Reporting and Writing

My very first website story. This formualic sports game coverage somehow took fourteen year old me hours and hours of rewriting. I wanted to perfect it, even though I did not actually know how on Earth to play the game.

When I got this tezt from my managing editor, Shira, a sophomore at the time, I still remember where i was (my dance practice) and the utter joy I felt, running out to tell my mom. I was so exicted to get a print special article and determined to do it right. It was in those moments that I realized how much journalism meant to me, and how I neeeded to do this right.

I never expected my first-ever story to be about hockey.

As a freshman, I had zero knowledge of the game when I got my first assignment for The Newtonite. I was hoping for a News or Arts story, so when I saw my name under Sports, I panicked a little. But I was determined to figure it out. I grabbed my notebook, went to the Boston ice rink with my dad, and sat next to him, trying to follow every play and writing down everything I could. I didn’t know the rules, I didn’t know the terms, but I was determined to make it work. I remember googling hockey positions during the intermission, asking my dad what a power play was, and frantically scribbling notes, hoping I wouldn’t miss something important.

It was a tough learning curve, but I poured everything I had into that story. I spent more time than I should have writing it, constantly second-guessing whether I was using the right terminology or if my story made any sense. But when I finally submitted it, the feedback surprised me—the story was actually pretty good. The effort I put into learning the game showed, and that work paid off. That hockey article ended up being my first byline in The Newtonite, and it felt like a huge win.

Because of that, my editors trusted me with a bigger assignment just a month later: an Olympics feature for my first print special. I felt more confident this time. I did my research, interviewed sources, wrote the story, and submitted it—only to be told it wasn’t local enough. That stung, but I didn’t want to give up. So, I went back, found better sources, asked sharper questions, and rewrote the entire piece.

That was my real starting point.

I sat down with my managing editor—another student leader, since The Newtonite is completely student-run—and we went through every edit together. I learned how to take feedback seriously, fix my mistakes, and improve my work without feeling discouraged. Every comment on the Google Doc felt like a learning opportunity—whether it was about making my quotes stronger, fixing awkward phrasing, or adding more context.

When the revised story finally made it into the print edition, it felt like more than just a personal victory. It showed me, and the staff, that I was willing to put in the work to get the story right. I realized how much I cared about getting it right—not just for the grade or the byline, but because the story deserved it. That experience also proved to me that I was capable of handling big assignments, and learning that so early on in high school was invaluable.

At the time, I didn’t even realize I didn’t fully know how to write a proper feature. My advisers liked to remind me that I wouldn’t really get it until I took their AP Lang class later on. But I was figuring it out, little by little.

As my first year on The Newtonite went on, I managed to write at least one article in every print special, and with each one, it got easier. I started understanding how to structure my stories better, ask sharper questions, and handle feedback without feeling overwhelmed. I noticed that I was spending less time second-guessing myself and more time focusing on the actual reporting.

From that first hockey game to that Olympics story, I learned that journalism is about revising, listening, and always improving. It’s not about getting it right the first time—it’s about being willing to put in the work to make it better, no matter how long it takes.

By the end of my first year, I had written for every print issue and was already gearing up for my next challenge: becoming Editor-in-Chief as a sophomore.

Expanding my storytelling beyond The Newtonite

I had spent years writing stories on my school—covering events, student voices, and the moments that defined our community. But eventually, I wanted to expand beyond those walls—to tell stories that reached further and highlighted voices that often went unheard, particularly young women in leadership.

That’s why I joined Girls Who Start International, a 501(c)3 nonprofit dedicated to addressing gender inequalities in the business world by empowering high school girls to become leaders. The organization focuses on building a global network of female entrepreneurs and leaders, providing them with resources and a platform to share their work.

At first, I was just a writer, covering high school chapters that were innovating within their own communities—launching projects, growing clubs, and finding unique ways to engage their members. I wrote about women-owned brands, creative marketing strategies, and how these students were using entrepreneurship as a tool for leadership and change. But as I dove deeper into these stories, I realized they were about more than business plans or fundraising goals. They were about young women pushing boundaries, carving out spaces for themselves in areas where they’d often been overlooked.

