dinner table, even when the story itself did not apply to them at all. She could make anyone laugh, and I wanted her to be paid for it. “Mom, have you ever thought about being a stand-up comedian?”

　　She laughed at the idea, but then she started wondering aloud about what she would joke about and how comedy shows were booked. As she began dreaming of a comedy career, the reality of her current life as a stay-at-home mom sank in. She began to cry and told me it was too late for her. I could not bear to watch her struggle between ambition and doubt.

　　Her birthday was coming up. Although I had already bought her a present, I realized what I actually wanted to give her was the strength to finally put herself first and to take a chance. I placed little notes of encouragement inside the water dispenser. I asked my family and her closest friends to do the same. These friends told her other friends, and eventually I had grown a network of supporters who emailed me their admiration for my mom. From these emails, I hand wrote 146 notes, crediting all of these supporters that also believed in my mom. Some provided me with sentences, others with five-paragraph-long essays. Yet, each note was an iteration of the same sentiment: “You are hilarious, full of life, and ready to take on the stage.”

　　On the day of her birthday, my mom unwrapped my oddly shaped present and saw the water dispenser I bought her. She was not surprised, as she had hinted at it for many years. But then as she kept unwrapping, she saw that inside the dispenser there were these little notes that filled the whole thing. As she kept picking out and reading the notes, I could tell she was starting to believe what they said. She started to weep with her hands full of notes. She could not believe the support was real, that everyone knew she had a special gift and believed in her.

　　Within two months, my mom performed her first set in a New York comedy club. Within a year, my mom booked a monthly headlining show at the nation’s premier comedy club.

　　I am not sure what happened to the water dispenser. But I have read the notes with my mom countless times. They are framed and line the walls of her new office space that she rented with the profits she made from working as a professional comedian. For many parents, their children’s careers are their greatest accomplishment, but for me my mom’s is mine.

　　文书二，作者：Adrienne ColemanLocust Valley, N.Y. — Friends Academy

　　***

　　“Pull down your mask, sweetheart, so I can see that pretty smile.”

　　I returned a well-practiced smile with just my eyes, as the eight guys started their sixth bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. Their carefree banter bordered on heckling. Ignoring their comments, I stacked dishes heavy with half-eaten rib-eye steaks and truffle risotto. As I brought their plates to the dish pit, I warned my female co-workers about the increasingly drunken rowdiness at Table 44.

　　This was not the first time I’d felt uncomfortable at work. When I initially presented my résumé to the restaurant manager, he scanned me up and down, barely glancing at the piece of paper. “Well, you’ve got no restaurant experience, but you know, you package well. When can you start?” I felt his eyes burn through me. That’s it? No pretense of a proper interview? “Great,” I said, thrilled at the prospect of earning good money. At the same time, reduced to the way I “package,” I felt degraded.

　　I thought back to my impassioned feminist speech that won the eighth-grade speech contest. I lingered on the moments that, as the leader of my high school’s F-Word Club, I had redefined feminism for my friends who initially rejected the word as radical. But in these instances, I realized how my notions of equality had been somewhat theoretical — a passion inspired by the words of Malala and R.B.G. — but not yet lived or compromised.

　　The restaurant has become my real-world classroom, the pecking order transparent and immutable. All the managers, the decision makers, are men. They set the schedules, determine the tip pool, hire pretty young women to serve and hostess, and brazenly berate those below them. The V.I.P. customers are overwhelmingly men, the high rollers who drop thousands of dollars on drinks, and feel entitled to palm me, a 17-year-old, their phone numbers rolled inside a wad of cash.

　　Angry customers, furious they had mistakenly received penne instead of pane, initially rattled me. I have since learned to assuage and soothe. I’ve developed the confidence to be firm with those who won’t wear a mask or are breathtakingly rude. I take pride in controlling my tables, working 13-hour shifts and earning my own money. At the same time, I’ve struggled to navigate the boundaries of what to accept and where to draw the line. When a staff member continued to inappropriately touch me, I had to summon the courage to address the issue with my male supervisor. Then, it took weeks for the harasser to get fired, only to return to his job a few days later.

　　When I received my first paycheck, accompanied by a stack of cash tips, I questioned the compromises I was making. In this physical and mental space, I searched for my identity. It was simple to explore gender roles in a classroom or through complex characters in a Kate Chopin novel. My heroes, trailblazing women such as Simone de Beauvoir and Gloria Steinem, had paved the road for me. In my textbooks, their crusading is history. But the intense Saturday night crucible of the restaurant, with all the unwanted phone numbers, catcalls and wandering hands, jolted me into an unavoidable reckoning with feminism in a professional world.

　　Often, I’ve felt shame; shame that I wasn’t as vocal as my heroes; shame that I feigned smiles and silently pocketed the cash handed to me. Yet, these experiences have been a catalyst for personal and intellectual growth. I am learning how to set boundaries and to use my professional skills as a means of empowerment.

　　Constantly re-evaluating my definition of feminism, I am inspired to dive deeply into gender studies and philosophy to better pursue social justice. I want to use politics as a forum for activism. Like my female icons, I want to stop the burden of sexism from falling on young women. In this way, I will smile fully — for myself.

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