“Optimism.”

The old priest hesitated. Optimism? He drew back his hood and adjusted his round, thin wired spectacles. The small boy’s eyes were white against his dirty face, looking up and waiting like a starving buzzard for nourishment. The priest leaned against his staff and bent down, his knees cracked and popped. The child, face void of emotion, just watched, and the crowd murmured. Surely the Sage was offended.

Wisdom and innocence locked eyes, and the Priest spoke. “What did you say was your desire?”

“Optimism,” the boy said, the word fell from his lips like a heavy yoke, burdening all whose ears it touched. It caused the priest to wobble and he gripped his staff.

Now he understood. Despite his protests, they had continually begged him to see the child. He is possessed by demons, they cried. You must bless him. He’d refused many times because no child needed his blessing. Now, unfortunately, he understood. He sighed but did not avert his gaze, even as the eyes of the child drained happiness from him like smoke drifting from the alter. So this was the one that would destroy their world. This was the one that would expose the lies.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the child. “But I cannot help you.”

The child blinked, but showed no emotion. No disappointment, no sadness, no longing. “Then I will leave our village forever.”

The Priest slumped against his staff. He old eyes sagged and his warm smile vanished into lethargy. “No, it won’t help. The prophecy is upon us,” he said.

The child turned his head, his eyes begged for tears but instead remained dry and hollow. He looked back to the Priest. “I am sorry,” he said.

The weary priest reached out and embraced him and the boy’s head rested on his shoulder.

“We created you boy, do not be sorry. Your burden is greater than they can ever know,” he whispered.

The boy straightened, knowing the old man was near his limit. Several others nearby had already fallen to their knees. He pointed to them. “That is my burden.”

The boy departed and the Priest fell to the ground breathing heavily, pained in his heart yet thankful for respite. The crowd pointed in condemnation at the departing child, certain now of their erroneous conclusions. “It is our burden,” he tried to tell the boy. But it was too late.

I wrote this back in 2000. It is so comforting to look at how much life life has changed in the past nine years. I still struggle with depression but nothing like it used to be.

The marriage stayed in tact four more years after writing this entry. The aftermath and confusion of my divorce twisted my body, mind, and soul in ways that changed me forever. My life now, with a woman that is truly an ideal match for me, is like a calm peaceful morning following a night of thunder and lightning so close you can smell the burnt air. That storm ripped my house apart and I thought my life was destroyed. Now five years later, a new home stands testament to the healing power of Father Time.

My Crucible (November of 2000)

I look for a reason. Unsuccessful, I fall back asleep, wake up an hour later, and try again. Getting out of bed is the toughest part of my day. My job starts in the afternoon, kids are at school, and I only work three hours a day. I could sleep almost all day if I wanted.

I’m not tired, I’m empty. Crack open my chest you’ll find an empty hole. My belly button to my throat is an empty cavity where my spine dangles like the root of a tree searching for nourishment. There is nothing to feed it.

Read the rest of this entry »

When the old lady stopped breathing, so did Blake. Holding his breath, he waited. The corners of his mouth twitched, quivering like a racehorse waiting in the gate as his mouth tried to break a smile. She was finally dead. Dead and surrounded by a small army of crying children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

His hands shot to his face just in time to conceal the wide grin that parted his cheeks. Everything had worked out perfect. Since her fall, two weeks ago, he’d prayed every day that she would hold on long enough. When the phone would ring, his heart would stop. Mom would talk low and quiet and the thought of grandma dying too soon made tears trickle down his cheek. But she hadn’t. His eighth birthday was yesterday and since then, he’d been ready to explode with excitement. Masking it with sadness had been like trying to hide a bucket of exploding firecrackers.

A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see his mother and his blood ran cold. He breathed heavy and sweat beads appeared on his forehead as he stared back at her in wide-eyed fear. Could she see the happiness? Would she be angry?

She picked him up and buried his head in her shoulder.

“Poor Blake,” she told somebody. “He has been dreading this day.” Read the rest of this entry »

The first book of the “Gardone Trilogy” is finished and looking for a publisher. I have decided to post the the prologue. If you are interested in ordering a preview copy, please contact me. I am soliciting feedback.

Cover art copyrighted by Judy Schmidt and used with permission.

Summary
In a world created by evil, rebellion is inevitable.

