Masters Program Intro Letter [original]

(A Very) PERSONAL STATEMENT
By Cory Freeman

I have written scores of introductions for this personal statement. Honestly, it feels a lot like a first date. It feels necessary for me to be at the top of my game, putting my best self on the table for consideration. On one hand, I want to divulge enough information so I seem exciting and original, but on the other, I want to withhold enough to remain mysterious and intriguing. It’s a juggling act. I want to convey that I am not afraid to commit, but not so much so that I appear needy and pathetic. The possibilities of “us” swirl around my brain, but I must do what I can to remain grounded in reality. I know from experience that the kiss of death on a first date is appearing to be TOO available. I want to feel just the right “click.” Chemistry is important, but not crucial at this point. Really, my only goal is to get a second date, not to get married… so, first things first.
I’m so nervous. I guess, if I were my own best friend giving myself advice, it would be, “Just be yourself, and only one of two things can happen… either they will like you, or they won’t.” That sounds solid. I think I’ll try it. OK, here I go:
For the past eighteen years, my life’s biggest dream has been sitting on a dusty shelf, growing faded and dull inside my head— it’s integrity weakened by self-doubt, procrastination, and fear. In the spring of 1989, I tucked my dream of being a writer in a neat, airtight box and stashed it carefully in the attic space of my mind. The catalyst for shelving my dream was a simple one. I was living with my father during my first college run at the University of Nevada, Reno. He relocated for a job, and I lost my meal ticket. It was nothing earth shattering or profound, simply my reality. I had to get a job to pay the rent. I promptly found a nursing program, completed it, moved to Seattle, and have been working (mostly) as a registered nurse since 1994. Nursing has been a worthwhile career for me. I have few regrets, but something about the profession has always left me feeling empty and unfulfilled… at least creatively.
I have tried my hand at other ventures. While living in Seattle, I went back to school and earned my B.A. in Psychology at the University of Washington. I had intended to pursue a Ph.D. I thought I wanted to be a therapist or counselor, until one day I realized I didn’t really want to listen to other peoples’ problems all day. I have also owned my own businesses. In Seattle, I ran my own nursing agency. And, last year, in Portland, I had my own contractor/remodeling business. The common denominator, however, in the situations I just described, is that I have not been honest with myself. I have always known I wanted to be a writer and (more recently) publish my own books, but have fooled myself into believing alternative truths. I allowed myself to stray from the path I should have followed years ago. I made myself believe that these other endeavors were my true calling, when deep down, I knew they were not.
I had all but forgotten about my dream box until the summer of 2001. I had recently moved back to Northern Nevada and ran into my old friend, Kristin, at my 15-year high school reunion. She reminded me of a story we had written together for our senior yearbook. We talked about old times. I was reminded of the writing I had done in high school. I had quite a collection of angst-driven poetry about girls I had crushes on, but I had also contributed stories to the school newspaper and also served as the editor for my high school literary magazine, The Verbatim. Our conversations flowed easily about old times. When Kristin asked me what I had done with my writing career, I was able to tell her that I had a weekly column called ‘Cadger’s Corner’ while I majored in journalism at UNR. I was also able to brag about a story I had written being one of 25 chosen from over 200 entries in the UNR publication “New Voices.” Beyond that, though, I sadly admitted my writing career had been shelved. Hers had too, but because she had gotten married and started a family.
During the course of summer in 2001, Kristin and I spent a lot of time together, sharing the contents of our boxes and vowing to never lose sight of our dreams again. On one of our outings, we were having coffee on the sidewalk outside a place called Java Jungle in downtown Reno by the Truckee River, and we noticed this man who kept circling the block on his Indian motorcycle. At first, we thought he might be looking for a parking space. Then, we thought he might be lost. By the 7th time around the block, we had made up an entirely fictional life story for him. He eventually found a parking space directly in front of us, so I had to ask. As it turned out, he was attorney who had ridden up from San Francisco for the day to meet a woman he hadn't seen in over 20 years, and was not hooligan we had made him out to be. As we I talked, I got the idea of writing a collection of short stories that were completely fictional with the exception of some factual element. The project ultimately came to be known as ‘Sidewalk Stories.’ The opening line would be a snippet from an overheard conversation or actual event, like the one there on the sidewalk outside Java Jungle, and we would publish a book of the best stories. Over time, however, Kristin’s interest waned, and discussions tapered off, so I put Sidewalk Stories back in the dream box and re-shelved it. But, at least I dusted it.
Sidewalk Stories was initially destined to be a "He Said/She Said" collection of short stories, but since I lost my writing partner, I have been able to develop the idea further, into something much more meaningful and powerful, something that could actually change the world in my eyes. It continues to percolate inside me, and I simply cannot ignore it any longer, for I fear it will bubble over and burn me if I do. For the first time, ever, I feel a sense of purpose. Something I have always hoped and searched for, but never found until now.
Long story longer, that is how I discovered the Masters program at P.S.U. I went online looking for an MFA-type program that would help me achieve my goal of launching my own publishing company, Sidewalk Publishing. My Google search revealed P.S.U. as a viable option. It is local, affordable, and a seemingly perfect fit for my needs. I was excited enough to find a Masters level writing program in Portland. I am a writer at heart, after all. But, when I discovered there is also Book Publishing track, I was sold. Ooligan Press seems like the perfect place to get my feet wet in publishing.
Sidewalk Stories, as I now envision, will remain a collection of short stories. The new twist is that they will eventually be an annual publication, much like the “Best American Short Stories” series published by Houghton Mifflin. My dream for Sidewalk Stories is to serve as a platform to showcase the talent of new voices in American literature, and perhaps sign these authors for other publications. I envision early editions of Sidewalk Stories being contest driven with a different theme from year to year. The next step in the evolution of Sidewalk Publishing will be more philanthropic. I love alliteration, and have since come up with similar concepts for Sandbox Stories and Playground Poetry—again, contest driven publications, but this time with scholarships being awarded to talented young writers.
I sincerely believe that P.S.U. is the perfect fit for me at this time. I urge you to consider me a serious and dedicated applicant. In return, I will promise you the best of I have to offer in anything and everything I do at P.S.U., and Ooligan Press as well.
I look forward to hearing from you. Perhaps, a second date?

Sincerely,

Cory Freeman