People think I’m an idiot. I don’t know why exactly—but I feel it when they scoff at me for doing a podcast. It’s a hobby. I like I enjoy conversations, asking questions, putting together ideas. I write all my interview and conversation prompts myself. I do it because it’s something I care about.

For a while, I outsourced the editing. I wanted to save time and thought getting a professional to handle the technical part would be worth the cost. I paid someone—let’s just call her my podcast editor—for that work. And man, that decision taught me a few hard lessons.

Here’s what happened:

1. Intro Music Drama

I wanted the intro music to be 15–20 seconds. She cut it to 5. Her reasoning? “Anything longer will turn away listeners.” Okay, I thought, maybe she knows more than I do. I trusted that feedback. In hindsight, it was just the first red flag. My vision was getting tweaked in the name of “audience appeal”—without actual audience input.

2. The Book Title Butchered

I interviewed an author whose book was titled Race Against…Against Race. Yes, the repetition was intentional—it was part of the book’s message and structure. But the editor decided that the repeated “against” must’ve been a mistake, and every single time the title came up, she cut it down to Race Against Race. Totally changed the meaning and made me sound like I didn’t even know the name of the book I was referencing. I had to ask her to go back and fix every instance. She wasn’t happy about it.

3. Private Conversation Left In

I did an episode with a retired goalie. At the end of the recording, there was a private conversation I explicitly told her to remove. Guess what made it into the final episode? Yep. That private part. Had to ask for another fix, and by then, I was already exhausted by this whole “outsourcing” thing.

4. Fast Cuts with the San Diego Chicken

This one still bugs me. I had the chance to interview the famous San Diego Chicken. It was a fun, natural conversation with human pauses—normal pacing. But the editor decided to cut all the pauses. The result? I came off as someone who kept cutting him off, over and over. Her explanation? “People don’t want to hear pauses—they want fast-paced flow.”

Really? Is that what podcasting’s about—sounding like a robot?

---

After all that, I decided to stop using her. It was costing me money, time, and worst of all—my voice. I was paying for “professional” editing but ended up feeling like I had to recheck every second, every word. I wouldn’t be surprised if she used AI to do most of the work, barely listened to the content, and still sent an invoice.

The last straw? She made a comment mocking me for podcasting as a “hobby.” That stung more than I expected. I was paying her, trusting her—and in the end, I got mocked for caring about something.

So yeah—maybe I’m a dumbass. Or maybe people just don’t get that doing something for love, not money, doesn’t make it worthless.

This is still my show. Still my hobby. Still my passion.

You don’t have to be famous or paid to create something real.

Wait… there’s more. Think that editor was bad? She’s just part two of the saga. Part one started with a “friend” who thought charging $500 for basic advice was totally normal.

Before I even recorded a single episode, there was this one “friend” who gave me a masterclass in how not to help someone

---

5. The $500 “Friend” Who Failed Me Twice

Before I even started the podcast—back in 2020—I reached out to someone I thought was a friend. He’d been doing podcasting longer than I had, so I figured: why not ask for some tips? I was brand new and just trying to get my footing.

He said, “Sure, I’ll help you out. I’ll even write everything down for you—what gear to buy, how to get started, what software to use…”
Then came the punchline: $500.
Just to tell me what mic to buy and how to hit record.

Oh, and a fee for each episode he’d help produce going forward.

Seriously?

This was stuff I ended up researching and figuring out on my own in less than an hour. But he tried to turn it into a full-on business transaction. This wasn’t mentorship or friendship—it was a sales pitch.

And the kicker? This same guy had already failed me twice before that.

Failure #1:

He once interviewed me for his podcast, back when I was still new and inexperienced. During the conversation, I was fidgeting with my keys—not realizing the mic would pick up all the noise. He had the experience. He should’ve said something during the recording. Instead, he just let it happen. I only found out about it after the episode was published—and by then, I sounded like a distracted amateur.

So much for the seasoned vet looking out for the rookie.

Failure #2:

Another time, I was a guest on his show again—this time to talk about a book I’d written about a baseball player. He completely butchered the player’s name. Over and over. I had even told him beforehand how to pronounce it, and he still got it wrong throughout the conversation.

He thought it was funny.
I didn’t.
And I’m sure the player wouldn’t either.

So this guy, who had twice shown a lack of care, preparation, or professionalism, suddenly wanted to charge me $500 upfront and then ongoing fees to help me with my own podcast?

People really will sell you back your own common sense and call it expert advice.

Needless to say, I didn’t take the offer. I figured it out on my own. And honestly, I’m glad I did.

---