The Article That Kicked Off My Writing Career

“I’d love for you to write a piece for Thrive about things that help improve your sleep.”

From: Arianna Huffington.

Huh? Who’s Arianna Huffington? What’s Thrive? And why on earth would she want me to write something for her?

All these thoughts flew through my head as I stared at this unexpected reply to a random comment I made on a LinkedIn post.

At the time, I was just trying to find proofreading work. I had completed a proofreading course, and it suggested using LinkedIn to find jobs. So I made an account and started commenting on posts that I liked.

No game plan. No strategy.

And then this request popped out of the blue.

But I'm not a writer.

Write? Me? I did well in English class and journaled for years, but I didn’t think I could write professionally. Even my best friend’s encouragement to try writing instead of proofreading wasn’t enough to bridge the gaping chasm of self-doubt in my mind.

But this—a total stranger interested in what I have to say? That’s something different.

First things first.

Google “Arianna Huffington.” (Yes, for real.)

Within three minutes, I realized I had caught the eye of one of the most successful businesswomen of my time. And in another two minutes, I learned that Thrive Global promoted behavior change, health, and wellness—my favorite topics.

Perfect!

Now for the hard part—writing.

For my first attempt, I followed the basic format of many articles I had read before—introduction, a list of points with an explanation of each, and a conclusion. I wrote it during breaks at work, proud of myself for being able to knock out a first draft so quickly. The next day, I showed it to a friend to get their opinion.

“I think it sounds dry,” they said. “It doesn’t sound like you. You’re way more interesting than what you wrote here.”

Is it possible to feel disappointed and complimented at the same time? Apparently so.

But deep inside, I knew they were right. I had written safe, trying to imitate others, not what I really thought.

I was at a loss. How on earth was I supposed to translate “me” into words on a page? I deleted my draft and opened a new document to start over. I stared at the blinking cursor that seemed to taunt me with its very presence while I grappled with this monumental challenge.

I typed a sentence, looked at it, and deleted it. Tried again—delete. My mind felt gridlocked, paralyzed by indecision and doubt.

Enter: a surprising solution.

When my friend saw my predicament, they suggested, “Why don’t you try having a shot first?”

My immediate shock must have shown on my face because they started laughing. “It might help you relax and not overthink this,” they explained. “The first draft is when you get to put down whatever you want. You’ll clean it up later. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Write drunk, edit sober’? I’m not saying you have to get drunk, but if you let yourself loosen up a bit, you’ll probably find your flow.”

I began considering the idea. My method definitely wasn’t working, and if I didn’t like what I wrote, I could throw it out like the first one. What did I have to lose?

I walked over to the cupboard, grabbed the Black Velvet whiskey bottle and a shot glass, and down the hatch it went. About fifteen minutes later, the article didn’t seem so intimidating. In fact, I began thinking about it from a completely different angle, a more personal one.

As ideas began to form, I ran for my laptop and started madly typing away, drawing from my own experiences and feelings. It wasn’t enough to give advice about sleep. I had to go deeper, get to the root of why I had trouble sleeping. When I finished, I felt good. I didn’t know if the piece was any good, but it felt good to write what was real and true to me.

I handed it over to my friend to look at, wondering what their reaction would be this time. The seconds crawled by as they slowly scrolled down the screen. Finally, they looked at me and said, “This is great. You nailed it. I can hear you through the whole piece.”

Being real feels really good.

I was ecstatic. I felt the same sense of accomplishment as when I competed in a martial arts tournament and beat all of the guys in my division (there were no other girls). I had overcome my fears and insecurities to achieve my goal—capturing the essence of my thoughts and feelings in words.

After polishing the article (when I was sober), I sent it off to Thrive’s editors. Less than a day later, I got an email saying it had been accepted and published. I clicked on the link and there it was—my article and my name in print for the whole world to see. A thrill went through me, and suddenly, I knew this was something I could do and wanted to keep doing.

My writing evolves, but the process stays the same.

Years have passed since that day, but I still look back on that article and experience with fondness. It taught me about myself and the writing process. I don’t use a shot of whiskey anymore to get my creative juices flowing, but I still have to write that horribly awkward first draft to get the wheels turning in my brain.

It’s like a puzzle to be solved: How do I make this ridiculously sad bit of writing say what I want it to say? And it ignites my competitive nature because, of course, I can’t let that draft stand as is. I must make it into something I like. It makes me think of different perspectives, ways of saying things, how I want the reader to feel, and what I really want to say.

The pen forces me to be honest with myself, which is painfully uncomfortable at times. If it wasn’t, I imagine it wouldn’t take me so long to get there.

I’ve learned (and am still learning) to embrace the process that often feels frustrating and hopeless, like I’m groping around in the dark. The reality is, there’s nothing bad happening. There’s nothing wrong. It’s the natural evolution of writing. Eventually, I always find my way, my voice, and my words.

(If you'd like to read the original article featured in this story, you can find it here.)