What People Get Wrong About My Job

There’s a scene in every rom-com where a journalist has a "eureka" montage moment. The quirky, determined protagonist — let’s call her Rory Gilmore 2.0 — downs a caffeine IV drip, juggles snappy interviews with hard-to-pin-down sources, cranks out a Pulitzer-worthy article in a dimly lit cafe, and The End. The reel usually concludes with her smirking as her editor dramatically hits “print” on her genius work, all while she’s spinning in her chair like a newsroom goddess.

It’s romantic, isn’t it? Except... that’s not my job. Not even close. And yet, that’s what most people think I do.

Pull up a chair, grab your favorite mug (or, if you’re me, a craft beer brewed by someone I probably went to high school with), and let’s clear things up about this wild, weird career I love.

Myth #1: We Spend All Day Writing in Pretty Notebooks (or on Typewriters)

Ah, the visual of any bleeding-heart creative: A writer hunched over a vintage typewriter, sunlight streaming through the ivy-laced window, lost in thought — or angst — while words flow like poetry. Cute, but here’s reality.

Most of the time, "writing" is actually not writing. It’s me pacing around my apartment trying to cajole my brain into forming coherent ideas, or researching something obscure because somehow, that rabbit hole feels less intimidating than a blank page. Picture this: I once spent two hours trying to figure out exactly how long it takes potatoes to sprout eyes just because it might make a good metaphor. (Spoiler: It didn’t even make it into the draft.)

For further clarity: I don’t own a typewriter, but I do have approximately 247 sticky notes in a chaotic color-coded system that only makes sense to me. Notebooks? Yes. But they’re mostly half-filled with cryptic phrases like “heart like a drive-thru restaurant???” (I don’t remember what that idea was either.)

Myth #2: All Journalists Are Chasing Breakthrough Stories in War Zones or City Hall

When people hear “writer,” especially in the context of journalism, they think: gritty investigations and whistleblowers, covert phone calls in smoky parking garages, power suits, and exposés that unravel systemic corruption.

Let me be clear — I am not Christiane Amanpour. I’m Leslie from Boise, who once wrestled a scandalous scoop about whether yeast starters were ruining marriages in my parent’s brewery crowd. Sure, there’s some investigative magic involved in any piece. (Did you know that you can find public records on whether someone profited from selling artisanal jam at a festival? Wild.) But for every incisive think-piece, there are days where I’m writing about Idaho’s transformation while wondering what exactly my great-aunt meant when she said our family farm was “more of a soap opera than a potato patch.”

The hustle is real, but not the way people expect. It isn’t all filing Freedom of Information requests — sometimes, my biggest obstacle is convincing someone I didn’t come on their podcast just to write a hit piece about their new dating philosophy. Journalism can be tactful, and it’s (often) a lot less dazzling than Hollywood leads you to believe.

Myth #3: Anyone Can Do This "If They Just Put in the Time"

Let me tell you something about freelancing — part of it is hustle, sure. The other part is wondering if your email subject line sounded too desperate (because how many ways can you phrase "PITCH: Is Our Obsession with Avocado Toast Actually About Commitment Issues?"). You have to love it; otherwise, the constant pitching, rejection, and re-pitching will make you second-guess your life choices faster than someone Googling "red flags" after a bad first date.

It isn’t just “writing words and selling stories.” It’s knowing how to sell your words in a crowded, noisy world. It’s also a whole lot of balancing: Do I turn in this piece about relationship myths today or take a stab at covering the insidious cultural rise of AI-generated love poems? (Yes, that’s a thing. And no, they're not the slightest bit romantic.)

Listen, if someone tells me, “Oh, I’ve always wanted to write,” I’m thrilled. I genuinely believe there’s room for everyone at the table. But the idea that writing is easy, that you “just need to sit down and start”? That’s like trying to win someone’s heart by leaving them a 10-paragraph ramble about your love of ‘90s ska bands in their DMs. There’s an art — and, honestly, a mess — to this career.

Myth #4: You Need a Magical, Muse-Laden Life to Write Well

“Wow,” someone once said to me after I mentioned my job, “you must have sooo many fascinating people in your life!” (Cue me choking on my vanilla latte.)

The truth is, much of what I write about comes from the ordinary. The tiny details. Growing up in Boise — where the North End used to mean quirky thrift shops before they turned into boutique yoga studios. The way relationships in small towns feel strangely high-stakes because, inevitably, you’ll run into your ex buying eggs at Whole Foods. The beauty — and awkwardness — of sitting with your mom in a brewery she runs while she asks why you’re still single. (Yes, that’s a real story. Let’s not dwell on it.)

The magic of writing isn’t in living some cinematic, muse-filled lifestyle. It’s finding poetry in potato harvest metaphors or inspiration in the guy who overshares his life's philosophy during the first five minutes of a blind date. It’s collecting moments like sea glass and turning them into stories that stick.

Myth #5: Writers Know Everything (Especially About Love)

Confession: One of the most popular questions I get is some version of “You write about dating, right? So, what’s the ONE secret I need to know to fix [insert romantic disaster here]?”

Here’s the thing: Yes, I can write you an insightful piece about flirtation as a lost art in an over-digitized world. I can weave a narrative about why building connections is more like—bear with me—brewing craft beer than flash-freezing fast food. (It’s all about patience and layering complexity!) But at no point do I claim to have the Holy Grail of love advice tucked away in my Moleskine.

If anything, I know this: Love (and connection) is messy and wonderful and made up of a thousand small gestures. Tiny things matter. Like when someone remembers your coffee order, or sends you a cheesy meme on a random Monday. And the only "rule" that seems to really stick is to show up for people like you mean it.

That, and maybe don’t quote rom-coms as gospel. Nobody’s doing meet-cutes in this economy.

The Truth About What I Do

At its core, my job isn’t about being the all-knowing relationship guru or the investigative maven unveiling some hidden truth about humanity. It’s about this: listening, observing, asking questions — and then putting it all together in a way that makes someone feel just a little less alone. Like a trusted friend.

Writing, for me, is less about knowing all the answers and more about leaning into the everyday absurdities, the small, sweet, or frustrating details of being human. It’s knowing that sharing stories (even if those stories involve yeast and potatoes) can be a bridge to connection.

So the next time someone asks, "What do people get wrong about your job?" I’ll probably still laugh — and maybe reach for a craft beer. But now you know: It’s nothing like the movies. And honestly? I like it better this way.