Blogging is a Sisyphean task that requires a catchy title. Every time I hit publish, I mentally celebrate for about a minute before returning to the five drafts I need to rewrite. This year of photography blogging has been illuminating. The decision to start this blog began with an interview I listened to featuring Ezra Klein. At the time, I was caught in a mental loop, unsure if writing about photography was even worthwhile. One of the biggest challenges I faced was having no idea what I would write about. However, I knew I had countless questions swirling in my mind. I was trying to figure out how to improve my images, grow a photography business, and share my work effectively. I suspected many other photographers were navigating the same uncertainties. In the interview, Ezra Klein said something that stuck with me: it's possible to find your views through the act of writing regularly. That gave me the push I needed. I stopped waffling and started writing. I published my first post in April 2017, then paused until June. After that, I began writing more consistently.
Writing Versus Photography
Writing is a strange and sometimes terrifying practice in ways that photography is not. Every time I publish a post, I cringe a little. I worry I might have missed something in a technical explanation. I wonder if I have made my point. And then there are the typos. This is a one-woman operation. Typos happen. I proofread and revise, but I still miss things. I’m still figuring it out, but through the process, I’ve gained valuable lessons.
Photography Isn't All That Meets the Eye
I’m a self-taught photographer. When I started, I shared photos based entirely on how they made me feel. I was confused when photographers talked about capturing emotion, but then shared photos that didn’t evoke any emotion in me. I was also puzzled by how some photos I loved resonated with others, while others did not. I’ve realized that emotion is not always the most effective way to talk about photography. It’s difficult to define or measure. Around the same time I began blogging, I also dove into research and explored photography blogs that explained techniques. I discovered Luisa Brimble, who often shares thoughtful analyses of images. Through her, I learned about the Art of Composition and the concept of dynamic symmetry in photography. While I don’t yet fully understand it, it shifted my thinking. Now, I pay more attention to image composition, depth, angles, subject matter, and how to guide the viewer’s eye through an image. These are tangible, graspable concepts. Blogging has helped me develop a new language for photography that doesn’t rely solely on emotion. It has pushed me to reflect more deeply on my creative choices and intentions. Comparing images I shot in 2015 with those I created this year, I can see how far I’ve come and how far I still have to go. I often work in commercial food and restaurant photography. That means the photos must do more than look good; they must be functional and effective.
Most of Us Are Making It Up As We Go
One of the most-read posts on my blog is a reflection on my first year as a freelance photographer. That post led to several coffee meetings with other photographers. People opened up about tough clients, confusing pricing models, and challenges with workflow. I heard a common sentiment: it’s comforting to know others feel lost too. Freelance photography can be isolating. Yet the more I spoke with others, the more I realized we’re all navigating similar hurdles. As I continue, I want to write more about the business side of photography. There’s a lack of detailed information about how photographers price their services, pitch to clients, and structure projects. Some resources, like interviews with photo editors, have been helpful. Still, writing about these topics has been tough for me, especially because I’m still figuring it out myself. My project budgets have ranged wildly from a few hundred dollars to several tens of thousands. That range makes it hard to generalize. Also, the industry is shifting rapidly. Traditional publications are redefining their models, and social media has opened new pathways for photographers. I’m starting to work through my thoughts on the business side of photography and hope to share more in the future as my understanding deepens.
Social Media, Marketing, and Photography
When I launched my portfolio site, it got about ten views in the first week. It was a discouraging start. Many of us are told that if you build something worthwhile, people will find it. That has not been my experience. If you build it, they probably won’t come. You have to build it, tell people about it, celebrate it, remind them, and then remind them again. All the while, you try not to be annoying. These days, I get more traffic, and much of that comes from the blog. Despite my marketing background, promoting myself has been a challenge. I get nervous. I hesitate. But creating a blog and formalizing a business helped me create a boundary between myself and my work. That bit of distance made it easier to think about my photography strategically. There are many blogs and articles on how to promote creative work. Slowly, I’ve found approaches that feel authentic to me.
