I became a writer when I was 18 and never imagined I would continue writing into my 20s. It was my first freelance job for my hometown paper, The Grand Gazette in Kremmling, Colorado. I was a senior in high school, on track to graduate a semester early and was looking to make and save money for college. As soon as I earned my last high school credit, I began to branch out from writing stories about school activities — such as when the play was happening, what the basketball teams were scoring, assembly speakers, etcetera. More and more I found myself thrown into writing stories about the happenings in my little town, and consequently the scandals, too.
One day, I plan to dive deeper into the stories that shaped me as a writer, as they still hold a lot of lessons — if just from the mere repetition of the process. Some of these highlights included doing my first coverage of a town trustee meeting, a profile on a man biking across the country to raise awareness for veterans’ mental health, my first concert preview for a festival in my hometown, when I got to sit down face-to-face with the members of the Christian pop-punk band Hawk Nelson, and a handful of stories surrounding pest control and municipal changes.
All of that, and before I turned 20. Through many trials and errors, deadline crunches, all-nighters — and all the while working multiple day jobs — I found my calling. All that to say, several people along the way aided this passion of mine, who I’d like to pass flowers onto.
I had always loved writing stories, so I took an elective creative writing class with my favorite teacher, Mrs. Johnston, for three years of high school. Mrs. Johnston, who I also had as a teacher for my required English and literature courses, saw something in me. She was the one who wrote my letter of recommendation for The Grand Gazette and inspired my desire to stick with being a writer — despite other dreams I had that were screaming my name from atop the mountains I’m still climbing today.
I didn’t initially intend to be a journalist. I dreamed of pursuing something in the arts, specifically the film or theater industry. However, the more I wrote and immersed myself in the world of writing stories about things beyond my own knowledge, and the absolute rush I felt each time I got work published, the more I figured this was a calling I couldn’t ignore.
Over the years, I’ve discovered a niche: reporting on the arts and, of course, in the most authentic Myki Jones way.
Though I slowed my roll with writing in college, a chance meeting with the current editor-in-chief of The Sopris Sun, Raleigh Burleigh, would slowly open the doors of this local paper for me. I was a struggling college student, looking for quick cash and had taken a temporary position delivering the papers in the winter of 2019. While I don’t recall the full context of a conversation with Burleigh on that first run to the printing press — though lovely and informative from the bits and pieces I do remember — it reignited my passion for writing. I will eternally be grateful for his openness to take me on as a freelance reporter in 2021.
I only knew Raleigh and Contributing Editor James Stiendler when I went to my first editorial meeting at The Sopris Sun. Soon, however, I met fellow reporter Jeanne Souldern, the first person after these two who tried to get to know me and include me in projects, even outside of writing stories. While we worked on assignments, we got to know one another on an interpersonal level and found similar interests and passions for our respective beats. What I viewed, and still do in many ways, as a mentorship, blossomed into a friendship that inspires me each time I take my fingers to a keyboard.
While everyone mentioned in this column aided this journey by seeing something in me, the impact is much more significant than they know. Writing, for me, has always been the most immense solace I have found. I have always been a curious person, and, many times throughout my life, I have been punished for this curious nature despite the only motivation behind it being the innate human need for clarity. Instead of punishing me for asking so many questions, these mentors of mine always encouraged me to ask more and to never stop exercising my curiosity to get to the heart of the truth in every story.
As we move into this new year and the changes we will inevitably see in the country, my desire as a journalist to uphold the mission of delivering the truth to the public will not break. My passion for building bridges will not bend, and my efforts to tell the stories of others will not slip.