For the first sixteen years of his life, Prince Jasper has revered the stranger who saved them from destruction thirty years prior, a man known only as the Guide. But he’s afraid of his buried thoughts and burning questions. Have his parents and the Guide lied to him? When his first love is sacrificed under the guise of honor and tradition, his eyes start opening to the horrible truth. He voices his concerns and is instantly shunned by everyone he loves.

Jasper’s fall from grace is swift. His life is threatened and he is rescued by a small group of outlaws who introduce him to swords, sorcery, and dark secrets about the Guide. His parents, friends, and the entire kingdom have been beguiled by cunning lies. Now, hunted and despised by the people he struggles to save, Jasper joins the Resistance to fight an underground war against the dark powers that shroud his nation in ignorance.

Prologue

Is that her? ZieZee’s thoughts passed to her partner as she pointed down the rocky slope through branches of naked trees that reached into the sky like giant spider legs.

Dorg looked at the large mound of snow in the ravine below, nodded, and answered with his mind. Yes, she’s under there, protecting the egg.

Cloudy vapor froze in frigid air as it left their bodies, marking time in steady puffs. Only two creatures could survive this icy tundra: their kind and the massive beast nesting in the gorge below. They watched and waited, camouflaged by thick white fur on the snow covered ridge. To the keen eye they looked awkward; standing knee deep in the snow made them look unnaturally short, even for snow apes.

Let’s get it over with; I want to get out of this cursed animal. Her thoughts again filled his mind.

Not until dark, we need that advantage. Besides, these apes are one of your best creations…fast, nimble, and strong. Enjoy it; you’ll be ataiki again soon.

Better than human, she answered.

The corner of his lip curled in satisfaction. Swine was better than ataiki but ZieZee was too stupid to know. Her ignorance worked to his benefit, it let him manipulate her. He reached up and wrapped his four fingers around a thick branch, jumped, and sailed through the air. He swung branch to branch until he had weaved high to a perch that hung precariously over the cliff and he sat in a forked limb, letting his legs dangle. But ZieZee hadn’t followed him. He looked down and saw her still standing in the snow below.

Her voice again filled his mind. I’m not going up there.

He didn’t answer. It was her own fault she was miserable. He turned and looked at the mound of snow directly below him. It was like a large knot on a tree, an unnatural blemish that called attention to its abnormality. It didn’t belong…it had to be Nix, the dragon. For two years they had searched, tapping deep into the spiritual realm, but dragons were fortified against their detection. This was common with magical creatures. But this had to be her, everything pointed here. Moving close enough to verify would be foolish because if she was awake, she was watching and waiting. If she was sleeping, the pulse of the ground and the heat of his body would wake her. Either way she wouldn’t pass an opportunity to feed since for six years she’d been unable to leave her egg. He would assume it was her and they would proceed as planned.

He clutched the vial that hung from a leather strap around his neck and lifted it to his bulgy, pink eyes. The silver container hid the contents and he considered opening the lid to look inside, but it wasn’t a serious consideration. He’d never take a chance like that with victory so close when he understood little about the green, luminescent fluid. Whatever it was had evolved when the demigod Vitaneous was destroyed, five hundred years prior. For hundreds of years he had been afraid of it, in fact everything he knew about it had come in the past year after he forced ZieZee to swallow several drops. Drinking it somehow magnified their connection to the spiritual realm; hopefully it would be enough to subdue the dragon.

It’s dusk, can we start? ZieZee’s voice spoke alongside his thoughts, startling him. Sometimes he didn’t like how she could speak right to his mind, invading his solitude. He growled, one of the few sounds he could make as an ape, and it quickly escalated to a loud rhythmic chant. He beat his chest.

What are you doing? You are going to wake her!

He ignored ZieZee and filled the canyon with his howl, which echoed off icy granite walls towering around them. When he finished, the mountains replayed his screams in an eerie chant that slowly faded back to silence.

He focused on ZieZee and sent his thoughts, we need to move fast…there is lot to do. Ready?

Why did you do that? Now she knows we’re here.

He didn’t answer until his disgust at her thick brain faded. It wouldn’t help if she sensed his indignation. He cleared his mind. Because now she’s looking for a meal, it will weaken the protections around her mind. I’m taking the vitane now; see you on the other side.

