Pragmatic Pen, Flower Mound, TX (2026)

09/07/2026

High schools often host college fairs in-house but if you can’t make yours here in DFW, check out this alternative. 🍎

It’s a great place to ask questions and even stumble upon options you didn’t know existed.

08/24/2026

Starting over comes with expected bumps: Assure your teen of that and normalize it.

Then, encourage them to not only get out into the world but create one.

Yes, it’s hard work.

Yes, it can be weird.

Yes, it will eventually be worth it.

My own son starts grad school this week in a new city where he knows exactly one person.

He answered this clever ad taped to a light pole on his campus because he, too, needs friends.

Turns out, it was posted by a fellow Texan who relocated to work. They know people in common from high school/undergrad.

Moreover, ten people showed up to a park picnic with an out-of-the-blue ask… Most are young professionals or grad students all lacking a social structure.

They might not all mesh forever—or even stay in touch after this first semester—but they connected.

It’s a start to a new, less lonely life. Which is really, really exciting.

🍎🦋🎶

07/15/2026

There’s two ways to view the college essay: product and process.

I’ve edited the portfolios of 1000 students over 11 years building a business because there’s a need for product. Yet I teach the personal narrative because I love the process.

It’s the act of turning the cup upside down that continues to fascinate me: Let’s see what pours out. Who and what has shaped the lens of Gen Z? How are they different from Millennials and Gen X? What are the parallels that bind these groups?

Moreover, I’m inspired by their human condition—their gumption, grit and grace. In fact, I’m convinced that teenagers are the best of us.

And while many students push me to rush the process—“I just want the essay DONE!”—that misses the point.

The aim of admissions essays is to sink into the collegiate thinking space.

The project is about going sideways—losing your way before finding it again. We want teens to consider—and reconsider—what they thought they knew was true—and why. We want them to linger in memory, meditate on the present, project their futures.

In fact, college campuses are laboratories for this work.

To promote this in high school, I teach the “Messy Map.” It’s a way of organically unlocking contentions emerging writers never thought about.

Here’s the thing: We don’t sit down knowing what to write. It evolves in spectacular fashion as we recall scraps of memory and inspect our attitudes towards them. We have a barrage of “Ah-Ha Moments,” that inform us of our life philosophy.

I tell my students that this project requires long runs and replays of favorite songs. Ice cream and eyewitnesses. Uncomfortable truths and wraparound realities.

We must think intentionally while vetting all ideas.

The actual typing?

That’s the easy part—the product of our process.

06/08/2026

Course rigor and grades earned remain the most important factors in college admissions followed by the essay portfolio, but letters of recommendation can offer an unexpected potency: They’re often considered more important than extracurricular lists or demonstrated effort.

Asking the right people, the right way—and at the right time—is imperative.

Consider first who prospective colleges want to hear from.

Many require teachers and counselors vouch, explaining character, output, potential. If that’s the case, students will want to query those who teach in their future field and who’ve seen work recently.

For example, if a student aims for a pre-med major and took AP Chemistry the third year of high school, that would be an ideal match.

Or maybe the student is interested in music: Ask a private lesson teacher to do the write up.

Future communication majors can try an AP Lang teacher who just read work the spring prior to the fall application cycle.

Things might get tricker, however, if schools discourage these traditional sources—a nuance now in play at my home flagship of University of Texas. This institution encourages letters from sources outside high schools.

Given that news, I’d suggest people who know students well and have seen them in circumstances in which they've exhibited grit, creativity and compassion. They can attest to character and showcase examples.

I’d consider a youth group leader, a Boy Scout connection, the Spanish Club advisor or an employer. Better yet if they’re an alumnus of the institution.

Rec letters are time-consuming projects often tacked on to packed schedules. Make requests well ahead of deadlines—think months versus weeks.

Moreover, inquire during less busy times for the professionals you’re burdening if possible—after midterms, say, but before finals.

Remember, the most considerate letters are not rushed.

I prefer students ask for recommendations in person so that recommenders can query students about their plans, but e-mail is okay, too, provided the individual provides context. Recommenders want to know specific aims.

A student might say they want to “go into medicine” but that’s a very different course from becoming an orthodontist for tweens. Including a “why” helps the writer understand motivations which they can then speak to in their letter.

