Sitting down in my freshman year Journalism 1 class, I spent five agonizing minutes trying to get the courage to walk over to Tate’s desk. Finally, I approached him and asked — with a shaking voice — if he could look over my story. As he read it, he harshly pointed out every flaw. The lead was cliche. My interviews were boring. The story had no focus. After three minutes of him tearing apart the story I had spent two weeks writing, I squeaked out a “thank you” with tears forming in my eyes and asked if I could go to the bathroom. I immediately broke down crying. When my mom picked me up from school that day, I told her I wasn’t going to do journalism next year. Clearly I wasn’t cut out for the whole Harbinger thing. It wasn’t until she forced me to call a former staff member, who told me about how she loved deadlines and her fellow staff members, that I decided to give it a try. To read more of Maggie Kissick’s senior column, click the link in bio. #storybymaggiekissick #social...