A Notebook, Angela Lansbury and My Teenage Self Walk Into a Bar…

In the eighth grade, I decided to write a novel. I loved creative writing and I wanted to take it to the next level. My novel was a murder mystery filled with twists and turns (side note: I may or may not have watched a few too many episodes of “Murder, She Wrote” with grandma as a kid). I started with a draft in my navy blue Mead notebook. Then, I banged away at my keyboard for several months, ran spell check a few times to make sure it was legit and proudly printed it out and bound it in a 3 ring binder. I even printed out a page that had the title and byline to stick on the cover. Did I mention it was totally legit?

Recently, I stumbled across that binder in an old box; The title printed neatly across the front in Times New Roman. I laughed and cringed hard as I re-read all nine chapters. The writing is flawed, there are grammatical errors galore and the plot has gaping holes that are wildly unrealistic. But, after the cringing passed I felt a small twinkle of pride in my teenage self. At just thirteen years old I had discovered a passion for storytelling and chased after it, caution thrown to the wind. Little did I know that it would eventually lead me to where I am today.

Given my lifelong fondness for stories, it’s no surprise that I fell so hard in love with telling them photographically. Telling a story with a camera is vastly different than with pen and paper. Rather than just words, photography tells the story with light, expression, body language and composition. It’s truly fascinating how a single image can reveal so much about the subject.

While my love for storytelling may have begun with a goofy tv show and mere scribbles in the pages of a Mead notebook, I love what I do today because I’m no longer writing fiction. These days I’m documenting true-life stories of real people, with depth and raw emotion; family history to be passed down generation after generation. The best kind of stories if you ask me…

 

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