Moreover, while most recommenders are happy to help those they know well, it can be useful to provide a written narrative to trigger memories.

For instance, if a student led a lively discussion on “Moby Dick” or a teacher held up a rat dissection as a perfect example, remind them of the anecdote.

Articulate, too, if you’ve recently won awards related to their field.

Students can say something like “I want to bring you up to date on my academic efforts…” Remember, this isn’t a brag—it’s vital information they need to help you score the spot you want.

In addition, tell recommenders why you’re asking them specifically to help you.

While students don’t need to genuflect to sources, they can let them know that they want to follow them into a career in modern dance or child psychology. This can perhaps open a conversation about ideal qualifications or experiences.

Don't forget the token of gratitude. Homemade cookies or a modest gift card to the local coffee shop are lovely tokens. No matter the choice, including a handwritten thank-you card is unusual today and a thoughtful touch.

While rec letters can’t compensate for poor grades or overcome sloppy essays, they can add breadth and depth to applications.

05/20/2026

College applications at the nation's select institutions rose 131 percent over the past five years, according to Common App data. Some 1.43 million students filed.

Moreover, schools continue to add layers of "early decision" options requiring teens navigate not only which colleges make sense for them, but how to gain advantages within those unique systems.

Consider, too, that standardized test scores are regaining importance at some colleges...but not at others.

It's a dizzying marketplace.

Let's take a deep breath together.

At my Pragmatic Pen practice, I talk to teens about the landscape of higher education then show them how they can carve out a happy niche for themselves in it--without the stress, pressure or anxiety many other college counselors apply.

First, I offer reassurance: Everything will be okay. Anyone who wants a college education can earn one--no matter their grades, test scores or income.

Together we consider their character, life experiences, interests. We look at prior successes as pathways; pitfalls become learning tools.

Then, I teach the personal narrative--the style of writing used in college essays but not often taught in high school.

See, it defines the candidate in new ways--and allows for control of the student's brand.

Writing samples are 25 percent of points offered in the admissions process and a key skillset for success in higher education.

Join me next week in person for nine hours at my "College Essays that Slay" seminar.

The aim: Frame the marketplace for students, remove fear of the process, learn the foundations of personal narrative, curate a 650-word essay.

May 27-29 from 9 am until noon, Flower Mound, Texas. (Ada, Michigan: July 9-11, a.m. and p.m.)

Cost: $375 per student.

Yes, it's heavy lifting.

But we can do it. Together.

E-mail me to reserve your teen's chair: [email protected]

Want to learn more about my journalism and teaching background? Here's my website: www.pragmaticpen.com

05/06/2026

Day 6: Pragmatic Pen May Showcase

Last but not least, I present my award for Most Creative Writer of the Year: Anika Shah.

Anika writes for her student newspaper at The Hockaday School in Dallas and it shows.

Themes are witty, prose is pithy, rhythms are perfect.

She keeps everything tight, tight, tight.

We had a party at my table every time she came to visit--and she popped over a lot: Anika applied to 23 colleges.

But here's the thing: She only needs one.

And as of today, Anika still hasn't picked, putting down deposits at two schools and planning to visit the East Coast in June one more time.

Wherever she lands, she'll be a standout in her field--public policy.

Thank you, Anika, for letting me play in the word sandbox with you and allowing me to publish your work.

Here's her "Why University of Texas" piece...

I don’t measure time in minutes, or months, or years. I measure it in odd units.

Like the wobbles before a bike finds balance. I remember gripping the handlebars too tightly, wobbling toward the curb, feeling gravity test my patience. Now, when I run beside a child learning to pedal, I count their wobbles differently. Not as mistakes, but as proof of movement. Stability isn’t the absence of falling; it’s the courage to keep going anyway.

Or broken golf tees. I’ve snapped more than I can count, usually in the heat of practice or just before a tournament. Some might throw them away, but I tuck a few into my bag. Not trophies, exactly, but markers of persistence. Each splintered stick is a reminder that progress hides in the moments no one notices.

Sticky notes are another measure. Neon squares clutter my desk, scribbled with half-formed ideas, story deadlines, reminders I’ll probably ignore, and sometimes just a random quote that stuck. They don’t track time in hours, but they map the rhythm of my days, the cadence of my thoughts.

