I still remember the way the ink smelled as I pulled the freshly printed paper from the stack at the Charleston Gazette office. It was a mix of newsprint, old wood desks, and someone’s overzealous application of aftershave. But to me? It smelled like victory. There it was: my first byline—a skinny column wedged between an ad for fried shrimp baskets and high school football scores. No Pulitzer to be found here, just my name shining like a diamond in a Lowcountry oyster.

Back then, I imagined seeing my byline for the first time would feel like the end of a romantic comedy where the girl finally gets her grand kiss under a perfectly timed sunset. Instead, it was more like the aftermath of a first date that goes surprisingly well—equal parts giddy, relieved, and wondering, “So… now what?”

Let me walk you through the rollercoaster of making it to that moment, along with a little wisdom I picked up along the way. Spoiler alert: I was wildly unprepared for how much writing is like any relationship—beautifully messy and requiring a whole lot of emotional resilience.

The First Time’s Always Awkward

Let’s back up to the summer before that first byline graced the pages of Charleston’s finest small-town paper. I was a fresh graduate, nursing a predictable combination of nostalgia and student debt. Lucky for me, my hometown was dripping with stories—I just had to prove I could tell them.

The editor-in-chief of the Gazette gave me an assignment after I cornered him—fine, I borderline ambushed him—at a community festival. He handed me a topic on the spot: “Write something about crab boils.” I acted cool, jotting it down like I’d been preparing for this moment my whole life, but in my head, I was screaming. Was I supposed to focus on the food? The history? The sheer chaos of trying to wrangle a hundred snapping claws out of a pot?

I went home, sat at my desk, and stared at my laptop like it had betrayed me. It didn’t help that my grandmother kept popping her head in to say things like, “Well, you better not embarrass the family with that article.” Thanks, Grandma. The stakes suddenly felt less like a fun write-up for a local audience and more like a piece that would decide the fate of my ancestors.

Still, I began the way I’ve always started anything—by storytelling. I interviewed crabbers near the docks where I used to play as a kid and quizzed my Aunt Bessie, who swore she “cooked the best pot in South Carolina but wasn’t about to share her secret spice blend.” Piece by piece, conversations turned into sentences, then paragraphs. I stayed up one night until the cicadas’ hum gave way to birdsong, and I hit send on an article that I hoped read half as beautifully as the world it described.

Criticism or Chemistry? Knowing They’re Not the Same

A fun fact about first times, whether it’s getting your words published or navigating the wild world of love: it will be judged. My editor sent me back more red marks on that draft than a middle-school teacher grading an overdue book report. At first glance, it hurt—a little bit like scrolling through a post-date text thread and seeing no “Had a great time!” follow-up.

But here’s the secret: just like in dating, what seems like a rejection often turns out to be redirection. Each slash of the editor’s pen—the one that gutted my four-paragraph tangent about butter seasoning—was refining my ability to get to the heart of the story. The criticism wasn’t about me; it was about improving what I was putting into the world.

I gingerly reworked my draft and sent back something tighter, sharper, and oddly better than I thought I could manage at the time. And when my byline finally appeared above that piece, I didn’t see the edits anymore. I saw the start of something worth working for. A spark.

What Writing (and Life) Taught Me About Relationships

Creating a publishable draft is strangely similar to navigating relationships. Both require patience, vulnerability, and a willingness to lean into lessons along the way. Here are three things I realized while stumbling my way toward that byline—and they’ve stayed with me while writing stories and building connections with others.

1. It’s Not About Being Perfect, It’s About Being Present
I spent hours agonizing over every word in my article, but it wasn’t perfection that made it come alive. It was the snippets of dialogue I captured from the docks, the laughter around Aunt Bessie’s kitchen, the shared history that bubbled up like steam from a pot. Perfection is cold—a finished product that feels distant. Presence is warm, inviting, and messy in all the best ways. This is true whether you’re writing or trying to woo someone.

2. Don’t Quit Because of a Rough Start
Remember what I said about red ink? Without it, I might’ve believed my first draft was great and settled for mediocrity. The best relationships I know weren’t perfect out the gate, either. Learning to take feedback with grace—whether it’s editorial notes or your partner bravely suggesting you try putting your phone down at dinner—makes you better for it.

3. Celebrate Every Victory, No Matter How Small
My byline might’ve been tucked between shrimp ads, but you can bet I clipped that paper, laminated it, and sent copies to three family members. Milestones deserve their flowers. Whether it’s publishing your first article, surviving a tough breakup, or asking someone out after months of hyping yourself up, every win matters. Go ahead, do a happy dance. Beyoncé would want that for you.

My Byline Taught Me That Beginnings Are Just That

Seeing that first article in print didn’t answer all my questions about writing or my career. Much like a first kiss doesn’t mean you’ve got romance all figured out (if only!). But it did something more important: it pushed me forward. It reminded me that new beginnings, no matter how wobbly, contain endless potential.

So wherever you are on your journey—whether you’re tackling your next big goal, fumbling through a budding relationship, or trying to stay afloat during crab boil season—know this: you’re only getting started, and that’s a beautiful thing.