Photography Blogging Is a Lot of Work
The biggest lesson I’ve learned this year is how much work blogging requires. I try to stay consistent. I make content calendars. I write in my spare time and jot down ideas in note apps. Still, writing and editing a post can take days. I’ve made several attempts to follow a publishing schedule. Each time, I fall behind by the second week. Maybe if blogging or photography were my full-time job, I’d have more bandwidth to stick with it. But as it stands, I’m doing this in the margins of other responsibilities. My respect for professional bloggers has grown. Regular publishing is a major feat. I’m improving, but it remains a challenge.
Finding a Voice in the Photography Community
When I started writing about photography, I felt like an outsider. The photography community, particularly the online one, can feel enormous yet closed. There are circles within circles, and it sometimes seems like you need to be in the right place at the right time to be heard. For a while, I lurked. I read other blogs. I consumed tutorials. I followed the work of photographers I admired. But I held back from contributing my voice. It felt like everyone else knew more than I did. What could I possibly offer?
Blogging changed that for me. Writing regularly forced me to articulate ideas that were previously vague thoughts. I learned that clarity often comes through expression, not before it. The process of putting words on the page sharpened my perspective. I stopped worrying about being an expert and focused instead on sharing what I was learning as I went. That shift in mindset allowed me to find my voice. It’s not authoritative or flawless, but it’s mine. Over time, I realized that many others in the community were searching for the same things. By being honest about the gaps in my knowledge, I connected more deeply with readers. Vulnerability became a strength, not a weakness.
Learning to Observe Differently
Photography has always been about seeing, but blogging taught me how to look differently. When I’m out with my camera now, I don’t just think about capturing a pretty frame. I think about what I’m trying to say with that image. Blogging makes me ask myself harder questions. Why did I choose this subject? What draws me to this scene? What do I want the viewer to notice first? These questions aren’t just for the sake of writing—they shape how I photograph. I’ve found that writing forces me to slow down, not just in front of the computer but behind the lens as well.
I began to keep a small notebook in my camera bag to jot down ideas as I shot. Sometimes they’re technical notes, like experimenting with a certain aperture. Other times, they’re mood-based observations—how the light fell on a table, or how the silence in a room influenced my composition. This simple habit changed the way I approached image-making. It helped me remember moments I would otherwise forget. And it gave me raw material for future blog posts, which became an archive of not just my work but also my thought process.
The Challenge of Consistency
Consistency is often talked about as the key to success in creative fields, and blogging is no exception. When I started, I thought I could simply write when inspiration struck. That worked for about two weeks. Then life got in the way. Projects came up. Travel interrupted my routine. And suddenly, the blog sat untouched for weeks. I felt guilty. I felt like I had failed at something important. But eventually, I realized that consistency doesn’t have to mean rigid schedules. For me, it means returning to the page—even when I don’t feel like it.
Some posts come easily. Others feel like pulling teeth. But I write them anyway because I’ve learned that creativity is a muscle. The more I show up, the easier it becomes. I’ve also learned to be kind to myself when I fall off schedule. A blog is a living thing. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to keep breathing. Consistency also taught me to trust my instincts more. In the first few months, I would second-guess everything. Now, I understand my voice well enough to lean into it. That only comes from writing often, from practicing even when it feels uncomfortable.
Behind the Scenes of the Blog
One of the biggest surprises of blogging is how much work goes into everything you don’t see. There’s the photography, the writing, the editing. But there’s also planning, formatting, image resizing, proofreading, and sometimes even self-doubt that lingers long after a post is published. I spend hours selecting images to accompany a single post. Sometimes I shoot new ones just for the blog. Other times, I dig through archives to find something that fits. Then I sit with the images, trying to understand what they’re really about.
I rewrite headlines over and over. I read the text aloud to catch awkward phrasing. I often set drafts aside for a day or two, then return with fresh eyes. The more I blog, the more I realize how much attention to detail is required. Yet none of this is visible to readers. They see a finished post. What they don’t see is the day I spent agonizing over a paragraph or the internal debate over whether to post at all. And that’s okay. Blogging has taught me that effort behind the scenes is not wasted—it builds discipline and deepens the final product, even if no one else notices.