Headphones deserve their own units. Pink ones I wore as a child, too big for my head, tangling themselves into knots at the bottom of my backpack. Black ones patched with tape, stretched from travel and practice, carrying playlists that guided me through focus, nerves, or long walks. Each pair is a timestamp, a way of hearing my life as it happened.

Zoom glitches measure time too. The frozen rectangles of faces, the echoing feedback, the endless “You’re muted” reminders—they marked entire weeks, stretching moments into micro-forevers. At the time, it was exhausting. Looking back, I realize those glitches were exercises in patience, in improvisation, in finding clarity in chaos.

Even the smallest units matter: the two seconds before raising my hand in class, the beat before asking a question, a held breath before a golf swing. Tiny pauses, but they measure risk, curiosity, and the quiet push toward action.

Some units are discovered in anticipation. The thrum of a live show at Austin City Limits, the chatter of students in the UT Main Mall, the quiet hum of the Tower at sunset—these are rhythms I’ve imagined counting in visits and online exploration. Looking at campus maps, festival lineups, and student-led panels, I picture stepping into spaces pulsing with energy, curiosity, and collaboration. Even from afar, noticing those beats shapes how I think about learning and community, and how I want to engage in environments that challenge and inspire me.

When I look back, I see a mosaic of units rather than a straight timeline. Wobbles, strokes, sticky notes, headphone scratches, glitches, pedals, pauses, imagined UT rhythms-they don’t form a tidy calendar, but they capture life in its actual texture: messy, uneven, alive.

I don’t know what the next units will be. Maybe the scratch of pencil on paper in a late-night draft, the squeak of sneakers in a gym, the applause of a student festival I finally attend. Whatever they are, they will join the others in recording the small, stubborn evidence of growth.

Odd units are my way of understanding the world: imperfect, specific, unmistakably my own. They remind me that progress isn’t measured in conventional increments, but in the strange, personal rhythms that make life feel real-and that the spaces I hope to explore at UT Austin have their own pulse, waiting for me to notice it.

****

05/05/2026

Day 5: Pragmatic Pen May Showcase

I love an existential crisis--especially when it involves a teenage priest.

Ishaan Bharadwaj Chintalapati presents readers a mystical, ancient realm juxtaposed with the uniquely American experience of adolescent rebellion followed by a freak-out.

A sage grandpa unwinds the chaos. And no matter our own traditions, his calm wisdom resonates.

I'll add that when a writer teaches the reader something new--in this case about Southeast Asian culture--the reader feels smart. Then they'll advocate for the writer.

"I will be going to the University of Texas at Dallas for business and I got over $20,000 in scholarship money," Ishaan wrote, adding that he's beyond thrilled.

Thank you, Ishaan, for allowing me to publish your work. All the best in the Big D.

Here's his story...

Jasmine and sandalwood filled the air as the smoke of agarbattis—thin incense sticks—glowed in front of me. My father gently laid a long, white, cotton thread around my 11-year-old chest in the ancient Upanayanam ritual. As a member of the Brahmin caste—
the priests and teachers of India—the ceremony was observed by hundreds of people.

The aim: Initiate me into new beginnings and continue the traditions of previous generations.

A sacred thread acts as a bridge between the inner invisible self and the infinity in which we dwell; our obeisance to nature’s prowess connects us to a larger self, opening the gates to the third eye.

Next, the barber hovered his straight razor over my head. I was scared but knew the ceremony must continue: Slowly, he began to shave my beloved black hair, strands falling around me. The barber left five hunks shaped in a circle to absorb more spiritual
energy.

Then: Ear piercing. I cried as the needle bit into each lobe.
I was exhausted, having been awake for seven hours. The ceremony began at 2 a.m.—an auspicious time—but there was more to come.

The white dhoti was draped over my head. My father and grandpa lifted the square and hunkered down with me. A secret would be shared—one I was eagerly awaiting.

"Did we have a chest of diamonds somewhere?" I wondered in my sixth-grade mind.

Nope. The secret was a boring prayer.

Finally, I would go and ask guests for bhiksha—alms—like the priests before me.

I was unexcited by rupees—you can’t spend those on the NBA jerseys I wanted from the mall—but then Surya handed me a $100 bill.

"Yes!” I thought, “finally some real money."

My grandpa chuckled.

“The thread may be just some cotton to anybody who looks at it, but to you there should be a sense of pride,” my grandpa told me. “Never hide who you are.”

