Embedded Files
The first day of Volume 102, my first as EIC. This is also the day we updated our board with all the new leadership members and roles.
At fifteen, I wasn't just joining the new leadership team—I was running it.
At fifteen, I wasn't just joining the new leadership team—I was running it.
I was suddenly responsible for shaping the publication that I had only just found my footing in. When I became EIC as a sophomore, I faced the immediate challenge of expanding our staff from 20 to 40 writers overnight. At the same time, I had to navigate my own growth as an editor—learning when to refine someone else’s writing rather than rewriting it entirely, when to mentor versus direct, and how to create an environment where young journalists could take risks, improve, and build confidence.
Leading from 3,726 miles away
Leading from 3,726 miles away
My first real test in leadership came almost immediately—just weeks after stepping into my role as Editor-in-Chief, I left for a three-week French exchange program in Marseille. It was terrible timing. I had barely met half of the new writers, and now I was supposed to lead a growing staff from across an ocean. I worried constantly that I wouldn’t be able to establish a connection with them—how could I expect writers to trust me if we’d never even had a real conversation?
With no face-to-face interaction, all I had were Google Docs comments and the hope that my feedback wouldn’t feel cold or impersonal. Every night, I stayed up late in my host family’s house, editing articles that came in from Boston. I didn’t just mark changes—I left detailed, paragraph-long comments for each writer, explaining why I made certain edits, suggesting improvements, and encouraging their voice. I wanted them to know I was paying attention, that I cared about their work, and that even from thousands of miles away, I was trying to help them grow.
I worried that it wouldn’t be enough. Without seeing my face or hearing my voice, would the writers even remember me when I got back? Would I be able to build the kind of relationships I had valued so much with my own managing editors when I was a freshman?
But when I finally returned to the newsroom, I noticed something unexpected. Even if they barely remembered my face, they recognized my edits. They knew my feedback, my style, my voice. And more importantly, they had already started to improve based on that feedback.
By the time I sat down with my writers face-to-face, we already had that starting point. From there, it was easier to strengthen those relationships, offer in-person guidance, and create the kind of supportive newsroom culture I had benefited from as a younger writer.
It was the same kind of mentorship my own managing editors and Editors-in-Chief had once given me, and I was finally able to pay it forward.
I would apply so many corrections to each article at first, trying to explain each edit. Somehow, it kind of worked, and writers were able to apply those corrections to their next articles.
CSPA conference 2023.
Building a newsroom culture
Building a newsroom culture
The Columbia Scholastic Press Association (CSPA) Conference trip to New York City was a key part of the plan to turn the new Newtonite staff from peers into a true team. There needed to be a way to strengthen our connections and turn them into real relationships. The CSPA trip was the perfect opportunity.
Organizing a three-day trip for 30+ staff members was chaotic, to say the least. From booking buses and hotel rooms to planning our schedule and keeping everyone accounted for, it felt like an endless to-do list. But it was worth it. The conference sessions gave us valuable insight into journalism, but it was the late-night hotel room debates over “Would You Rather” and impromptu storytelling sessions that truly brought us together. Those moments, filled with laughter and the kind of energy that only comes from too little sleep and too many snacks, were when I first felt like I had done something meaningful in my role as EIC.
That feeling mattered to me. As a sophomore stepping into such a big role, I was constantly chasing the sense that I was making a real impact, that I was earning the trust of my team. The CSPA trip was one of the first moments where I felt like I had accomplished that.
After we returned, I didn’t want that sense of connection to fade. My Co-EIC and I planned more events—ice cream socials, late-night editing sessions, leadership team gift swaps, and end-of-volume celebrations. These moments gave our team a chance to bond beyond deadlines and story pitches, helping to create a newsroom culture that was collaborative, supportive, and fun.
Leadership team gift swap.
Building...a newspaper?
Building...a newspaper?
Unlike many student publications, The Newtonite operates almost entirely online throughout the year but also produces five major print specials:
First Day of School Special (8–12 pages)
Club Day Special (8–12 pages)
January Special (16 pages)
March Special (8–12 pages)
Graduation Special (40 pages)
Each issue was like solving a HUGE logistical puzzle. There were headline placements, story layouts, ad spacing, caption formatting, and print deadlines—all needing to be coordinated perfectly. Delegation was difficult because every tiny detail had to be handled by someone—down to each space (or lack thereof) between the margins of a column and the end of a headline.
