I never wanted to be a writer.

I preferred the term "journalist," until a friend told me in sixth grade that I wouldn't make money, something that devastated me.

Money, though, never had anything to do with it. I always enjoyed writing and I wanted to do something exciting with my life. I still do.

It wasn't until I began working for my high school paper, that my writing was critiqued for perfection. Up until then, the childhood stories I had written could only be found in folders on a cumbersome Dell desktop from the 90s: they were invisible. Plus, having switched computers a few times , I don't even know if those documents exist anymore. If anything, they're at the bottom of some old email account I haven't accessed in years. They'll likely stay there forever.

Nevertheless, in high school, my work became publicized — in my school's paper, granted. I'm not sure how many people it reached, but at least on the back end — in our cramped newsroom from which I have so many memories — it was scrutinized.

It was the first time I had performed for an audience. It wasn't an essay I would cram for the night before, only to receive subjective yet constructive feedback on, and then never look at again — nor was it a negligible ounce of imagination left for dead in a word document.

This was the first time my writing made a difference.

The second time was when I joined my college newspaper — a good decision, to say the least. The difference here was that there wasn't as much room for perfection. There was room for accuracy, and very little time compared to what I was accustomed to in high school.

Though something I still struggle with, I now know what it takes to crank out an accurate news article in under 80 minutes. I have witnessed a chaotic, yet serious-minded newsroom, and I understand what it means to care about writing.

I learned from both newspapers that there is a difference between writing for the sake of writing and writing for the sake of purpose.

The third time my writing — or ability associated with writing — made a difference was on a slightly larger scale. In summer 2016, I worked for a publishing company in Boston: I helped with the production of a magazine that promotes the arts — galleries, museums, and festivals.

I was primarily a fact-checker and I helped with edits. I didn't write at all. I kept a list of order confirmation forms and I mailed magazines to recipients. I made phone calls to high-end art galleries in New York City and invited their directors to events hosted by the company I was working for. I reached out to smaller art galleries in the New England area to see if they wanted to be featured in the magazine.

I once read the draft of an article featuring several New England art galleries so many times — checking for spelling areas, name corrections, grammar, appropriate language, and general facts — that by the end, I had memorized the location, specialty, and director's name of each gallery.

I liked being part of a production process. I liked watching drafts undergo edits and words undergo revisions. I liked finding mistakes because the work could only improve from there.

I often think of my younger self — the one who preferred the word "journalist" over the word "writer" because it sounded better — and I can't help but wonder if the writing world is for me.

I'm not sure if I'm fit for a career in writing, and it's hard to explain why, because writing is something I so actively do, and seek out.

What I have discovered from working on different publications is that writing is about much more than words. It's about a process and a production.

Sometimes it's about a community you didn't know you were a part of until you left. Sometimes it's about the first time your work was really criticized, or the first internship you had.

There is a lot within writing that you cannot see, and I think that's what I like about it. There's invisible work and education intertwined in the process.

Whatever I end up doing, I hope writing is involved in some way — be it the main attraction or the associated necessity.

Writing has truly been an invaluable part of my life.

I plan to continue it by any means necessary.