I feel as though this blog has been thirty-three years in the making, or maybe half that time. Maybe even half of that half, I'm not sure, really, only that it's as if a Mammoth-sized bucket of truths and struggles I've lived with have been tucked away for far too many years – and the weight now is too great. I mean, a Mammoth. To wait any longer, to put off being honest and explaining things that not everyone, especially not a working photographer, openly admits to, well, it would earn me no favors. Honestly? I fear more from remaining silent than anything that may result of actually writing all the things down.
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In 2015, I did my first ever senior session with a former work colleague and friend of mine, Erica. I had known her for well over half a year by that point and one day during general work-chats, she threw a brand new opportunity my way. Whenever this happens, a feeling arises that I can't accurately put into proper words. It's true – when the inevitable "this is my first time shooting X type of session, but I'll nail it, don't worry," conversation comes up, it always frightens me, because I don't lie about my experience as a photographer. I hate when I hear horror stories of people who have had that happen and I'd never sink so low as to pretend to be proficient at something I've never done. It's scamming someone and abusing their trust – and in a nutshell, that's not me.