“Wait, What Do You Mean ‘Edit My Essay’?”

When I was in high school, I smiled every time someone told me to “edit” my essay. I wanted to seem agreeable. But inside, I felt stuck. I’d already worked hard on it. I’d chosen my words carefully. I thought I’d written the best version I could.

So when a teacher or counselor told me to revise, I didn’t know what they really meant.
And if I’m being honest, it felt like a quiet way of saying, this isn’t good enough.

What I didn’t realize then—and what I’ve only learned after years of reading thousands of college essays—is that editing isn’t about fixing what’s broken. It’s about sharpening what’s already working. It’s about refining the structure, the pacing, the rhythm. It’s about clarity. Control. Impact.

Now, as a counselor helping students shape their personal statements, I think of the process like this:

• Admission readers are food critics.

• Students are chefs.

• Counselors are somewhere in the test kitchen—offering notes, refining flavors, nudging the dish toward brilliance.

Critics don’t care how many times a recipe was rewritten. They care about the plate in front of them. And a great college essay? It should leave a lasting impression—not because it’s flashy, but because it’s thoughtful, balanced, and well-executed.

So if you’ve finished a draft and don’t know how to take it further, here are a few places to start:

1. Control Your Tense

You’d be amazed how many essays start in the past, drift into the present, then swing back again like a pendulum. Most of the time, students don’t realize they’re doing it—it’s a symptom of being close to the material and unsure how to organize it.

If you’re writing about a specific memory or event, past tense is probably the best lane. Save present tense for reflection, not narration. And if you do shift, do it on purpose.

Bad: I walked into the auditorium. I’m shaking as I take the mic.
Better: I walked into the auditorium, hands shaking as I took the mic.

Be consistent. Pick a lane and stay in it—unless the moment calls for something different.

2. Don’t Be Afraid to Mess With Time

Some of the most effective essays don’t start at the beginning. They drop the reader into a moment of tension, confusion, or change (I often refer to this as a deliberate inconsistency)—and then circle back to explain how we got there.

This is called inductive structure: start with a moment, then build toward meaning.

Other essays use deductive structure: lead with an idea or insight, then illustrate it through story.

Both work. Try starting your essay from a different point—somewhere unexpected—and see what it unlocks. Do you want your dish to be flavor-forward or let it’s complexity develop with each bite?

3. Let the Beginning and End Talk to Each Other

Call it a callback, a full-circle moment, or just good storytelling—when an essay ends with a nod to where it began, it creates a feeling of closure and control.

It doesn’t need to be heavy-handed. A single repeated phrase, image, or sentence pattern is enough.

Start: My hands shook the first time I stood in front of a class.
End: My hands still shake sometimes—but now, it’s because I care.

That kind of return—subtle, earned, and resonant—makes a story stick.

4. Play With Sentence Rhythm

When I first started editing student essays, I was surprised by how many strong stories were weakened by robotic pacing. If every sentence is short, it feels stilted. If every sentence is long, it feels endless.

Variety matters.

Use short sentences for impact. Use longer ones to build ideas or shift tone. And occasionally, let a sentence breathe—with commas, dashes, or even a semicolon—especially when you’re trying to show how your thinking unfolds. Just don’t let AI do it for you!

I spent months preparing—practicing responses, reviewing every possible question. But when she looked at me and asked why I cared about any of it, I froze.

You don’t need to overthink this. Just read it out loud. Your ears will tell you what your eyes won’t.

5. Don’t Just Fix. Rethink.

When someone tells you to edit, don’t go hunting for typos. Instead, ask:

• Am I actually telling the story I meant to tell?

• Did I respond to the prompt and the underlying reason for asking it?

• Is this the most interesting way to begin?

• Does each paragraph build toward something?

• Is there a better way to end?

Sometimes editing means cutting your favorite sentence. Sometimes it means rewriting your opening from scratch. And sometimes it means leaving a perfectly good draft behind to chase a great one.

Where Good Becomes Memorable

For a long time, I thought “editing” was a cleanup job—something you do when you’ve made mistakes. But after reading thousands of essays, I’ve come to see it differently.

Editing is creative. Strategic. It’s the moment you shift from being a storyteller to being a story shaper. In fact, it’s my favorite part about helping students through the writing process.

College essays aren’t judged on effort. They’re experienced like a dish at a fine restaurant. The admission reader sits down with a fork and a deadline. You have one shot to serve something balanced, intentional, and worth remembering.

So take the time to rework your ingredients. Cut what’s bland. Layer in texture. Let your opening and closing complement each other like a great appetizer and dessert.

Your story already matters. Now it’s time to make the delivery unforgettable.