From the time I was five years old, I told stories to anyone who would listen.

I told them to my friends, to my mom, to my babysitter. When I learned to write, I wrote them down. My first big break was a first-grade chapter story about a kitten, for which I won a prize. Not the most hard-hitting piece, granted, but at least I got an early start.

I have wanted to be a journalist for years – to tell stories, and to tell them accurately and powerfully.

In order to be able to do so, I try to absorb everything I read, hear, see. I talk to people, and really hear them when they talk to me. I ask questions, lots of them, and listen to the answers.

In my classes, I have not taken shortcuts. I genuinely want more than a temporary or superficial understanding of the material. I want to master the lessons, because I know careful review of my work done by a professor will be nothing compared to the expectations of readers.

I have racked my brain for days to think of a story idea, and I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone to bring it to life. I have studied public records law, and stood my ground with public officials who wouldn’t hand those records over. I’ve done extensive interviews and spent the time to break down esoteric concepts for readers. I’ve had difficult conversations with people who have lost.

I worked at the university television station for a semester to learn to package footage so that I can produce video to accompany a story. I’m taking a class in online media and considering one in photo journalism so that, again, I can create supplementary material that could provide context, insight, or detail for readers.

If you look at the salary numbers, it’s pretty clear that I’m not going this route for the pay. I want to report because making a difference by myself is not enough for me – my hope is to inspire others to make their own mark on the world after reading something I’ve written. I want to interest, to enlighten, and to create work that I am proud of.