I wish I could say that becoming a Brahmin priest came naturally. That I respected the custom, found peace in it, cherished it.

Instead, I mostly hid my thread in a box under my bed, too embarrassed to wear it to school under my Polo shirt. I wanted to be American, to fit in with the kids at my school and impress my AAU basketball teammates.

Then one day, after dressing in my thread for my family to see, I was walking around the house with my shirt off and my thread got tangled in the doorknob. It snapped in two.

Somewhere, something deep inside me began to throb. I began crying and could not stop. I felt heartbroken, guilty, and empty.
Immediately, I called my grandpa in India.

“I broke my thread,” I sobbed. “I need your help.”

From that day forward, I realized that I should wear my thread around my chest 24 hours per day with pride like my ancestors and be proud of my culture.

After that, I traveled to India every summer, spending time with my grandpa. He helped me stay disciplined by doing pooja—a cycle of three daily prayers aligned with the rising, noon, and setting sun.

He taught me the value of taking pride in family traditions, how to build patience and how to lead my life.

Today, I have a strong passion for my past, present and future.
I've organized more than 10 Desi events in Houston to build community reaching some 2000 young people. In addition, I teach the youth Telugu—my mother tongue. This required a five-year course and certification. I’ve taught for five years—some 50 students.

I now know that without my thread—and my grandpa—I wouldn’t be who I am today.

***

05/04/2026

Day 4: Pragmatic Pen May Showcase

Family defines us, whether we want it to or not.

Virginia's Alden Gerkin confides that she misses her older brothers desparately--and her sweet parents are no substitute.

So she deploys the online daily word game Connections offered in The New York Times to bring her siblings together despite the physical separation of 1,000 miles.

Her quiet piece reveals strength in vulnerability but also reflects a deep human truth: Our people are more important than anything else.

Alden will attend the University of Wisconsin to earn a degree in marketing. I imagine she'll keep working Connections from her dorm room.

Thank you, Alden, for granting me permission to publish your work. It was a pleasure getting to know you.

Here's her story...

Draconian, hydrant, Leonardo, library. Do you recognize the links between these seemingly arbitrary words? These terms comprised the purple (i.e., most challenging) category of the March 16, 2025, New York Times Connections game.

For most, Connections is nothing more than a quick brain-teasing pastime, but for me, the 4x4 word sorting game is a source of solace.

As the youngest child of three siblings, I've seen my older brothers grow up and permanently leave the house, which was once filled with endless laughter and love. (Of course, both are still present, but my parents are an inadequate substitute). Now, when I return home after a long day of school, I'm faced with emptiness and tranquility, but not the comforting kind.

Separated by 1,000 miles, it isn't easy to feel connected to my brothers. With our busy schedules and the excitement of college and all its trappings to sustain them, I often feel like an afterthought.

As a type A, controlling individual, the sinking feeling of uneasiness animated by the concern that my brother's lives were growing vastly separated from my own was hard to accept, especially because I considered them to be my best friends and role models.

At first, I felt eternally stuck. I knew that growing apart was a natural aspect of aging, but why could my brothers move on to greater things with such ease while I was shackled under the roof of the memories we created, with an empty pit in my heart? It was difficult to come to terms with this unsolvable, disorderly feeling; the physical and emotional distance between my family became a kind of mess I could not sort.

With a love for all things puzzles and an unwavering determination to feel closer to my brothers, I found that my situation was no different than the daily Connections game I loved to solve.

Suddenly, it became clear: Each of my family members was like a single word in a Connections game, separated from the unifying category and each with a distinctly different purpose. But each becomes more powerful when coalesced with the others under a singular umbrella.

We needed to find the common thread that would bring my family together again, overcoming the modern madness of five unique lives and giving each individual a sense of home, even for a short time.

The Connections game was the obvious answer; we loved gathering around the computer every day to solve it, so I was certain that I could capture that feeling of belonging, albeit imperfectly, through multiple screens. Connections became more than just a game; it provided comfort in the silent chaos that was growing up.

Ironically, the sorting game taught me to let go a bit. Sometimes I make a wrong guess, or my brother solves it before I do, but it was not the order I craved; it was the collaboration, the connection.

