What People Get Wrong About My Job

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if I sit around sipping Cuban coffee and scribbling in a leather-bound notebook all day, I’d… well, at least be able to afford a nice weekend getaway to the Keys. Being a writer sounds like a dream job—and don’t get me wrong, it often is—but the perception of what I do and the reality of it? Night and day. Pull up a chair, because we’re spilling the cafecito on what people get way wrong about what I do for a living.

“So, You Just Write All Day?”

Imagine this: I’m sitting on South Beach, perfectly composed, typing prose that flows like poetry while a gentle ocean breeze ruffles the pages of my imaginary Pulitzer submission.

Yeah, no. That’s not happening.

Writing is not some mythical outpouring of brilliance. Most days, I’m a human Google search: “How many people live in Chicago?” (research for a short story), “Is it ‘effect’ or ‘affect’ in this context?” (grammar anxiety is real), “How to make arroz con pollo sound romantic?” (spoiler: I can’t). Writing involves grueling drafts, endless self-doubt, and a lot of “Does this even make sense?” moments.

To anyone who thinks writers just spill magic onto the page in one go… I wish. Writing is 90% deleting your brilliant-but-completely-off-topic tangents and 10% trying to remember what synonym you haven’t already used.

Writing Is A Job Like Any Other

Sometimes, people act like being a writer means I just sit around waiting for inspiration to strike like a lightning bolt from Hemingway himself. Let me paint a more accurate picture: Writing is work. Fun work, yes, but work.

Deadlines? You bet. Writer’s block? Absolutely. A constant underlying tension of “Do people still even read anymore?” Oh, for sure. You’re not just writing for the sake of it; you have editors (love you, boss!) and audiences to consider. You have a message you want to land, and while the process of crafting it might be fulfilling, it’s still a hustle.

You know how dating is all fun and games until you start scheduling date nights on your calendar and googling “how to have deep conversations on the third date”? Yeah, that. Writing has its romantic parts, but there’s a lot of prep and logistics that go into it. It’s not all candlelit vibes.

“It Must Be So Easy To Write About What You Know”

Oh, the irony. Writing from personal experience isn’t easy—it’s like dating someone who immediately wants to meet your family. Vulnerable, uncomfortable, and a little sweaty.

For me, weaving my Cuban-American experience into my writing is tricky. Do I lean into nostalgia—the Sunday mornings of my childhood, crowded with domino games and the smell of tostones? Or do I tackle the complexities of identity and assimilation, like trying to explain to a first date why growing up bilingual means sometimes your brain trips over questions as simple as “Where are you from?”

The “write what you know” advice ignores the emotional labor that comes with tapping into your truth. It’s peeling back layers and deciding, Am I ready for people to see this part of me? It’s introspection, sure—but it’s also the kind of thing that, if you don’t pace yourself, can leave you scrolling TikTok at 2 a.m. to avoid it.

“You Should Write A Book About My Life!”

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but your neighbor’s cousin’s trip to Coachella probably isn’t a book.

Here’s the thing about storytelling: It needs stakes. Something to pull the reader in. Something with depth. Sure, your drama-filled dating history might make a great rom-com (and PS: congrats on surviving all that), but most people underestimate the craft that goes into capturing life’s chaos while grounding it in meaning. It’s like making arroz con frijoles—anyone can throw rice and beans in a pot together, but it’s the sazón that brings it to life. Writing takes structure, thought, and yes—rewriting the same line 17 times because it still “doesn’t feel right.”

That’s not to say everyday stories can’t shine, but writing is about finding the small truths within big chaos. A skilled writer can turn your wild Cabo bachelorette party into a soulful reflection on female friendship—but don’t be fooled, that process isn’t quick or easily done.

The Real (and Slightly Messy) Perks of My Job

Let’s get real: People have this idea that writers are tortured geniuses living on coffee, drama, and insomnia. Maybe that was true during my college days (please don’t ask how much caffeine I consumed writing my thesis), but the truth is, this job comes with its own joys and challenges.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

  1. Inspiration isn’t always romantic: Sometimes, it’s me rereading WhatsApp chats with family trying to remember idioms my abuela always said so I can use them in my work. Other times, it’s me staring at a blank page, thinking, Do I even have anything to say today?

  2. People love to tell you their life stories: Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting people and hearing their experiences. But I’m not out here secretly documenting your every word for my next essay. (Unless you drop a killer metaphor about love, then maybe.)

  3. Writing keeps me honest: You know how dating someone deeply authentic makes you self-reflect and try to grow? Writing does that, too. It forces me to be real with myself and to sit with feelings I’d rather bury under a mountain of guava pastries.

  4. The community is unmatched: From fellow writers to readers who write heartfelt emails about how my work touched them, the connection I feel is worth every bit of struggle. It’s like when someone finally gets your inside joke—that little spark of being truly understood.

So, What Keeps Me Going?

At the root of it, writing is about connection. Whether I’m weaving tales of intergenerational love or figuring out how many salsa references are too many salsa references, my work helps me feel closer to others. It’s a way to say, “Hey, you’re not alone,” or, “Hey, your story matters too.”

Kind of like relationships, really. At the end of the day, what we all crave—whether it’s through words or shared moments—is that sense of belonging. That validation that we’re seen, we’re heard, and we’re worth the space we take up in this big, messy, beautiful world.

So no, I don’t just sit around sipping cafecito and having profound revelations all day. But I wouldn’t trade this chaotic, rewarding journey for anything. If you have a writer friend in your life? Cut them some slack. And maybe buy them a coffee. Just know they’ll probably overanalyze the gesture and wonder how it fits into their next essay.