He opened the vial, cocked his head, and poured the liquid down his throat. It lacked the burning he was used to in human form and for the first time, he noticed the bitter taste and slimy texture. His chest warmed. He licked the sides of his mouth and his head twitched at the tartness. His chest burned with heat. He looked down, making sure he was directly above the mound of snow covering Nix but his vision doubled, tripled, and then faded into a single bright haze as death snuffed the life from his body. His perceptions changed with the shift to the spiritual realm. All physical sensations ceased, replaced by intuition, thought, and emotion. Now he existed like a cloud of warm air: a pulsing aura of energy unseen by the creatures of his world below.

The dead body of the ape he left behind slumped and, for a moment, remained frozen in the forked branch. Then it teetered, rolled sideways out of the tree, and tumbled like a puppet towards the ground. Dorg could see none of this. Nor could he hear the snap of jaws as the dragon’s neck shot out from under the white blanket in a barrage of fangs and flying snow to catch the ape in its maw of long white daggers. But even without physical senses, he experienced it in vivid detail through mental perception, including the sudden crimson stains that spattered the pristine snow. He was keenly aware of bones shattering and crunching as the dragon devoured the ape. He perceived her hunger. She hadn’t eaten in months and was starving.

Images of the world below flashed through his mind like a dream. He sensed ZieZee, in the body of the other snow ape, descending into the gully. In the next valley, five wild apes slept huddled in a small cave. Beyond the stars he felt the shunning force of the great light, the power that seduced nearly every detached soul to abandon this world. It beckoned to all, save three: ZieZee, himself, and what was left of Vitaneous. It rejected them, pinning them forever to this forsaken world. It certainly had never expected them to fill a barren wasteland with life, as they had done. And now that they were learning to harvest energy, it wouldn’t hold them forever.

Dorg!

He jolted at ZieZee’s cry for help. She had left the ape and was with him in the spirit realm, fighting Nixun. She was straining, pulling, screaming…how long had it been? Was it too late? Once he had lost himself for hundreds of years in such rumination. He sensed the dead body of the ape, left behind where she had taken her own flask of vitane. It was still warm and able to sustain life. Relieved, he focused on the dragon and felt himself immersed in its essence and ZieZee’s struggle. He pulled with her, expecting the dragon’s soul to break free as happened with other creatures. But instead, a bolt of energy lashed through him, burning like acid. He raged, shooting back in full concentration and crashed into the dragon, splitting the dusk sky with lighting. Thunder cracked and rolled and the dragon’s body fell limp.

A new essence joined them, Nix, floating like spider silk on a breeze. She was like a baby in this new world, unable to maneuver or even comprehend her surroundings. They encircled her, guiding her to ZieZee’s ape lying dead in the snow. Both body and essence still craved life and the two latched quickly. The ape’s chest expanded thrice, and then an eye cracked open. Nix was inside.

ZieZee drifted to the empty, motionless corpse of the dragon. Dorg sensed life returning to the giant beast; a talon twitched, a wing opened, and red eyes glowed. ZieZee had again become mortal. She tried to stand but collapsed in a cloud of snowy dust; it would take her a moment to learn how to control this new body. Practicing on the summit eagles helped, but nothing could have completely prepared her for this.

The ape rolled in the snow.

He sent ZieZee his thoughts. Hurry, before she gets control. She’ll fight to the death to protect the egg and we need her alive…to put her back when we are finished.

Nix could live for at least a month in the fattened body of the ape, even if all she did was lie motionless in the snow. Eventually, they needed her soul returned to the dragon body. If she was injured or killed their plans would be worthless. After nearly a thousand years of work, Dorg wasn’t about to let that happen. ZieZee thrust her legs and fell forward, grunting as flames shot from her nose and melted a long stretch of snow.

The nest, ZieZee told him. We’re too late.

Dorg sensed warm radiant energy below, the infant was alive. They were not too late. ZieZee stumbled again, raking claw marks in the snow as she failed in her awkward attempts to stand. Finally, she lunged and rolled sideways, sliding on her back halfway down the slope to the ape, which was also struggling for control. Then something moved in the nest.

As an the image of the scene formed in Dorg’s mind, the ape made a gurgling sound which was surely meant to be a booming roar from a dragon’s body. Nix grunted and pawed in confusion as she slipped and inched back towards the nest. ZieZee, meanwhile, rose and stretched her new wings.

What should I do? ZieZee asked.

