your subject, help them feel good about themselves, about being in front of the camera. If they’re having a bad day or feeling nervous, you have to help them feel better. They should leave feeling really good about the shoot, and about themselves.”
The apprentice didn’t listen of course. He started his own portrait business the following spring, offered cut-rate discounts and coupons, bragged about how good he was and how bad the competition was, including Christopher. He didn’t make it to Christmas.
More Than Meets the Eye is still here, and business is thriving. No small feat since everyone has a digital camera or some kind of photo-editing software, and can easily order large prints online, even on canvas. For a while, business slowed to a stop and Christopher was worried, not sure if things would pick up again and if they didn’t, what he would do. He loves Avalon—both he and his wife grew up here and now the same can be said for their girls—but things got dicey for a while.
The month he thought he’d have to close shop for good was the worst. He was in the old location looking at a stack of bills, wondering if this was it. It was very depressing and his wife had gone home crying, sad that they might have to leave and start over somewhere new. He was sad, too.
Someone knocked on his door then. He looked up and saw that he hadn’t even remembered to turn the sign from closed to open, that’s how distracted he was. He saw an umbrella and a bob of silvery-blue hair. It was one of the ladies from his neighborhood. Bettie Shelton.
He hurried to let her in. It had been raining outside that day, cats and dogs as it sometimes does in the spring, and she stamped her feet on the welcome mat to get all the water off her galoshes. She leaned the umbrella against the outside of the door.
“Just stopping by to give you this,” she said. She handed him a stack of business cards. They had her name on them, along with her phone number and address.
Scrapbooking supplies
, it read,
for all your memory-keeping needs
.
“Um,” he’d said, not sure what to do.
She pulled out a small business card stand adorned with fake jewels and ribbon. “It was a good day when they invented the glue gun,” she said. “So, Chris, I’m thinking if you put these out for your customers and they buy anything from me, I can give them an extra five, make that ten, percent off. They just have to show the card. I have a little code in the corner, see? So I’ll know the business came from you. I’ll extend the discount to you, too.”
He put her cards and stand by the small cash register. “I’ll put them out,” he said, “but you should know that I may not be in business much longer. People aren’t spending money on items like photography anymore.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Bettie scoffed. She looked around the studio, took in the pictures on the walls, the books of photographs in the seating area. “It’s a matter of adjusting to the times, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, if you figure out how to do that, let me know.” Christopher turned his attention back to the mess on his desk, but not before he saw her scowl.
“What, you’re throwing in the towel already? You haven’t even begun to figure this one out.” Bettie shook her head, obviously disappointed. “For instance, I’ve been noticing that more people are using stock images these days. You should as well.”
“But everyone’s doing that,” he told Bettie. “I don’t see why anybody would want to buy stock images from me when they can get them from lots of other places online.”
“Holy smokes!” she retorted. “With that attitude I’m amazed you’re still in business at all!” She pointed to one of his favorite photos on the wall, an image of a man with his grandson, sitting on a bench in Avalon Park. “Look at that. You capture not only the connection between the two of them, but
where
they are. That boy will always have special