From Inspiration to Execution
Ideas are everywhere, but turning them into something meaningful takes time. I used to think inspiration had to strike before I could start. Now, I know that action breeds inspiration. When I sit down to write, I don’t always have a clear plan. Sometimes I begin with a vague phrase, a visual memory, or a question. I write into the unknown. Slowly, something coherent takes shape. This process mirrors photography. I don’t always know what I’m looking for until I start looking. By the time I click the shutter, I’ve often walked through several different ideas in my head. The image becomes a response to those mental explorations.
Blogging helps clarify those instincts. When I write about a shoot, I relive it. I ask myself what worked, what didn’t, and what I would do differently. That reflection is invaluable. It’s like having a creative mirror that shows me how I’m growing—and where I need to grow more. I’ve stopped waiting for perfect ideas. Now I start with what I have and trust the process to carry me forward.
The Balance Between Personal and Professional
One of the trickiest parts of blogging as a photographer is figuring out how personal to be. Should I focus solely on tips and techniques, or is there room for stories and reflections? Over time, I’ve learned that balance is key. Readers come for insights, but they stay for authenticity. They want to know who is behind the lens. Sharing personal experiences—like mistakes I’ve made or projects that didn’t go as planned—has helped me connect with others more deeply.
That said, I try to be intentional about what I share. I don’t post everything. Not because I want to hide anything, but because I want the blog to remain a space of purpose. Each story should serve the reader, even if it comes from a personal place. Blogging has helped me find that middle ground where vulnerability meets professionalism. It’s a place where I can be real, yet still focused.
What My Readers Have Taught Me
One of the most rewarding parts of blogging has been hearing from readers. Whether it's a comment, a message, or a simple note of appreciation, the feedback reminds me that there are real people on the other side of the screen. Early on, I worried that no one was reading. But slowly, readers began to respond. They shared their own stories. They asked questions. Some said they saw their struggles reflected in my words. That kind of connection is powerful.
Readers have also challenged me to think more deeply. They’ve pointed out things I missed, offered alternative perspectives, and encouraged me to dig further. In that sense, blogging has become a conversation, not just a monologue. It has made me a better photographer, writer, and listener. I no longer write just for myself. I write knowing that someone else might be searching for the same answers I once did.
Building a Body of Work
A year of blogging has created something I didn’t expect: a body of work that documents not just my images, but my evolution as a photographer. Looking back at older posts, I can see how much I’ve grown—not just in skill, but in perspective. The blog is a map of where I’ve been. It shows the shifts in how I think about photography, business, and creativity.
Having that archive is deeply motivating. It reminds me that progress happens in layers. Not every post is brilliant. Some are messy, uncertain, or incomplete. But together, they tell a story. They form a foundation I can build on. That’s something social media doesn’t always offer. Posts get buried, stories disappear. A blog, on the other hand, holds onto every word. It keeps your journey visible.
Lessons in Patience and Persistence
Blogging taught me that results take time. There were months when traffic was low and engagement was minimal. It was tempting to quit, to assume it wasn’t worth the effort. But I stuck with it. I kept writing. And slowly, the blog grew. Not explosively, but steadily. Each post added to the whole. Each piece mattered.
Patience is hard in a world that values instant success. But persistence builds something more lasting. Through blogging, I’ve learned to stay the course, to trust that effort adds up. It’s the same with photography. Mastery doesn’t come in a flash. It’s built one frame, one edit, one moment at a time.
Redefining Success Through Blogging
Before I started blogging, I had a narrow view of success. It was mostly centered around external validation—likes, shares, client bookings, and features. Those things still matter, but blogging expanded my understanding of what it means to succeed. Success is now tied to creative fulfillment, the development of discipline, and the small breakthroughs I experience when I learn something new or articulate an idea more clearly. Blogging reminded me that quiet progress is still progress.