The image clarified and Dorg pulsed in fury. The egg lie in pieces, hatched. Plans destroyed. His rage culminated in volatile energy that radiated a faint red glow above the nest that even mortals could see. An infant dragon lay curled and quivering below. ZieZee was right, they were too late. An egg would have survived the flight over the mountains but this newborn would not even survive the next few moments. Death was imminent. There would be no dragon child to ransom cooperation from Nix.

I told you we shouldn’t have killed the father, ZieZee said. You’ve ruined everything…

That pricked his rage and the red glow exploded, spawning a storm of fury that rained shards of burning energy on ZieZee. She shrieked and roared. Dorg shut her out, for two reasons; he didn’t want to expose her to more damage, but moreover, he didn’t want to hear her foul response. What did it matter? All was for naught…

The ape, now ably walking on all fours, reached the nest and threw herself on the tiny dragon to warm the freezing child. Even a dragon, with its size and heat, had little chance of saving the newborn after such an extreme sting of chill. The young spirit soon detached and its essence dwelled briefly while accustoming to the spirit realm. Dorg made no attempt to shield it from the call of the great light; he had no use for this soul. A wave of love passed from child to mother before it pulled away, leaving Nix howling and caressing the dead body with pudgy ape fingers. The child’s essence hesitated and then streaked through the sky.

A dark ambiance touched Dorg’s mind; ZieZee was cursing furiously and trying to attack him. But it was pointless. In mortal form she could neither see nor sense him and without vitane, she would have to take her life to free her soul. Even she wasn’t stupid enough to kill the only living dragon. He would deal with her eventually but he could not help her until after returning to the lair where he would take a new body, cultivate more vitane, and then come for her. It would take weeks.

A shift in the mood of Nix caught his attention. She now emanated panic rather than sorrow, and even ZieZee’s anger had been replaced with curiosity. An image filled his mind of Nix pushing the tiny dragon body aside and frantically digging through the feathered lining of the nest. Then he sensed another life form. Faint and obscure, it had gone unnoticed. Twins! And the second child hadn’t hatched.

Nix pulled the egg from its refuge and sprinted away, hobbling through the snow like a three legged wolf as she held the egg against her furry belly with one arm. Even with the egg, she was faster than expected and before ZieZee could react, fresh tracks stretched halfway down the canyon. The dark thicket across the clearing was like a quagmire for a large dragon; there was no chance ZieZee could follow a nimble creature flying from tree to tree, and, apparently, all of them realized it. ZieZee beat her wings twice, shot into the air, flipped over, and dove for the ground. She pulled up at the last moment and shot forward in a silent glide just above the snow.

Don’t hurt her…we need her alive. Dorg said, re-opening his mind to her.

ZieZee closed the gap, gaining rapidly, but the lead was too great. As Nix leaped and reached for a dangling branch, a mere swing from safety, ZieZee rolled and slashed with an outstretched talon and clipped Nix’s back leg. Nix spun to the ground well short of the forest and ZieZee sailed past, barreling into the white covered evergreens as branches snapped, cracked, and chunks of snow fell to the ground in deep thuds.

Nix rolled and flipped onto her feet but ZieZee had already recovered and blocked her escape into the forest. ZieZee lowered her head, growling as she bent down on all four legs ready to pounce on the tiny ape. Nix seemed transfixed staring into the giant slit, blood-red eyes that used to be her own. She turned and shuffled the egg to her side, away from ZieZee, but cocked her head to keep her gaze. Then she opened her mouth and hissed, fangs bared in an apparent attempt to fill the air with fire, but only warm cloudy air came from her throat, fading even as it appeared. ZieZee jumped forward, knocking Nix to the ground and pinned her between talons built to shred snow apes. Nix thrashed and ZieZee pushed her deeper into the snow. Then ZieZee leaned forward and with her other front claw, pried loose the egg and then placed it into her fang-laced mouth. With a stiff beat of wings, ZieZee rose into the air with Nix clinging to her talons, refusing to let go. But with a quick shake, she was jolted free and fell back into the snow as ZieZee climbed higher and beat a steady course west, towards the caverns.

Dorg followed as Nix chased the departing fluttering spec in the sky. He told ZieZee he would join her in the caverns when Nix stopped, so they could find her again. But ZieZee didn’t answer. Time apart would be good and help her cool off to refocus on their purpose. He followed Nix for two nights until she finally collapsed broken-hearted and exhausted in a snowless clearing at the base of the mountains. Despondence and exhaustion would keep her in this area until they returned. Satisfied, he set his mind on the lair and sensed himself rushing over mountain peaks and thick forests.

