I recently launched my professional writing career, and people are already cornering me with the same wide-eyed question: “I want to write too. But how do I start?”
I respond with full sincerity: I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’ve learned so far it takes determination, endless Googling, and just enough delusion to ignore your bank account.
But if I had to give just one piece of advice? Pick a topic to write about. Sounds simple, right?
Find Your Niche (Even If It Finds You First)
All the writing gurus chant the same mantra: Find your niche. Then narrow it. Then narrow it again. Start by asking: Who is your audience? For me, “women who travel” wasn’t specific enough. I had to boil it down to: millennial women who are gluten-free, on their third therapist, can’t remember their AO3 login, and whose most stable relationship is with their diabetic orange cat named Kevin.
Yes. That specific.
I wish I were joking. Editors love a niche. If you show up pitching a broad topic like “lifestyle,” you’ll be escorted from the premises and dunked in a vat of SEO shame. With millions of writers fighting over the same gigs, having a specialty helps you stand out, land assignments, and, most importantly, finally explain what you do at family gatherings.
But be warned: finding your niche isn’t some Pinterest-worthy journey of self-discovery. I spent years carefully planning mine, only for it to sneak up on me like a scrappy raccoon in the night. I guess that’s what happens when you ignore every cosmic hint for twenty years straight.
How I Became a Food & Travel Writer (Accidentally)
One day, in a moment of boldness (or possibly just low blood sugar), I submitted a food piece—in secret, like I was committing tax fraud. I was terrified. My grandma Bev always said I'd be a writer one day. Back then, I’d gulp behind my glasses and think, “Me? Really?” But somehow, she knew. Still, I hovered over that ‘Submit’ button like it was wired to a bomb. I expected the internet to spit the file back at me and scream, “NOPE. NICE TRY!”
Instead, the editor emailed and said, “This is terrific. Want a job?”
And just like that, I became a professional writer.
From there, it snowballed. Food combined with travel, which meant I could get paid to leave the house and eat snacks in different countries. I already traveled to outrun my challenging mental health, so monetizing it felt like fate. Or foolishness. Or both.
So technically, my niche found me. Like a stray cat that I let it in.
Here’s where things get tricky. I learned there’s a second level to this game: What kind of food and travel writer are you?
Where Are the Mentally Ill, Mid-Level Travel Writers?
Once I got into travel writing, I realized I didn’t fit into the dominant archetypes I kept seeing on social media:
- Backpackers who consider deodorant optional
- Solo daredevils who love risk and $9 hostel bunk beds
- Luxury queens who whisper the word supper in silk robes
And then… there was me. Too lazy to hike. Too anxious for remote jungles. Too goofy to pose with my pasta like it’s sponsored by The Olive Garden.
But then it hit me: the way I travel is boring. And I like it that way. I revisit the same countries, I book unremarkable hotels, I get lunch at grocery stores, and I go to bed at 6 p.m. Where are the writers who say, “Wow, what a city!” and then spend the next day horizontal, watching CSI: Crime Scene Investigation in dubbed Portuguese?
This isn’t the glamorous travel content people expect. But it’s real. And it deserves a spot at the table.
Boring Travel Is My New Therapy
Let’s be clear: when I say “boring,” I don’t mean “bleak.” I mean, simple. It’s okay to admit your youth packed its bags years ago—and took your ability to sleep on an overnight bus with it. These days, you need a sturdy bed for your bad back, reliable Wi-Fi, and a growing awareness of your dwindling underwear supply. Times have changed. You’re not 23 anymore. And that’s okay.
When my mental health starts to dip, my therapist doesn’t even flinch. She gives me the look and says, “Time to book a flight.” There’s something about travel—especially solo—that shakes up your brain. Suddenly, all you care about is food, shelter, and how to politely ask for the toilet in broken Haitian Creole.
You stop spiraling and start surviving. You, yes you, navigated a foreign grocery store, decoded a confusing metro map, and ordered something vaguely edible despite not knowing the language. You become Bear Grylls—if he had seasonal depression and an emotional support water bottle.
Final Thought: Attempt the Adventure
If you’re wondering how I solo travel, here’s the truth: I do it scared, tired, and while Googling alien conspiracies during a four-hour layover.
But I also do it with appreciation and humor. And a suitcase full of electrolyte packets.
So yes, I’m a food and travel writer for the slightly anxious, weird, and silly. The ones who pick hotels based on their proximity to Taco Bell. The ones whose idea of nightlife is a nose strip and a melatonin gummy.
I want to inspire you to get out there and reclaim boring travel. Or don’t. I’ll write about it for you—while lying on a heating pad, eating Pringles, and recovering from my emotionally complicated trip to Greece.
If you’re reading this and nodding along? You’ve found your people. We’re out here. Probably napping, but we exist. And we’re ready for adventure (kind of).