I read a short article a few months ago — one of those quick little internet detours we all take — and it’s been bouncing around in my brain ever since. The core idea was simple: be a radiator, not a drain.

That stuck with me.

In every room we walk into, every interaction we have — whether it’s with a client, a coworker, a family member, or someone from church — we’re doing one of two things. We’re either adding warmth to the space or we’re pulling something out of it. We’re radiating or we’re draining.

Let’s just say it out loud: getting ready for family pictures is rarely anyone’s idea of a good time.

Sure, the final product? Gorgeous. Magical. Frame-worthy. You’ll cry when you see them. You'll share them on Facebook with a caption like, “So blessed. What a beautiful crew.” And you are blessed. But you’re also exhausted, because before that perfect sunset smile came a whirlwind of chaos, questionable snack choices, and one particularly unfortunate chocolate Pop-Tart incident in the carseat. (Looking at you, Scarlett.)

Empire is hosting a playoff game. Let that sink in for a second.

For those of us who wore that same jersey years ago, it’s hard not to feel a little lump in the throat saying that out loud. It’s an intense feeling of pride for this small school atop the Hill in rural Stephens County, Oklahoma. Back then, we dreamed of moments like this — Friday nights that stretched deep into November, the air crisp and electric, the stands full, the lights cutting through the cool, dark night. Truth be told, we didn’t get to sniff the kind of success this generation of Bulldogs has earned. But man, it sure feels good to see it happening right here, right now, on the Hill.

Look, I get it. You’re a creative. You’d rather shoot golden hour magic than stare at a spreadsheet. You didn’t sign up for this gig to do math — you signed up to capture moments, tell stories, and maybe edit out a rogue booger or two.

But hear me out: tracking your performance isn’t optional.

Let’s talk about being a dad. Not just the “show up and grill the meat” kind of dad. I’m talking about involved dad. “Put down the remote, grab the light stand, and let’s make some magic” kind of dad.

See, my oldest — Lincoln — is officially my on-call, union-certified light assistant. Okay, maybe not union. But he is paid. (We believe in fair labor practices around here — even if payment sometimes comes in the form of sweet tea from Sonic or Dave’s Cave and/or Legos.)

KA: When someone messages you about a session and then disappears into the abyss

So you’ve just received a message:

“Hi! I’m interested in booking a session — what are your prices?”

You get excited. You respond. You give all the juicy details. You’re polite. You’re prompt. You even throw in a light joke, because hey — you’re charming like that.

And then…
nothing.

If you're just starting out in photography, let me give you some real-world advice before you slap your logo on a Facebook page and announce you’re “Now Booking!”

Photograph your family. Your friends. Your dog. Just don’t photograph strangers for money if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Before my career. Before children. Before I ever picked up a camera and before this whole photo thing turned into a side gig, a passion project, and whatever it is now — I married Lauren. She’s been my better half, my rock, and my person for the last 22 years. And she’s still, without hesitation, the most important person in my life.

The lovable patriarch of 101 Dalmatian fame — and, more importantly, the beloved companion of Emile and Brian. At 14 years old — nearly a dog-year centaurian — this old boy carries the kind of quiet wisdom and love that only comes from a lifetime spent right beside his people.

It’s the Canon 70-200 f/2.8L IS USM V1 — a.k.a. the lens that looks like it fell out of my pickup, rolled through a gravel lot, and got kicked by one of my twins on the way to the field. And honestly? It probably did. I bought it “heavily used,” which basically means it had already lived a full life — and then got handed to me for overtime duty.