As I became more involved, I saw how impactful these stories were—not just for readers, but for the girls leading the initiatives. It wasn’t just about spotlighting their successes; it was about validating their hard work and ideas, showing them that their voices and efforts mattered.

When I was promoted to Senior Editor, overseeing a team of 10+ writers, my role shifted from storyteller to mentor. It wasn’t just about writing my own pieces anymore—it was about helping others find and refine their voices. I spent time editing articles, giving feedback, and helping writers think more deeply about the stories they wanted to tell. It was rewarding to see new writers grow in confidence, producing stories that were sharper, more thoughtful, and more impactful with each draft.

That transition taught me something essential about journalism: it’s not just about telling stories—it’s about building a platform where others feel empowered to share theirs. It’s about creating space, offering guidance, and helping others realize that their perspectives have value.

Through Girls Who Start, I’ve been able to combine my love for storytelling with my passion for amplifying underrepresented voices. I’ve written about female entrepreneurs, student-led initiatives, and innovative marketing strategies, but I’ve also helped other young writers do the same—showing them that their stories can make a difference.

Which brings me to my last story...

For most of my time as EIC, writing my own pieces took a backseat. My days were filled with leading the newsroom, managing a team of 50+ members, overseeing print production, and making sure The Newtonite was still active. But somehow, it all came full circle with the last piece I wrote—a column for The Newtonite’s January Special, my final issue as EIC.

The column focused on invisible labor—the kind of work that often goes unnoticed but holds everything together. It’s the hours students spend studying late into the night, the extra drills athletes run outside of practice, the quiet effort that makes a group project come together seamlessly. I reflected on how the Newton teachers’ strike brought this idea into focus—highlighting how preparation, resilience, and years of unacknowledged effort suddenly became essential.

I wasn’t just talking about the strike—I was writing about myself, too.

The real value of my time at The Newtonite wasn’t in the bylines or the awards. It was in the unseen hours—the late nights alone in the press room, editing drafts until they finally worked, the constant rewriting, the small but important choices that made each story better. It was in the moments no one else noticed, where the work really happened.

That’s what writing has always been for me—not just the polished, final product, but the process that gets you there. The slow, deliberate act of revising, listening, and figuring it out piece by piece. Writing isn’t about the moment a story is published—it’s about everything that happens before that moment, the invisible labor that makes the story possible.

...A "full-circle moment," perhaps

I started this journey as a freshman who didn’t know the first thing about hockey, sitting nervously in the stands with a notebook in hand, trying to make sense of a game I’d never watched before. Back then, I thought journalism was about getting the story right—nailing the details, following the format, hitting the deadline. But over time, I realized it was about so much more.

I learned how to ask better questions—not just the obvious ones, but the ones that revealed something deeper. I learned how to write stronger stories, ones that didn’t just inform but connected. And most importantly, I learned how to step into spaces I wasn’t sure I was ready for, whether it was covering breaking news, leading a newsroom, or mentoring younger writers who were exactly where I had once been.

And as I close this high school chapter, I know that every correction, rewrite, and lesson learned will stay with me—long after I’ve left the newsroom.

Some Highlighted Works:

"Newton Teachers Association announces strike amid contract disputes"

Published just minutes after Newton teachers voted to strike Jan. 18, 2024, this article provided live updates on the process, offering real-time coverage that shaped how students understood the events.

"Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley supports Newton Teachers Association in urgent call for education funding"

As the strike unfolded, I had the opportunity to interview Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley, gaining insight into the intersection of education policy and activism.

"FORJ Panel Addresses Banned Books, Points Toward Awareness"

My first award-winning article, this piece localized national discussions on book bans and censorship, winning recognition from the New England Scholastic Press Association that year for Localizing.