“How many pages is yours?” I asked, proudly displaying my four and a half-page long description of how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The “how to make a PB&J” project was the toughest task my kindergarten class had faced, and I was determined not to let my teacher down. I spaced out my words and used as many details as possible, including unscrewing the lid to the jelly jar and cleaning my workspace afterwards. Unsurprisingly to my five-year-old self, none of my classmates delivered. Their one-page descriptions were all lacking the crucial detail that our tiny bodies could only fit one half of the sandwich, and we would have to put the rest in the fridge for later. 

When I brought my project home to my parents, they laughed and put it in the box of keepsakes that still sits on my closet shelves. Little did they know, that project was only the beginning of a years-long struggle to master the art of concise writing. Centuries ago, French philosopher and mathematician Blaise Pascal was first quoted with the phrase that defined my first ten years as a student: “Je n’ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parce que je n’ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte,” which has been translated to “I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” For years, instead of helping me cut out unnecessary details, my teachers applauded my wordy essays. It seemed like half the time they wouldn’t even read my work, they would just glance at the size of the Google Doc and think “there must be something good in here, 100!” This made me stagnate; I wanted to improve my writing, but wasn’t receiving the coaching I needed to get there. 

Journalism saved my writing. As a freshman taking Journalism I, I adapted quickly to AP Style and journalism conventions, but struggled with word limits. How could I be expected to write a complete argument or engaging news story in 500-700 words? My last two hours working on any story that year were spent cutting out extra words with the help of my parents and friends. However, my frustration with word limits turned into satisfaction when I saw how much better my stories had become. By forcing me to streamline my writing, my adviser helped transform my stories from boring, rambling essays to compelling pieces. 

This rapid improvement led to the most exciting day of my freshman year when I was pulled out of chorus to take a journalism headshot. My first-ever opinion story had been picked up by the comment editors and put on page 7. I was honestly shocked when I saw my name in print for the first time, and that feeling continued to fuel my passion until journalism took over my nights and weekends, becoming both my full-time job and my home. Looking back as a junior, I expected to feel embarrassed by that first story, but I am actually really proud of it. While I’ve continued to grow since then, I still appreciate my past self’s use of strong evidence to connect national public health issues to students at my school.

I’m proud to say that the process of cutting words and quotes now starts from the moment I transcribe my first interview, and has become one of the most satisfying parts of my job as a journalist. Over the past three years, my detailed, curious brain has become my superpower. My ability to come up with a multitude of ideas and angles, coupled with my clear, accessible writing style has helped me write engaging stories that are always my “best one yet.”