They say you never forget your first. Your first crush, first kiss, first heartbreak—and if you’re a writer—your first byline. Mine came wrapped in the sweet-and-salty air of the Myrtle Beach boardwalk, printed on the back page of a glossy tourist guide. Glamorous, right? Okay, maybe not exactly Pulitzer material, but it was my name in black-and-white, and it ignited something in me like the neon Ferris wheel glowing against a summer night sky.

If you’d told me then that this tiny byline would snowball into a career juggling novels, relationship advice, and the occasional ode to shrimp and grits, I’d have laughed. But beginnings, much like first dates, rarely reveal the full story right away.

The Roller Coaster Ride of Getting Published

Let’s rewind to the summer after my sophomore year of college. With all the naïve confidence of someone who’d taken one creative writing class and binge-read Faulkner, I decided I was ready to get published. Did I have a plan? Hardly. I approached pitching with the same scattershot enthusiasm you see in online dating profiles: slightly mismatched priorities and lots of hope.

I emailed every editor I could find with offers to write about “hidden gems in Myrtle Beach.” Most ghosted me, like a match who suddenly realizes they’re not ready for commitment. One editor from a local tourist magazine finally replied—a tiny glimmer of interest after weeks of silence. They wanted a 500-word blurb on the best spots to grab a cheap beachside lunch. My pay? A whopping $40.

At first, I thought, “That’s it?” Then I realized: they were giving ME, an unpolished college kid, a shot. It was like agreeing to a coffee date with someone who’s clearly new at flirting but might surprise you with their charm.

Deadlines Are Like Love Confessions—Terrifying and Necessary

I spent the next week obsessing over my pitch. I wanted it to be perfect (or at least readable). But when I finally sat down to write, imposter syndrome came swooping in faster than a seagull dive-bombing a boardwalk fry. Who was I to tell anyone where to eat? Did I even know what words paired best with “pecan praline pancake stacks”?

After two nights of writing, deleting, and rewriting, the piece was polished enough to send off. In hindsight, the article wasn’t groundbreaking: I shared local favorites like Crazy Jay’s Shack for burgers and a hole-in-the-wall oyster bar with a killer happy hour. Still, hitting “send” felt monumental, like a first “I like you” text. Vulnerable? Yes. Essential? Absolutely.

The Big Reveal: Seeing My Byline for the First Time

Weeks later, the magazine sent me a copy. There it was—my name, printed in tiny font beside a quirky headline about cheeseburgers. I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. It wasn’t splashy, but dang, it was mine. Sure, the layout was sandwiched between garish ads for watersport rentals, but none of that mattered. It marked the moment I realized people might actually pay attention to something I wrote.

Holding that magazine, I felt a pride I imagine Beyoncé felt post-“Crazy in Love.” Okay, that’s probably an exaggeration, but my point is: getting your first byline feels BIG. For one fleeting moment, you believe anything is possible—even topping your cheeseburger exposé.

Lessons Learned from My First Byline (and Beyond)

Looking back, that first piece taught me more than the difference between “coleslaw served on the side” and “coleslaw served on top.” It shaped my approach to writing—and maybe even to relationships—with a few key lessons:

  1. Start Small and Be Patient: Not every first is a grand slam, and that’s okay. Starting with something small builds confidence and opens the door to bigger opportunities later.

  2. Find Your Voice: Sure, my first article included phrases like “a burger as big as your beach bag,” but you know what? It was authentically me. Leaning into my coastal upbringing and quirky perspective, I began to develop my style. The same applies to building relationships—authenticity over pretension every time.

  3. Imperfect Efforts Are Progress: My first article wasn’t perfect. (I’m still haunted by a pretty unfortunate pun involving hush puppies.) But writing, like love, is a practice—you improve over time. What matters is showing up and trying.

  4. Celebrate Every Win, No Matter How Small: Sure, my first byline wasn’t in The New Yorker. But we don’t roll our eyes at the first blooms of spring just because they’re not full-grown oaks. Celebrate your milestones—they matter.

Why Your First (Whatever) Stories Are Important

Here’s a secret about “firsts”: they’re the messy beginnings that connect us to our truest selves. Whether it’s the first time your name hits print, the first time you cook a meal that doesn’t end in smoke alarms, or the first time you realize you’ve fallen for someone—it’s the courage to begin that deserves celebrating.

For me, my first byline became the foundation for everything else: the travel writing side-hustle, the social media strategist gig, countless winding drafts of my debut novel, and now, writing pieces like this. That early experience wasn’t glittery or grand, but it was the first step toward something much bigger.

The Takeaway

You don’t have to light the world on fire with your first attempt—just light a spark. Start small, lean into your quirks, and don’t sweat the imperfections. Whether it’s writing, dating, or tackling any new challenge, remember: the first is only the beginning. Embrace the mess, the mistakes, and the momentum they create. I promise, it’s all leading somewhere amazing.

So, what’s your “first” story? Whatever stage of the journey you’re on, I hope you’ll step boldly into it—even if your wings aren’t fully formed yet. You never know where even the smallest firsts might take you.