Connections is not about control, in my case, holding my brothers back from their futures because I feared change and worried that they would irrevocably outgrow me. Instead, it's about participation and showing up. Not only did it bridge the gap between me and my brothers, it revealed something larger about my perspective.

In spite of life’s inherent disorganization, I've learned to find clarity in the confusion. Not by defying change, but embracing it.

There are no official New York Times Connections puzzles that encapsulate this feeling, so I made my own category: Reminisce, Accept, Reconcile, Grow.

****

05/03/2026

Day 3: Pragmatic Pen May Essay Showcase

Never in my decade of editing thousands of college essays have I been moved to make a consumer purchase. But after reading Ella Steffen’s compelling work on environmental destruction, I started Googling compost systems.

Ella's passion for the subject vibrates off the page; she layers in substantial statistics to ensure we don't label her a hair-on-fire hippie.

Furthermore, we see her literally and figuratively treading uphill to take small victories--with the poor in Europe, with her irritatingly dismissive school board, with her sleepy peers who'd rather be left alone.

We start to root for this intense kid, admire her action, believe her mission is possible, look to her to achieve it.

The admissions board at University of Georgia felt the same way: Ella--who hails from Chicagoland--will swap her winter parka for Birkenstock sandals this fall when she becomes a Bulldog. She'll study environmental engineering.

Thank you, Ella, for giving me permission to print your essay. I'll be cheering you on while cranking my composter in Texas.

Here's her story...

The buttery scent of the bakery wafted through the air–later I’d enjoy a custard-filled biscuit. Work was at hand as I trekked the gravel hills in Lisbon, Portugal. I carried burdensome bags loaded with leftover food from hotels, grocery stores, and bakeries, destined for people who couldn’t afford store prices.

I visited from Oak Park, Illinois, with the International Volunteer HQ’s Food Rescue Project. Our aim: Reduce food waste and fight poverty to create a more sustainable world. My job: Redistribute food rather than trash it.

I took the food that would have been thrown away–pasta, fish, and chicken–and upcycled it. My haul would support a family of five for a week. Over 1.8 million people live in poverty in Portugal–a number increasing, particularly in Lisbon.

Food waste is a problem everywhere–even in the U.S.

Food junked stateside emits 170 million metric tons of carbon dioxide. This doesn’t include methane emissions from rotting leftovers in landfills–the single most common material incinerated in the U.S. Shockingly, it’s 24 percent of municipal solid waste according to the Environmental Protection Agency.

I can make a difference: I’m a climate warrior who has deployed my skills globally to make change. I will dedicate my career to fighting climate change.

A bit of background: I grew up in the trees, listening to children laughing, birds chirping, and feet running through freshly cut grass. Vehicles ruined the vibe.

“Why can we not live in a world where humans don’t disrupt the peace of nature?” I wondered.

That was the first sign that I was going to be an environmentalist.

In sixth grade, students protested against burning fossil fuels. I looked up “climate change facts.” Hundreds of articles appeared; I stayed up until 1 a.m., silently crying. I fell asleep before I had made a poster.

This was my awakening.

I helped reduce student cafeteria waste my sophomore year, advocating to the school board: We needed to reduce the amount of food and plastic packaging waste so that our community of 4,000 students could decrease greenhouse gases.

Oh, the administrative backlash.

They wouldn’t meet with me to discuss donating food instead of throwing it away; rather, they told me to take a different path.

I discussed the proper ways to recycle and compost with students, educating my peers on their personal contributions to climate change. While it was initially a difficult sell, I eventually witnessed a huge change in trash being correctly composted and recycled.

Next, I explored different methods to impact climate change as the Vice President, and then President, of the Oak Park River Forest Environmental Club. I ran a thrift store for my community, which kept 1000 shirts out of landfills.

Furthermore, I created a documentary sponsored by The League of Women Voters on turning trash into art. I submitted it to the Illinois-based Conservation Foundation's One Earth Film Festival.

Once I felt confident in my knowledge of climate change, I applied it by helping run the Chicago Youth Climate Justice Summit at DePaul University. I served as Co-Chair of the Marketing Team for one year, planning strategies to reach schools, businesses, and sponsors.

Here’s the thing: There’s only one Earth–a planet that has sustained human life for hundreds of thousands of years.

Humans are slowly destroying the only planet that can hold eight billion people. The acidity of the oceans' surface has shot up 30 percent and sea levels have risen eight inches in the last century, wildfires are spreading faster, and there are more frequent destructive storms.

