Over the weekend, as I was perusing the New York Times, I came across an article about some actress I’ve never heard of who was willing to share six random pictures stored in her camera, pictures which would more or less sum up her past year.
Like I said, I didn’t know this actress, but I liked the idea of getting to know someone through a series of pictures.
I decided I would do the same.
Now, I’m no photographer. Why bother when you have Walt? Like paparazzi, he follows me around snapping photos with zero regard to my dignity. I’ve got more pictures of my backside floating around the internet than there are plastic straws in the Ocean. (According to the Center for Biological Diversity, this is a real issue.)
But what I have in my roll tells a story too.
1.
I use my screenshoot capability far more frequently than my camera. Like, 90% of the stuff in my feed looks like this. I’ve got a client who’s written a phenomenal book about how to stay married to a complicated person and she’s not exactly sure she wants to publish it. I mean, we all get why on some level. Who wants those kind of breakfast conversations? But the main reason? She’s not sure why anyone would want to know her take on the topic. This is an op-ed piece written by a decidedly-not-famous woman married to a man who’s driven her crazy for nearly twenty years. And she’s got a lot of valuable stuff to say about why this choice is a good one. So, you bet I sent this to my client.
2.
Let’s get the memes out of the way. I love this stuff. I send them to my kids the way my mother used to send me newspaper clippings. They’re met with about as much enthusiasm. But whatever. At least you appreciate how clever this is.
3.
First things first: I didn’t take this picture. I don’t know this author or her book. But when I hear authors talk about their desire to do a book tour after release, this is immediately what I think of: Two audience members, probably brow-beaten relatives, and an untouched plate of Chips Ahoy cookies. (I’m not sure what these are. Some generic store brand?) Over the years, I’ve been to my fair share of book talks hosted by friends and colleagues. Most of them have been….what’s the right word?…..underwhelming. That’s because authors are supposed to drum up the audience, not the bookstore. They’re banking on YOU to bring the foot traffic. Marge, the cashier, isn’t dragging in folks off the street, even if she’d like to. So, yah, whenever I hear the words “book” and “tour” in the same sentence, this picture gets sent. Just to really drive the message home.
4.
I had to think about this image for a minute. Why is this in my camera feed? Then I remembered. This is one in a series of shots I took to archive my books, most of which got left behind in Ireland. I’d already shipped them across the pond once before, and I wasn’t about to do that again because those $$$ers are heavy. But it always happens. I’ll be writing, trying to remember a supporting story or bit of research I came across in one book or another…I’ll turn to my shelf to skim the covers and….it won’t be there. I mean, I won’t even remember the damn title. So, like, going to Amazon to order another copy is futile. But I’m on to how my mind works. This is my insurance. Except…I have no idea where the rest of the series is. Unless I’m writing about death, I’m pretty much fucked.
5.
August, 2022. The month I got COVID. Walt and I were staying in a two-story walk up in the South end of Hartford. We dubbed the Airbnb “South Beach” because… we’re all about living the dream. During the spring, we’d bought a house in New Hampshire. Unfortunately, we’d also rented it to a nice family for their summer vacation, so we couldn’t exactly kick them out. We figured we’d hang out in Connecticut and see our friends, fit some doctor’s appointments in, that sort of thing. Until SOMEONE got laid out.
6.
OK. This is my grandson, Yusef. I don’t share a lot of grandkid photos because my daughter isn’t into that sort of thing, which I respect–except for now, apparently, because if I’m going to do the six photo thing right, c’mon! But it’s pictures like this that forced me to buy a new phone with more than 12 megabytes storage capacity. I mean, the people at Spectrum basically laughed me out of the showroom. But I want you to know that I do have pictures of real people. People I know–not just my legs, or some nice stranger who’s only guilty of trying to sell some books.
