Graduation day felt truly unforgettable. After years of dreaming about walking across that stage, it finally happened. I pictured it as a special moment to remember, with my dream job waiting for me—crafting stories that spark children’s imaginations, filled with magic, heart, and wonder. Yet, right before I tossed my cap, reality suddenly and unexpectedly sank in — in a big, surprising way. I landed an internship at a small publishing house in Ottawa. I got an email from my professor about the opportunity. It sounded perfect. I imagined learning in a creative atmosphere, working alongside seasoned authors, maybe even seeing my stories come to life. Instead, the experience turned into a lesson I never expected.

When the Internship Isn’t What You Thought

Most of the work involved endless data entry, organizing old files, and sitting in front of a slow, outdated computer that some days didn’t even work. I didn’t have a mentor to turn to—just vague instructions sent through Skype messenger. There was no one-on-one feedback or guidance to help me grow throughout my time.

While other classmates were receiving mentorship and creative opportunities, I often felt like I was just filling space. Sitting quietly in the corner, I overheard how some staff discussed authors’ work—sometimes encouraging, other times more critical than I expected. When I shared ideas, they were mostly brushed aside. I rarely got to pursue anything creative. Instead, I was given tasks no one else wanted. My creative spark started to fade under those fluorescent lights, and I felt invisible.

One time, I submitted a draft and followed the revision suggestions carefully, only to be told the original version had been better. Yet earlier, I’d been told in person that my writing was “amazing” and “very creative.” That contradiction hit hard—it felt like nothing I did was right. I started going home each night wondering if I was even meant to be a writer. During the internship, I had explained that I have a disability—that it’s extremely hard for me to translate ideas clearly onto the page, even though I can express them well verbally. I literally said that’s the nature of my disability. But instead of the support I’d hoped for, I was told I should be able to “just bring my ideas to paper.” That expectation felt impossible. My brain doesn’t work like that, no matter how hard I try. On my last day, I received a final evaluation, and I was confused—there had been no mid-internship review like the company’s own guidelines said there would be. I never got a chance to adjust or improve. Instead, the final words I was left with were, “Honestly, your writing wasn’t the greatest.” That feedback stuck with me. That stung more than I expected. I drove home in tears, wondering if I had just wasted the last three years of my life.

Writing Between Doubts.

After the internship ended, I had doubts. Was this what the writing industry was really like? Tedious? Dismissive? Unappreciated? I stopped writing for a while, unsure if I was even good at it. I felt lost—disconnected from the creative part of myself that used to feel so alive. But my partner gently encouraged me to start again, even if it was just a little at a time. Slowly, I began to remember why I started writing in the first place: the joy of crafting stories that could make a child’s eyes widen, or their smile grow

Finding My Voice and My Path

Without deadlines or editors breathing down my neck, I faced the blank page alone—not knowing if I was doing the right or wrong thing. That freedom was scary. Without feedback, there was no safety net. I had grown used to deadlines, grades, and guidance from my professors. But this internship forced me to learn something new: how to trust myself and my instincts.

Being told my first draft was better than the revision felt mind-blowing. In school, writing was all about polishing through constant back-and-forth edits. But this experience challenged that mindset.

So I started writing again—but not for anyone else. Just for me. Silly poems about talking animals. Playful rhymes about bedtime adventures. Colourful characters that only I could imagine. And slowly, story by story, I began rebuilding my confidence. Now, I have a folder full of stories I’ve written—each one a quiet reminder that my voice matters, even if it took a detour to find it again.

What I Learned.

Not all writing work is glamorous—and that’s okay. Even the boring parts can teach you something.
Trust your voice, especially when others don’t hear it yet.
Internships aren’t always stepping stones—sometimes they’re detours that still lead you somewhere important.
Writing for kids means writing with heart. When in doubt, return to wonder.

Moving Forward.

Graduation was the start, not the finish. That tough internship was a rough chapter, but it taught me resilience. Now, I’m writing stories that matter to me — stories I hope will matter to the children who read them.

If you are commencing your journey, confronting your own "unsatisfactory internship” or creative uncertainties, please bear in mind the following: every writer’s trajectory is unique. Continue to persevere. Your narrative has not yet reached its conclusion.

Final Thoughts.

Reflecting on that internship, I realize it didn’t jumpstart my career exactly as I imagined — but it brought something even more valuable. It tested my confidence, challenged my way of thinking, and helped me rediscover my voice. I’ve come to see that not every experience has to be perfect to matter. Writing, I’ve learned, isn’t about seeking praise or approval; it’s about making meaningful connections, finding courage, and returning to what you truly love — even after setbacks. I’m still exploring my path, but I trust my instincts now more than ever. I write with more passion and less fear. And if you're going through a time of doubt, remember: the tough chapters are still important. They shape you, strengthen you, and often, they lead you right back to yourself.

Note: This blog post reflects my own personal experience during a specific internship. Others may have had different experiences, and my reflections are shared here in good faith.

About the Author

Megan Parsons is a graduate of the Professional Writing Program at Algonquin College. Specializing in short fiction, she has a passion for writing children’s stories and exploring themes of psychological horror in her work. Currently, in school, Megan is working towards receiving a Certificate in Creative Writing from George Brown College in Toronto.

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