That said, I sometimes can’t resist the urge to buy the Portuguese Custard Tarts at Trader Joe's.

When I take them out of the oven the smell brings me back to the cobblestone streets of Lisbon. Of course, I eat every last bite and compost the remaining crumbs.

***

05/02/2026

Day 2: Pragmatic Pen May Showcase

In an age of screens, genuine community seems harder and harder to find. In fact, as I read Hansika Ganga's delightful essay, I found myself pining for it, feeling maybe even a little envious of her world...

Hansika takes the reader by the hand and introduces her favorite people as if at a party, honoring each one while sagely tucking her resume into the storyline without hubris.

She's accessible, gentle, genuine, interesting.

I'm not the only one who thought so: Hansika garnered offers from Duke, Georgia Tech, Harvey Mudd, University of Illinois, University of Michigan and Rice but took an offer at University of Texas in Austin. The Longhorns gave her a spot in an honors dual degree program that blends computer science and business.

"You helped me overcome writer's block," Hansika wrote in thanks. "Conversations were so fun, gave me clarity and so many ideas to write about."

Thank you, Hansika, for giving me permission to publish your work. Hook 'em!

Here's her story...

Eleven families. Twenty-two kids. One house full of chaos. As the mysterious game of Mafia intensified between the kids, from middle school all the way to college, the aunties reheated lentil curries while discussing rising gold prices, and the uncles sipped Corona beer, deep in conversation about recent stock evaluations.

This was “Famli.”

Before I was born, what started as casual cricket matches at the Amli apartments in Irving became something more. In the unfamiliar world that was America, our parents found each other and bonded over their Telugu Indian culture, building not only friendships, but a family.

From my first day in the hospital to every New Year’s Eve, I’ve spent every moment with Famli and I’ve learned a lot along the way.

Lesson one: Never sacrifice your dreams.

Being the valedictorian of 500 students sounds amazing, but it comes with a lot of stress. I overthink every assignment and course selection. Sitting atop the toilet, I was having one of my many mini mental breakdowns. I could either take an easy GPA booster or take Fashion Design, a class I’d dreamed about since eighth grade.

Then, I remembered Ramesh Uncle. He works full-time in computer science, but continues his love of singing. Whether it’s performing at the temple, parties, or just for fun, he keeps his passion alive. He taught me that you don’t need to abandon your passions to succeed professionally.

Now, I’m doing exactly that. I’m sewing tote bags in Fashion Design, playing “Volcanic Ash” in a saxophone sextet for band, and creating Nike commercials in my Audio/Visual Principles class. I didn’t sacrifice my dreams; I made space for them, all while maintaining my status as valedictorian.

Lesson two: Never give up.

It was a yearly tradition for my best friend and I to participate in Digital Divas, a girls-only coding competition. At first, we went for the free merch, but over time, it became our goal to win against the hundreds of attendees. We spent months preparing, practicing problems, and learning algorithms. In our second year, we solved only one more problem than the year before. We left in low spirits.

But then I thought of little Diya. Every time she got tapped out in a game of tag, she erupted into a tantrum and begged for a second chance. She refused to settle. And eventually, she’d get back into the game.

Even though Diya’s methods might be questionable, her unwavering determination stuck with me. If a six-year-old girl could fight for her place in tag, I could fight for the win I knew we were capable of making. So we signed up again. And we didn’t just improve, we placed first.

Lesson three: Always smile.

With my “resting sad face” and serious mindset, it's easy for me to get overwhelmed by the little things. From sending an email with the wrong information to forgetting a document before our presentation, it’s tempting to get frustrated and snap at others, letting the stress take over.

But then there’s Vimala Aunty. Always smiling, her positivity fills every room. Whether it’s a potluck or short conversation, she carries a genuine presence. She’s shown me that staying kind and positive, even when things go wrong, encourages people to stay hopeful and work towards a solution. That’s the person I want to be: someone who lifts others up with something as simple as a smile.

I’m the person I am today because of Famli. My parents not only built a friend group to host parties with, but a place to root and shape their children.

In college, I hope to create a community like Famli–full of friendship, laughter, and an occasional heated game of Mafia.

And maybe, one day, my kids will be running around the house, while I reheat curries, gossiping with my friends.

***

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