Personal Narrative

    From the first time I picked up a pencil, my favorite thing to do was learn how to write letters and words and how to use them in sentences. I used to write and illustrate stories for my little brother where he was the prince who had to slay the evil dragon before time ran out. I used to write poems and motivational messages to my little sister when she wasn’t feeling well. I would use any reason I could to write.

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    When I got my first computer, the first thing I did was open Google Docs. I started writing stories that I thought would go far and win huge awards. I was only eight years old, but I had so much determination to do what I wanted. I wanted to be an author, I wanted to be a poet, I wanted to be any type of writer the world would allow me to be. 

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    When I was in seventh grade, my English teacher was my biggest influence. She had red hair, but she dyed two streaks in the front with purple and silver. She always made me feel like my writing was worth something. After taking an online informative writing test, she left a digital comment on my assignment. “Well written! Ava you have a wonderful way with words, keep writing!” Since that day, I haven’t stopped writing. It felt good to know I had someone who was in my corner and appreciated the work I did.

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    When I was 16, my first “real” job was a cashier, which meant Guest Services, which meant speaking to a multitude of people for hours at a time. This was something I struggled with, as I’ve always felt it was easier to talk through my writing than with my voice. I had a regular, a man whose name I never knew. He always came into the store at the same time every Sunday and Wednesday night. As I’m making conversation with him like usual, he derails our discussion about the new coffee flavors on the shelf and begins talking to me about what I want to do. He asks me, “What’s after this? I mean, yeah, this is a nice job, but it’s not a forever thing, right?”

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    I’m stunned. No one has ever come through my line and asked about my life. They always tell me about theirs. This is a chance to talk about what I want.

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    “Definitely college,” I say. “I want to study journalism. To be honest, I just want to write.”

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    He looks at me for a second, processing his response. Normally, I’m met with ‘oh, you want to be a news reporter! How nice,’ but this time it’s different. I feel like he knows there’s something deeper to it.

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    “You’ll keep the world true,” he told me. “You’re gonna go far, honey.”

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    I smile. Another person in my corner. Another person who believes in me. This isn’t all to say I had no one supporting me already. I’ve had my family by my side since day one, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. It’s just different to feel like other people can see you.

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    As a reporter, I feel like the most important thing in the world is making people feel seen. Giving someone a chance to tell their story is the greatest gift I can give, and I try to make it possible everyday. When I go out to conduct interviews, I shy away from yes or no questions. I ask the deeper, more personal questions so that I can get the whole story. 

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    The biggest lesson I've learned from my publications classes is this; If you don't love what you're making, start fresh.