Why couldn't I have been a photographer?
Yesterday was a gorgeous fall day — at least that is what it looked like from inside.
Instead of enjoying the glory of the autumn outdoors, I was cooped up inside all day working on my latest article for the LV, due today. Hour after hour rolled by, my fingers poised on the keyboard, my eyes moving from the screen to the Vikings and Packers games, then to the window and the sunny day and colorful fall foliage. The allure of the outside world did nothing to relieve my writers block. Instead, it only made me wonder: Why couldn’t I have been a photographer?
It is times like this — that crunch time before a deadline — when I realize it would have been so much easier to point a camera, take pictures, and let the images tell the story than write those proverbial one thousand words myself. Oh, how jealous I was early (very early) yesterday morning as the photog roamed Kinnick Stadium while I was picking up plastic bottles and taking mental notes. “Are you going to do any interviews?” he had asked earlier. “Maybe,” I said, mentally groaning in agony and envy. All he needed to do was point and click while I eventually had to ask someone questions.
I love photography and wish I had a better camera. But when it comes down to it, I am a writer through and through. The act of meeting deadlines, however, is just not completely conducive to outdoor enjoyment. Sure, I could have sat outside (on my precious, beloved porch that I neglect more often than not) and struggled at the keyboard, but at some point I would have closed my MacBook for the day and just sat there, watching the orange, red, and bright yellow leaves float gracefully to the ground. Instead I labored on. And still am. Ugh!
Instead of enjoying the glory of the autumn outdoors, I was cooped up inside all day working on my latest article for the LV, due today. Hour after hour rolled by, my fingers poised on the keyboard, my eyes moving from the screen to the Vikings and Packers games, then to the window and the sunny day and colorful fall foliage. The allure of the outside world did nothing to relieve my writers block. Instead, it only made me wonder: Why couldn’t I have been a photographer?
It is times like this — that crunch time before a deadline — when I realize it would have been so much easier to point a camera, take pictures, and let the images tell the story than write those proverbial one thousand words myself. Oh, how jealous I was early (very early) yesterday morning as the photog roamed Kinnick Stadium while I was picking up plastic bottles and taking mental notes. “Are you going to do any interviews?” he had asked earlier. “Maybe,” I said, mentally groaning in agony and envy. All he needed to do was point and click while I eventually had to ask someone questions.
I love photography and wish I had a better camera. But when it comes down to it, I am a writer through and through. The act of meeting deadlines, however, is just not completely conducive to outdoor enjoyment. Sure, I could have sat outside (on my precious, beloved porch that I neglect more often than not) and struggled at the keyboard, but at some point I would have closed my MacBook for the day and just sat there, watching the orange, red, and bright yellow leaves float gracefully to the ground. Instead I labored on. And still am. Ugh!