With a bigger staff, there were more stories to manage and more people to teach. I was still figuring things out myself, yet I was already responsible for guiding new staff through the process. It was overwhelming at first—I felt like I was still learning how to lead while being expected to pass on knowledge I was still figuring out.
The March Special, our first print edition of the volume, helped me ease into it. It was only eight pages—a simpler, more manageable introduction to what would come later. But it gave me a taste of what it would take to plan a full issue from start to finish.
Then came the Graduation Special—a massive 40-page issue that required meticulous planning months in advance. Every tiny piece mattered, and timing was everything. Even the sports recaps—short write-ups of every team’s season—had to be assigned more than a month ahead. We needed backup plans for everything: alternate stories, filler graphics, and, of course, a full ad spread (which meant organizing an entire advertising push—more on that later). We wrote retirement tributes, edited community and student statements, and fact-checked every line, over and over.
Looking back, I’m thankful my first Graduation Special happened during my sophomore year—before APs, SATs, and the full weight of junior year kicked in. I was able to fully absorb the experience and learn every part of the process, which made leading it again the following year, with more on my plate, a lot easier.
But the process was intense. We sent out schedules weeks in advance with clear instructions for what every staff member needed to do—story assignments, deadlines, and shifts for InDesign work. During press weeks, I ate, slept, and breathed bad headlines and mountains of corrections. My diet mostly consisted of junk food that the leadership team brought in on a rotating schedule—bags of chips, candy, and A LOT of Starbucks to keep us going. But those long hours were also where we bonded most.
It’s funny how much you can learn about someone just by sitting next to them, waiting for InDesign to load, talking about everything and nothing. Those slow moments between edits were when I got to know my staff better—beyond their writing and beyond the newsroom.
During press weeks, I was often the last to leave and the first to arrive. I stayed in the newsroom from 4 PM to 11 PM, only to be back the next morning before anyone else. My world revolved around InDesign errors, misplaced punctuation, and trying to balance the growing staff.
But despite the chaos, my first year as EIC went smoothly. By the end of the volume, I felt more confident. So when I was selected for a second year as EIC, I was excited to apply everything I had learned and make the next volume even better. Because what could possibly surprise me this time around?
Then, the strike happened.
Leading through the strike
Leading through the strike
I genuinely thought I had seen everything the job had to offer, but nope.
In January of my junior year, the Newton teachers’ strike shut down school for two weeks. Suddenly, The Newtonite had to cover the biggest school event in recent history… without the usual structure of school, our newsroom, or even our advisers.
At first, I thought I was prepared. Minutes after the initial vote on that Thursday night, I had the article up, and the Instagram updated. I sat at home thinking that we've got this, but then...now what?
I’ll never forget the FaceTime call with my leadership team that night—everyone huddled around their phones, trying to figure out how we were going to run a newsroom without the newsroom. My planner quickly filled with scribbled notes, timelines, and messy to-do lists, and the next morning, we got to work.
For the next two weeks, we camped out at Café Nero, treating it as our makeshift office. We spent mornings and nights there, hunched over laptops, breaking story after story while sipping on endless cups of coffee. New writers—many of whom I had barely met yet—were thrown into high-pressure, fast-paced reporting. It was intense. They were covering protests, interviewing students and teachers, and writing breaking news updates on the fly.
I worked closely with my co-Editor-in-Chief and managing editors to create a strike coverage plan. We made sure that every writer, no matter how new, felt supported and understood the stakes. Every article had to be accurate, timely, and clear. We fact-checked, revised, and published stories in real-time—sometimes turning around pieces within an hour.
The strike tested everything I had learned about mentorship, crisis management, and collaboration. It wasn’t just about covering an important event—it was about leading a team through chaos, turning uncertainty into confidence, and teaching new writers to thrive under pressure.
Looking back, the strike wasn’t just a reporting challenge—it was a leadership challenge. It forced me to step up in ways I hadn’t anticipated, and it showed me what it truly meant to guide a team, even when everything around us felt unpredictable.
This was taken at 8:30 AM in Cafe Nero on the first day of the strike.
real time footage of aaron trying to write an updated rewrite of the editorial.
a photo i took when we finally put it on the page.
Learning how on Earth to write the editorials
Learning how on Earth to write the editorials
In every print special, there was one question that hung in the air, sparking dread among the managing editors: “So… who’s writing the editorial?”
