Nearly 20 years ago, when I was applying to grad school — for writing — I found myself in the difficult position of needing three recommendations to include with my application. I say "difficult" because I had been out of college for a few years, and because, while there, I had spent far more time fostering close relationships with my female cohorts than asking advice of professors or advisors.
And whom to ask? I hadn't even been an English major in school. Rather, I'd studied art.
There was a poet with whom I had just taken a summer workshop. He liked my stuff, was nationally esteemed, and agreed to write a note on my behalf. So that was one down.
There was another writer I'd taken a workshop with, also well respected in academic circles, who had promised me a recommendation, but he was off writing a book on the Balkans, and unreachable. Possible, but more and more dubious as the weeks wore on without response. In the end, I persuaded an understanding mutual friend to write the rec.
My boss at the time had good things to say about me, but couldn't write his way out of a paper bag. So he was out. And I still needed one more.
I worried if I didn't include a mentor of some sort from college, it would raise a red flag. On a whim, I called my photography professor, whose number I somehow had — for god knows what reason; no undergrad would ever have called this guy (remember, this was back in the day before email and access). He was a hard-ass — one of the more difficult cases in the entire school — who prided himself on making his classes the most difficult in the school.
I gave him my spiel, reminded him of my work — and the fact that he gave me one of his very rare "A" grades two semesters in a row — and asked my favor. He hemmed a moment about how busy he was with outside projects. But then, scientific problem solver that he is, he saw a solution:
"I'll tell you what. You're going to school for writing. You write it. You know how I speak, what I'd say, what you'd want me to say. You write the recommendation. If it's good enough, I'll print it out on letterhead, and sign it."
Say what you want about my integrity (or his), but I justified it. This was not simply a guy shirking a request for his time and energy (though it certainly was that). This had to do with the high expectations he had for students, and for professionals of any sort. It was a final exam of sorts. If I wanted to be a writer, and have his stamp of approval, I had to earn it.
It was a brilliant play, really. And I could not back down from a challenge like this. This guy was like a hardened military dad to whom a desperate son always needed to prove himself.
So I did. I sweated the details, the thoughts, the language, the tone; tried to channel him. Ghostwriting was something I'd learned to do for my uncle, and I prided myself on it. I was going to ensure that I passed muster.
A few weeks back, I found a copy of the letter I had written. Here's what it said:
[BK] was in two of my photography classes at [redacted] College. Over a two year period from 1988-89 I studied [BK's] frame by frame contact sheets for about fifty rolls of film. In other words, I was able to follow him through the world the way he sees it. [BK] has an excellent eye for odd details and a good sense of humor; he sees life's many grays and can bring them strong composition; he has timing and is able to make choices behind the camera that may never occur to others. He enjoys looking for and discovering ways to make garbage look like both rank, smelly trash, and something an adult with a Ph.D. might want to play in.
I run my classes as interactive workshops -- students are constantly presented with the work of their peers. The nature of the class demanded that [BK] speak about his own work and the work of others in an intelligent manner. [BK] was able to form cohesive arguments, speak constructively on the work of others, and willingly accept their criticism as well as my own.
[BK] not only survived my classes, but enjoyed them and thrived. I push my students extremely hard and the good ones respond. [BK] responded by understanding what was expected of him and pushing himself past that. He constantly produced highly professional work.
[BK] has a very quick and creative mind -- he will be a positive influence on any workshop environment he is involved in.
I could do a better job of it now. But the key — I realized at the time, and remind myself of still — is to not let the desire to write well get the best of you. Non-writers don't generally fret over punctuation and worry every word. I did, of course, but only to make it look more simple than it was. Even retyping it now, I want to put in punctuation where it did not exist.
Bottom line: it did what it needed to do. The professor was convinced. He signed it, and I was accepted into the program of my choice. And the rest, as they say . . . is available weekly in the pages of this freely available, non-paying blog.