He plunged through volcanic rock into the heart of the caverns that he and ZieZee called home. She was waiting, pretending to be asleep in a distant corner with one giant talon curled around the newly acquired egg. Below, he sensed the young man they had previously captured wrestling the straps that bound him to a chair. Dorg had handpicked this tall muscular warrior. His long brown hair and dashing smile were ideal to lead the humans to victory. Like swatting at a fly, he brushed the soul from the man and hurled it to the light as the body fell limp.

He filled his mind with images of the man and felt himself drift to the body. He imagined himself making a fist with the man’s hands and felt fingernails digging into his palms. He pictured himself speaking and felt parched lips cracking. Then he imagined expanding his chest to take in air and felt a cool rush through his throat. The man in the chair opened his eyes and Dorg saw shadows flicker on the cave walls. He gasped for air and coughed as life returned to the body. He had made it; everything had worked to his desires. But now he needed sleep, his energy was spent. The thought of his bed in a nearby cove was soothing and he leaned forward to stand but couldn’t. His legs and arms were still bound to the chair.

“ZieZee? I’m back, untie me,” he yelled.

The caverns echoed his voice. He twisted and spun his head for a quick look behind and a sting shot down his back and his neck popped. He winced and straightened. She was watching him with those big red eyes. No doubt still angry.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to attack you. You know what it’s like…it’s hard to contain emotion in spirit form. Please, set me free. I need sleep,” he said.

She could have answered, she had rested enough to send thoughts to his mind, but she didn’t. He sighed and leaned his head on the back of the chair, sagging into the straps that held him. She would forgive him. His plan had worked and that’s all that mattered. To the south, amid the clashing of steel and cries of death, he would soon emerge a hero. The humans would revere and worship him: the man who saved them from the dark ones. Then they would return Nix to her dragon body and hatch the egg themselves. Nix would do whatever they asked of her. All would be in place to lead the humans into an age of peace and prosperity. Finally, he would have the resources needed to research the vitane. After so long, the end of his banishment was near…maybe even within the lifetime of this new body.

Tim Hardaway’s recent comments regarding homosexuals got me thinking. I’ve often wondered how some people can feel so much hatred and anger for others. I’ve seen movies where former Vietnam Vets speak with extreme hostility toward Vietnamese. If they every cross with a Vietnamese person it can even result in violence. I have struggled to understand this dynamic. How can somebody hold on to so much anger?

Recently, I had an opportunity to gain some insight. I play an online game called “World of Warcraft,” commonly referred to as “WOW.” If you aren’t one of the eight million people who play this game, hold your judgment until you finish reading…I’ll give you some background.

The effects of this alternate reality of this world aren’t limited to the imagination. Marriages have been formed and dissolved, lawsuits have been filed, and in-game items have been traded and purchased using real world currency. In fact, I have spoken with a 21 year old man who works in an office in China with 40 others. They play WOW eighteen hours a day. They grind away in the game earning gold, the currency of WOW. The gold is sent to their supervisor’s in-game character and then marketed in the real world for $20 per 100. In this WOW Sweatshop, he earns $200 per month and is thankful to have a job to support his family. But that’s another article. Read the rest of this entry »

Passion Kills Boredom
My desires aren’t sold cheap
So I’m often Bored

Like burning acid
Boredom eats my heart and soul
Stealing my spirit

Empty of Spirit
I meander through the void
the prey of cheap thrills

My soul now enslaved
Instant Gratifications
Are my ties that bind

Passion is traded
Like a hooker on main street
For thrills and disease

Focused on the stars
I can escape from the void
And reclaim my soul

Rudolf’s heart raced and his mouth twitched. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the others. He hated the teasing. Even though it happened every year, dealing with it never got easier.

“Where’s your red nose Rudolf?” somebody yelled as the boys burst into more laughter.

He tried to walk with a normal easy stroll but he felt tense and awkward. It was hard to normalize this situation while he battled both embarrassment and fear. Embarrassed everyone was staring at him and fear that another snowball would smack the back of his head…or worse, that a sudden shove to his back would throw him again face first to the ground.

“We want to see you fly Rudolf!”

“So would I,” he thought amid their jeers.

His head suddenly lurched forward and he felt the cold sting of another snowball. He didn’t pause to brush off the snow, determined instead to distance himself between himself and the school.