No matter how early we started brainstorming, no matter how organized we thought we were, the editorial was always the last thing finished—often thrown together late into the night on press day, with the pressure of a looming deadline.
An editorial is the section of the newspaper where the staff takes an official stance on a major issue, a collective voice representing the entire publication. No pressure or anything, right? Writing it meant balancing the opinions of dozens of staff members while crafting something that was thoughtful, bold, and worth reading. It wasn’t just my voice—it was ours.
I still remember those late nights spent hunched over the editorial draft, mapping out arguments on the whiteboard in the newsroom, trying to piece together a cohesive point of view. We’d try to structure it using the rhetorical triangle—a concept I hadn’t yet learned as a sophomore since I hadn’t taken AP Lang. I just knew I was supposed to make it sound persuasive and smart, even if I didn’t fully understand why certain things worked.
And the edits? Brutal.
We’d write a draft, only for it to be torn apart—rewritten, edited, and scrutinized line by line with our advisers. Every sentence had to be intentional, every claim backed up, every word carefully chosen. It wasn’t uncommon for the editorial to go through five, six, sometimes ten rounds of edits before finally landing on the page.
But looking back, that’s where I learned some of the most important lessons about journalism.
I learned how to write with purpose, how to take a stance without alienating readers, and how to navigate the challenge of speaking on behalf of a group—not just myself. It taught me the importance of clarity and responsibility in writing. More than anything, though, it taught me that good journalism isn’t about rushing to the finish line—it’s about taking the time to get it right, even when it’s hard or frustrating.
It’s honestly wild to think that I went through that process for ten editorials. And while I can appreciate what editorials are meant to do—to spark conversation and make readers think—I won’t lie, they definitely won’t be the thing I miss most about The Newtonite.
But I will miss those late nights in the newsroom, surrounded by half-empty coffee cups, scribbled notes, and the hum of InDesign slowly loading. Because that’s where I learned what it really means to write for something bigger than yourself—and how hard, messy, and rewarding that process can be.
Expanding Leadership Beyond The Newtonite
Expanding Leadership Beyond The Newtonite
While leading The Newtonite taught me how to manage a newsroom, stepping into an editorial leadership role at Girls Who Start International pushed me to grow in completely new ways. As I rose to Senior Editor, I wasn’t just leading one newsroom anymore—I was managing a team of 10+ writers spread across different schools, each with unique voices, styles, and perspectives.
One of my most meaningful projects was curating and hosting a five-week Summer Journalism Workshop for over 40 middle and high school girls internationally. I spent my summer building a curriculum from scratch, leading discussions on media literacy, reporting basics, and storytelling, and mentoring young journalists as they navigated writing and publishing their first pieces. It was both exciting and intimidating—suddenly, I wasn’t just editing articles; I was helping teach journalism to students who were just beginning to explore it.
But leading at Girls Who Start was very different from The Newtonite. There was no shared newsroom, no spontaneous brainstorming sessions or late-night press weeks to bond over. I didn’t have the luxury of face-to-face interactions to build relationships with my writers. Instead, I had to figure out how to build trust entirely through editing and virtual communication—leaving thoughtful, constructive comments, guiding writers through their drafts, and making sure every contributor felt heard and valued, even if we never met in person.
It wasn’t always easy. Without the in-person energy of a newsroom, it took more intentionality to keep everyone motivated and engaged. But that challenge taught me a lot about leadership—specifically, how to empower others from a distance, how to give feedback that felt personal and helpful, and how to create a supportive environment even in a virtual space.
Girls Who Start showed me the impact of mentorship in a new light. It wasn’t just about helping writers improve their articles—it was about helping them find their voices, building their confidence, and showing them that their stories mattered. And in doing that, I became a better editor, a more thoughtful leader, and a more empathetic journalist.
And overall...
And overall...
Stepping into leadership wasn’t just about managing deadlines or editing articles—it was about navigating the quiet, complicated process of helping others believe in their own voices while still learning to trust mine.
Whether it was leading a newsroom through a strike, guiding a team of writers I had never met in person, or staying in the press room until midnight perfecting the last page layout, I realized that my greatest impact wasn’t always in the bylines I earned—but in the stories I helped others bring to life. It was in the late-night Google Docs comments, the rewritten headlines, the moments when a writer finally understood how to sharpen their angle or strengthen their lead
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