By Makenna Gaeta
I fiddled with the keys of my laptop impatiently, itching to press record and wrap up my very first interview before it had even started. I was confident that asking questions over the phone would alleviate some nerves, but here I was anyway— a sweaty, anxious wreck over the prospect of having to pose a few simple questions to a stranger for an article in WORD Magazine. The publication covers UC Santa Barbara’s neighborhood and student writers receive course credit.
“Please state your name, year, and major,” I croaked, tortured by the awkwardness of my voice. I was interviewing Charles Kernkamp, a student who coordinated the 2019 Fuck Frats Fest to raise money for sexual assault awareness. That was to be the first of many times I speculated about whether journalism was in the cards for me.
It was the fall quarter of my sophomore year at UC Santa Barbara when I stepped into WORD Magazine— a complete shot in the dark. After being robbed of my first year on campus by the pandemic, I was floundering; online school turned friendships fickle and learning into a chore. So, I signed up for WORD, read up on their mission, and did a little prayer that I’d absorb a sliver of the confidence and passion that all good writers eventually possess.
I had no idea how much more the course would serve me.
Sophomore Abby Sovik enjoys WORD’s fall 2021 issue by the UCSB Lagoon.
WORD, Isla Vista’s Arts & Culture magazine, was originally established in the fall of 2007 “as a way to redefine what it meant to be a college student living in IV,” according to its mission statement. This student-driven publication aims to deconstruct the UCSB party school stereotype, bringing complex facets of student life to light. First-timers and seasoned “WORDies” alike are expected to embrace this mission, pitching stories that will be chosen for publication only after being chewed up and spit out by a rigorous editing process.
With no journalism experience, dwindling self-confidence, and little idea of my academic path, the promise of having my work published for all of my peers to read and dissect was daunting. My first story was to cover four sororities that had been suspended pending investigations into hazing allegations— a controversy that was “all the talk on campus.”
The process was grueling.
One interview source after the next declined to meet with me. Greek life members fervently clung to their gag orders, unwilling to reveal any information that could compromise the ongoing investigations. I spent hours trying to write the story despite this setback, but failed miserably: without the students’ voices, the piece felt like a cop-out.
Desperate, I contacted my editor-in-chief, who wisely advised me to “get creative” and shift my angle. I did my research, made some phone calls, and broadened the scope of my story. I soon had three interviews scheduled— none with suspended sorority members, but instead with a former Daily Nexus journalist, a sorority member in good standing, and the head coordinator of the 2019 Fuck Frats Fest.
I had overcome the first hurdle in the writing process. But I was as yet unaware of the trouble that conducting the interviews would give me. Crippled by the anxiety of speaking to strangers one-on-one, I struggled to keep my poise — even during phone interviews. It was the first time in my academic career that I was forced to face my lifelong battle with social anxiety head-on. And as horrible as it felt in the moment, it also marked an incredible growth milestone. Enough stuttering through interview questions and eventually I had it down to a science. I ditched the scary labels of the people I spoke with— president, professor, alumni— and focused only on nurturing meaningful conversation. Like magic, the awkwardness dissipated.
Through countless interviews since, I have learned to speak to strangers with confidence, authority, and empathy. I can acknowledge my nerves without drowning in them. It’s a work in progress, but my voice gains resolve with every new piece.
When I joined WORD, I had not declared a major, was unenthusiastic about learning, and I felt lost. Today, I am pursuing a major in communication and a minor in professional writing, with aspirations of being a journalist after graduation. I have rekindled my love for storytelling and reclaimed my sense of identity— the fruits of a once timid voice gathering the courage to ask a stranger their name, year, and major and listen back with pride.
Makenna Gaeta is a second-year Communication Major. She wrote this personal essay for her Writing Program course Digital Journalism.