He both loved and hated his name. Christmastime was the worst. Most of the rest of the year passed with only minor incidents but after Thanksgiving the teasing continually got worse. By the last day of school before Christmas break he expected this. Even the snowballs. Read the rest of this entry »

School was out for the day and I was watching corny teenage drama on TV when it started. While lying on the floor, hands behind my head, feet crossed, and laughing at a thirteen year old boy covered in popcorn; the TV first spoke to me for the first time.In a deep raspy voice it said, “Tonight your brother will die.”

At first, I didn’t do anything. I thought it was a mistake or somebody talking behind me or in the other room. But twenty minutes later it happened again.

“The knife in the kitchen will be crimson by morning,” said the same dark voice.

This time I sat up and turned around. My brother, laughing, was watching the TV from the couch behind me.
“Don’t Hal!” I snarled. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing at you stupid,” he answered through his giggles.

I looked at Cindy. “Did you do it?”

“Shut up loser,” she said, “I can’t hear.”

I frowned and turned back around. It took several minutes to brush it off but soon I was once again laughing with both of them at the completely unrealistic antics of the teenagers. Another twenty minutes and the tall nerdy boy with glasses tripped over the cute girl. He fell and the kids around him laughed, Hal and Cindy behind me laughed, and I laughed too. Then he looked directly at the camera and instead of the squeaky voice I was used to, I heard the dark sinister voice from earlier. Read the rest of this entry »

I finally (after many years of searching) found a copy of one of my favorite short stories; “St. Emmanuel the Good Martyr” by Miguel de Unamuno. To celebrate, I decided to write a short story themed with what my High School AP English teacher once said was ‘My Genre’ (existentialism, I am a skilled pessimist). So here you are; a super short existentialistic science fiction ditty.

* * *

Although the tape around his chest restricted a full breath of air, Charlie inhaled deeper than he had for years. It felt good; he felt good…finally.

But last night hadn’t been good. Although it wasn’t one of his worst nights, it was miserable for him and frustrating for his wife, Judy. His struggle was a two edge sword. Not only did he suffer from his own affliction but he exposed her to the aura of despair created by his agony. That guilt doubled the suffering.

Year after year, she stood by his side. She comforted during his low points. She encouraged during his despair. And, amazingly, she stayed with him. Much to his surprise, and sometimes to his disappointment, she tolerated his constant complaining. Maybe if she yelled at him for being such an idiot he wouldn’t have felt guilty. Maybe if she stormed out the door cussing and cursing the day she agreed to spend her life with an extreme pessimist he would actually feel better. But she never did. He continually complained about work and politics and she continually to console. Read the rest of this entry »

Introduction

Photography is an attempt to capture an image to make a point or remember/share a moment of time. This explains why a picture is worth a thousand words. A picture is more than a printed image. It can stir feeling and emotion. When you experience a moment of intense emotion and want to take a picture, what exactly are you trying to capture? Do you simply want to remember the sun went down on a particular day or do you want to remember a serene feeling of awe and beauty inspired by fiery red and orange sky? Is it the image or the feeling/emotion you are trying to capture? Even a simple snapshot of the kids for grandma is taken to share a personal connection. We want to remember or share feelings of love, hate, despise, sorrow, humor, awe, concern. If you mindlessly pull out a camera and press the button, you will grab the moment and you will most likely remember your emotion. But, if you want to maximize how well you can pass this on to others, you need to give some thought to the process. Call it Zen photography. This is accomplished by doing more than just pushing a button. It requires you to think about what you are feeling, identify what you want to capture, push the limits of your creativity, and understand the basic mechanics of photography.

The same picture taken in different ways can convey many different emotions. In fact, pictures might be worth a thousand words, a million words, or perhaps only a few hundred…depending on how it is taken. If you have a complex emotion or feeling to convey, make your picture say it. If you have a statement to make, make the camera create the image that makes your point. Chances are slim you’ll accomplish this with a thoughtless point and click. At the same time, you also do not need to spend hours planning every photograph. A quick moment to identify what you feel, consider methods on how to capture it, and then plan and execute a successful picture can have a huge impact on your final print. One well planned picture will say more than a barrage of snapshots.

To help you capture your ideal photograph, I’ll introduce you to the technical aspects of photography, discuss creativity, and finally, offer some ideas on connecting with your environment and subjects. Hopefully this will help you take better pictures, have more fun, and maybe even spark an interest to dig deeper into photography. Read the rest of this entry »