There were days when a post didn’t perform the way I hoped, but it helped me refine a skill or express something I’d never said out loud. That is a form of success that social media doesn’t reward, but blogging often captures. It’s not instant or flashy. It’s subtle and steady. Over time, I’ve come to cherish those moments of internal growth more than any metrics dashboard. Writing about photography helps me recognize how my goals evolve. I no longer chase the same milestones I did when I first picked up a camera. I’ve grown more interested in mastering my craft, in understanding light, story, and nuance. That shift came from the habit of reflection, and blogging is what built that habit.
Blogging as a Tool for Clarity
Writing helps me get clear. It helps me make sense of things I didn’t know I was confused about. For example, there have been times when I thought I understood a concept in photography—like white balance or composition—but when I tried to write about it, I realized my understanding was superficial. In those moments, I had to pause, do more research, test out techniques, and come back with a deeper grasp. This process made my knowledge more solid. It gave me confidence.
Blogging also pushed me to be precise. When writing for an audience, I have to consider how to explain something to someone who may not share my background or perspective. That forces clarity. It means breaking down jargon, avoiding shortcuts, and truly understanding what I’m trying to say. The clearer I become in writing, the more intentional I become in photography. One feeds the other.
Letting Go of Perfectionism
One of the most valuable lessons blogging has taught me is how to let go of perfectionism. At the start, I agonized over every sentence, every image, every heading. Posts sat unpublished for days—or weeks—because I didn’t think they were quite right. But that approach isn’t sustainable. Blogging regularly requires momentum. It’s more important to keep publishing and improving along the way than to wait for the mythical perfect post.
I’ve learned that imperfections are part of the process. They don’t invalidate the work. Some of my most popular posts were the ones I almost didn’t publish because they felt incomplete. But readers connected with the honesty, the process, and the imperfection. Letting go of perfectionism has allowed me to create more freely. I still care about quality, but I don’t let it stop me from sharing. I’ve come to see blogging as a practice, not a performance.
Documenting Instead of Performing
There is a difference between documenting your process and performing expertise. When I started, I felt pressure to sound like I had all the answers. But that tone didn’t sit right with me. It felt forced. I eventually realized I didn’t want to perform knowledge—I wanted to share experiences. I wanted to document my journey honestly. That decision shaped the tone of my blog.
By focusing on what I was learning instead of what I thought I should already know, I made room for growth. I gave myself permission to explore and experiment. That shift attracted readers who were also on their learning journeys. They didn’t come to the blog for perfection; they came for shared discovery. Writing from that place has been far more rewarding than trying to position myself as an expert.
Creating a Sustainable Creative Practice
Blogging helped me understand what it takes to sustain a creative practice. It’s not just about inspiration. It’s about structure, routine, and showing up when you don’t feel like it. I’ve developed small habits that make the practice easier—keeping a running list of blog ideas, setting aside time to write each week, and batching tasks when I can. These systems didn’t emerge overnight. They developed slowly, through trial and error.
What I’ve found is that creativity thrives in structure. Having a rhythm for writing helps me generate better ideas. It also helps me see photography through new lenses. Sometimes I shoot specifically with a blog post in mind. Other times, I notice themes emerging in my work because I’m paying closer attention. The two practices now inform each other. Photography fuels the blog. The blog sharpens my photography.
Understanding My Audience
One thing I didn’t expect when I began blogging was how much I would learn from my readers. At first, I didn’t even know who I was writing for. I thought of the blog as a journal that others might stumble upon. But over time, I began to recognize the kinds of people who kept returning. They were early-stage photographers, creatives trying to make a business, people interested in storytelling and process.
Knowing this helped me tailor my writing. I started thinking about what questions they might have, what challenges they might be facing. I didn’t change my voice or my message, but I became more intentional about how I framed things. That small shift made a big difference. It created a dialogue. Readers started responding more. They felt seen. And I felt less alone.
