A Belated Milestone

Just noticed a milestone I somehow managed to let pass, unnoticed: The PGS blog clocked it's 500th update a few weeks ago.

Currently, I'm at 514 posts. (Counting this one.)

Five-hundred-plus posts and still blogging!

Yeah! We bad!

Three years or so ago, I began writing this blog because I thought I might take a stab at writing a book. A book about photography, of course. Glamour photography to be more precise. But knowing myself the way I do, I knew I probably wouldn't manage to muster the necessary follow-through required to complete a book.

That's how I roll sometimes: With lots of non-rolling lapses in forward momentum.

But a blog?

That, I decided, I could do.

I figured I could write updates often enough. Then, I further figured, somewhere down the road it could all be put together-- All those updates, that is.

All I'd have to do, once enough words were written, is edit them, organize them, re-write them, expand them, condense them, toss out the trite crap, keep the decent stuff, decide which pictures belonged and which didn't and maybe, just maybe, have some sort of illustrated photography book ready to publish or be published.

I might be there now.

Five-hundred posts contain a lot of words, a lot of thoughts and points-of-view, lots of explanations and observations and photographic pontifications. In other words, perhaps enough "baffle 'em with bullshit" text plus (actual) good information to assemble pages and chapters of a book on the art and craft and business of glamour photography?

Or...

Maybe I could find someone else to edit all this stuff I've written? Someone who might actually know what they're doing when it comes to book-editing.

Regardless, I'm guessing I've got enough already written to either take a stab at it or have someone else do the stabbing.

Maybe I should seriously think about doing this? This book thing, that is. What's the worse that could happen? I invest the time and energy to put something together and it gets rejected?

Whoop-dee-doo!

I can deal with that.

Like many people, especially those who pursue creative endeavors, I have plenty of experience with rejection. I've grown some thick skin during my half-century-plus on this planet... some tough rhino skin! Besides, it wouldn't be like a personal rejection. You know, like when a woman has kicked me to the curb despite how much and how well I cared for her... Not that I'm sharing angst. I'm not. I'm just saying. Ya see, having a (would-be) book rejected would be a rejection of something that, while being born of me, created by me, isn't me. Me personally, I mean.

When it comes to rejection, I can differentiate between rejecting me and rejecting something made by me-- Like my photos, for instance. Something a few (or more) photographers on photo-forums could use a lesson or two in doing.

Like I said, I can deal with rejecting my work. I don't take it personal. I might not like it but, WTF, there's much I don't like but I don't automatically get all butt-hurt over it.

Wow! When did I develop such a healthy, if ambivalent, attitude toward shit like this?

I must be getting really old.

Or even more jaded.

The pretty girl at the top is Kayla. I snapped it a year or so ago when I was in my brown-tinted-naked-girl-in-front-of-stucco-wall phase. Like my red-and-yellow gel phase, it too was short-lived.