Get to Know Me
Eliana Morales | Communication Specialist
My Story
The first thing my mother did after finding out she could finally adopt a baby was to purchase $700 worth of children’s books. She bought a white wooden bookshelf before a crib. A year later, she held me in her arms for the first time in Kunming, China. After arriving at the hotel as a family of three, my father read me my first picture book while I drank formula from a bottle. At home in Florida, my mother put the books she had bought to good use, reading to me at various times throughout the day. Her efforts to instill the love of reading in me paid off.
As an elementary and middle schooler, I visited the library weekly, walking out with a stack of sometimes fourteen or fifteen books high. I won many plastic trophies and a few ten-dollar gift cards from school reading competitions. My alarm would buzz at 5 a.m. and my tired arm would reach for whatever current read sat on my dresser. I would drag that same book with me to the breakfast table, to school, and back home again. At night, my eyes would strain to capture the words under the dim glow of a reading light. My mind was brimming with stories, characters, and possibilities.
I quickly transformed from reader to writer. In first grade, I put together a book series centered around a cloud, creatively named Cloudy. Each “book” was hand-drawn on the classroom floor and haphazardly but lovingly stapled together. I began a diary at ten; my latest entry was last week. Then, I began to journal about anything and everything. The topic never mattered; I just wanted to write. I still have every notebook I’ve written in. They make a decent stack, and no line within them is blank. As a teenager, writing became my therapy and my words were friends who understood. Even now, I find solace in what I write.
Naturally, all this reading and writing trained my eyes to spot mistakes, and seemingly small things, such as grammatical errors in a menu, never went unnoticed. In fact, such errors would trap my fellow diners into lengthy explanations of each mistake and possible fix. Yet, when choosing a college major years later, editing and writing never crossed my mind. More accurately, nothing crossed my mind.
A desperate search through my university’s degree catalog the summer before I left led me to the existence of Mass Communication. It was a revelation, a salvation. I hadn’t known such a degree even existed, but there it was, ready for me to claim it.
Over the next two years, I repeatedly lost sight of why I had chosen this degree. I forgot it was a natural choice instead of an aimless one. The students around me held aspirations with clear titles such as nurse, scientist, engineer, businessman. But I was majoring in something that many of them had never heard of. I would let their quizzical looks linger before giving a vague, well-rehearsed explanation of what mass communication even was. Their confusion would visibly fade, but not disappear. I lacked the enthusiasm they had expected.
But then, during my junior year, I got hired as copy editor for the university’s newspaper. Sure, we had a small audience, but I was part of a team, and the staff’s clear passion for their work was contagious. I was essential in ensuring we published quality articles, and that was satisfying. Another semester, my journalism class worked as a team to tell the story of our city’s growth, and the project made me grow more certain that I was in the right place. When I secured a summer internship at a magazine and received a promotion at the newspaper, it seemed as if everything was coming together. Well, to clarify, it seems as if everything is coming together.
I picture myself back then, with a sheet over my head and a flashlight pointed at a book, scribbling furiously in my diary after an especially long day, staggering out of the library with a tower of books, or writing just to write. When I recall these images of my younger self, I remember that my career choice was not a random leap, but a return to something I have always known and loved.
My Information
Education
Pursuing BS Mass Communication with an emphasis in writing and editing. Class standing: Junior.
August 2024 - Present
Experience
I work as a Copy Editor for the Southern Accent where I:
Edited news stories, features and opinion pieces in AP style.
Proofread articles for grammar, punctuation, style, clarity and factual accuracy.
Edited headlines, subheadings and captions to ensure relevance, engagement and accuracy.
Ensured the factual accuracy of news stories by verifying names, dates, statistics and sources.
Collaborated with reporters and other editors in the newsroom on a weekly basis.
Information
Education
Pursuing BS Mass Communication with an emphasis in writing and editing. Class standing: Junior.
August 2024 - Present
Experience
I work as a Copy Editor for the Southern Accent where I:
Edited news stories, features and opinion pieces in AP style.
Proofread articles for grammar, punctuation, style, clarity and factual accuracy.
Edited headlines, subheadings and captions to ensure relevance, engagement and accuracy.
Ensured the factual accuracy of news stories by verifying names, dates, statistics and sources.
Collaborated with reporters and other editors in the newsroom on a weekly basis.
My Story
The first thing my mother did after finding out she could finally adopt a baby was to purchase $700 worth of children’s books. She bought a white wooden bookshelf before a crib. A year later, she held me in her arms for the first time in Kunming, China. After arriving at the hotel as a family of three, my father read me my first picture book while I drank formula from a bottle. At home in Florida, my mother put the books she had bought to good use, reading to me at various times throughout the day. Her efforts to instill the love of reading in me paid off.
As an elementary and middle schooler, I visited the library weekly, walking out with a stack of sometimes fourteen or fifteen books high. I won many plastic trophies and a few ten-dollar gift cards from school reading competitions. My alarm would buzz at 5 a.m. and my tired arm would reach for whatever current read sat on my dresser. I would drag that same book with me to the breakfast table, to school, and back home again. At night, my eyes would strain to capture the words under the dim glow of a reading light. My mind was brimming with stories, characters, and possibilities.
I quickly transformed from reader to writer. In first grade, I put together a book series centered around a cloud, creatively named Cloudy. Each “book” was hand-drawn on the classroom floor and haphazardly but lovingly stapled together. I began a diary at ten; my latest entry was last week. Then, I began to journal about anything and everything. The topic never mattered; I just wanted to write. I still have every notebook I’ve written in. They make a decent stack, and no line within them is blank. As a teenager, writing became my therapy and my words were friends who understood. Even now, I find solace in what I write.
Naturally, all this reading and writing trained my eyes to spot mistakes, and seemingly small things, such as grammatical errors in a menu, never went unnoticed. In fact, such errors would trap my fellow diners into lengthy explanations of each mistake and possible fix. Yet, when choosing a college major years later, editing and writing never crossed my mind. More accurately, nothing crossed my mind.
A desperate search through my university’s degree catalog the summer before I left led me to the existence of Mass Communication. It was a revelation, a salvation. I hadn’t known such a degree even existed, but there it was, ready for me to claim it.
Over the next two years, I repeatedly lost sight of why I had chosen this degree. I forgot it was a natural choice instead of an aimless one. The students around me held aspirations with clear titles such as nurse, scientist, engineer, businessman. But I was majoring in something that many of them had never heard of. I would let their quizzical looks linger before giving a vague, well-rehearsed explanation of what mass communication even was. Their confusion would visibly fade, but not disappear. I lacked the enthusiasm they had expected.
But then, during my junior year, I got hired as copy editor for the university’s newspaper. Sure, we had a small audience, but I was part of a team, and the staff’s clear passion for their work was contagious. I was essential in ensuring we published quality articles, and that was satisfying. Another semester, my journalism class worked as a team to tell the story of our city’s growth, and the project made me grow more certain that I was in the right place. When I secured a summer internship at a magazine and received a promotion at the newspaper, it seemed as if everything was coming together. Well, to clarify, it seems as if everything is coming together.
I picture myself back then, with a sheet over my head and a flashlight pointed at a book, scribbling furiously in my diary after an especially long day, staggering out of the library with a tower of books, or writing just to write. When I recall these images of my younger self, I remember that my career choice was not a random leap, but a return to something I have always known and loved.