Blogging Through Burnout
Burnout is real, and it doesn’t announce itself loudly. It creeps in quietly. There were seasons when blogging felt like a burden. I had no energy, no ideas, no motivation. Life outside of photography demanded more of me. The blog sat idle. I felt guilty. But eventually, I realized that rest is part of the process too. I permitted myself to pause.
What I learned from those breaks is that creativity can’t be forced indefinitely. There has to be space for renewal. Blogging taught me to recognize the signs of burnout earlier and to respond with kindness instead of criticism. Sometimes, stepping away is the most productive thing you can do. When I returned to blogging after a break, I had more clarity, more energy, and more to say.
Creating for Longevity, Not Virality
In the age of social media, it’s easy to chase quick wins. Viral posts. Trending topics. Metrics that spike and then vanish. Blogging has given me a different lens. It encouraged me to create work with a longer lifespan. I write posts that might not get immediate attention, but they hold value over time. I often see older posts resurface months later when someone stumbles upon them and finds them useful.
That kind of slow burn is meaningful to me. It means the work is still relevant. It’s still helping someone, even long after I hit publish. Creating for longevity also takes pressure off the present moment. I don’t have to panic if a post doesn’t perform well right away. I trust that it may find its audience eventually. That trust gives me creative freedom.
Growing Beyond the Blog
The blog started as a place to share thoughts. But over time, it became a foundation for other creative opportunities. I’ve been invited to speak, collaborate, and write for other platforms. I’ve connected with clients who discovered my work through the blog. I’ve met fellow creatives who reached out after reading a post that resonated. These connections weren’t part of the original plan, but they’ve become some of the most fulfilling parts of my creative life.
The blog also helped me develop skills I didn’t know I needed—writing for different audiences, structuring longer pieces, managing editorial calendars, and learning how to be consistent even when no one is watching. These are transferable skills. They’ve expanded what I believe I’m capable of. They’ve made me more confident, not just as a photographer, but as a creative professional.
The Unexpected Joy of Re-reading Old Work
Every few months, I revisit my early blog posts. I used to cringe at them. Now, I read them with a strange fondness. They remind me of who I was when I started—curious, uncertain, hopeful. There’s something beautiful about being able to trace that evolution. I see how my voice has matured, how my thinking has deepened, and how my style has sharpened.
The blog became more than a platform—it became a time capsule. A document of my growth. It holds not just finished thoughts, but moments of discovery. Even the clumsy posts serve a purpose. They show movement. They show change. That is one of the unexpected joys of blogging—the ability to look back and see where you’ve been, and how far you’ve come.
Building Creative Confidence
Blogging gave me the confidence I didn’t know I was lacking. Early in my photography journey, I often felt unsure about my work, my ideas, and my direction. I hesitated to claim space. I worried about being wrong, about not being skilled enough, about putting my thoughts into the world where they could be misunderstood or dismissed. But with each blog post, I chipped away at that fear. Writing regularly forced me to stand behind my thoughts and images. Not because they were perfect, but because they were honest.
Over time, I began to trust my instincts more. I stopped second-guessing every sentence and photo. I started to own my perspective. That creative confidence extended beyond the blog. I saw it show up in client meetings, on photo shoots, and even in everyday conversations about my work. It wasn’t loud or boastful—it was rooted in clarity and self-respect. I knew what I valued, what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it. That is the kind of growth that sneaks up on you until one day you realize you’re no longer afraid to take creative risks.
Discovering New Stories in Familiar Places
One of the unexpected benefits of blogging was how it made me look at familiar scenes with new eyes. Places I had photographed dozens of times—restaurants, streets, objects—suddenly held new stories because I was thinking about how I might write about them. The blog made me more observant. It encouraged me to slow down and notice the details I might have otherwise ignored.
Sometimes it was a shift in light that made a scene feel different. Sometimes it was a small moment between people that sparked an idea. These weren’t epic, dramatic changes—they were subtle shifts in perspective. But they mattered. They deepened my connection to the world around me. They reminded me that every environment, no matter how routine, has layers waiting to be uncovered. Writing gave me the language to articulate those layers. It gave me a way to explore my work with intention, not just intuition.
Embracing My Own Pace
In the fast-moving world of content creation, it’s easy to feel behind. There’s always someone posting more, creating faster, growing their audience quicker. That mindset can be exhausting. For a while, I tried to keep up. I pushed myself to publish more, photograph more, and share more. But it wasn’t sustainable. I lost sight of why I started in the first place. Eventually, I had to step back and redefine what pace worked for me.
That slower, more deliberate rhythm helped me rediscover joy in the process. It reminded me that growth doesn’t have to be rushed to be meaningful. I began to see consistency not as frequency, but as dedication. I show up when I can. I work with care. I give each project the attention it deserves. That’s my pace. It might not lead to explosive growth, but it leads to deeper fulfillment—and that matters more to me in the long run.
Learning to Speak About My Work
Photography has always been a visual language, but blogging taught me how to speak about it in words. At first, that felt unnatural. I wasn’t used to explaining my choices, my process, or the meaning behind my images. I thought the photos should speak for themselves. But over time, I realized that language can expand what a photo communicates. Writing gave me the tools to articulate intention. It helped me share not just what I saw, but why I saw it the way I did.
That skill has become invaluable. Whether I’m writing a proposal, meeting with a client, or sharing a new project, I now feel more equipped to explain my work clearly and thoughtfully. It makes me a better collaborator. It makes my photography more accessible. And it gives my audience a deeper way to engage with the work.
Turning Reflection Into Strategy
The longer I blogged, the more I realized that reflection wasn’t just a personal exercise—it was a tool for strategy. By writing about what worked and what didn’t, I started to see patterns in my creative process. I noticed what types of projects energized me, what subjects I returned to again and again, and what mistakes I kept making. That insight helped me make better decisions.
It affected the kinds of jobs I pursued. It influenced how I priced my work. It even changed how I structured my shooting days. The act of blogging didn’t just make me more thoughtful—it made me more intentional. It gave me the data to back up my creative gut instincts. That intersection of reflection and strategy is now something I apply to all areas of my work.
Reconnecting with Curiosity
There are times when photography can start to feel like a job. The pressure to deliver, to produce, to be constantly visible online can drain the joy out of it. Blogging helped me reconnect with curiosity. It brought playfulness back into my work. Because I had a space to explore freely, I could experiment without fear. I could write about strange ideas, unfinished thoughts, and early experiments.
That freedom revived my love for the medium. It reminded me that photography is not just a service—it’s a way of asking questions about the world. Blogging permitted me to be a student again, to approach each project as a learning opportunity. That mindset made the work more sustainable. It helped me avoid burnout. It brought joy back into the frame.
Conclusion
One year of photography blogging has been a journey of discovery, not just about my craft but about myself as an artist and communicator. What started as a simple attempt to document my thoughts has grown into a meaningful practice that sharpens my perspective, strengthens my creative process, and connects me with others. It taught me that writing and photography are not separate pursuits—they are deeply intertwined. Writing helps me reflect, refine, and reconnect. Photography gives me the visual language to explore the world. Together, they shape how I see and how I express what I see.
This year has also reminded me that growth doesn't always look dramatic. Sometimes, it happens quietly—in the middle of a sentence you didn’t plan to write, or a photo you almost deleted but ended up sharing. Progress often comes in the form of showing up consistently, trusting your voice, and embracing the imperfect path forward. Blogging didn’t make me an expert, but it made me more thoughtful, more intentional, and more open.
Most of all, this process gave me a place to be honest. A place to wrestle with questions and share what I’ve learned without needing all the answers. That honesty has become the foundation of everything I create now. Looking ahead, I know my photography will keep evolving, and so will the blog. But no matter how the tools or platforms change, the habit of reflection—and the courage to share it—will remain at the center of my creative work.
I didn’t expect blogging to become such an essential part of my photography journey. But now, I can’t imagine moving forward without it.