I’ve been thinking (and writing) a lot about photojournalism and storytelling—how sequences form, how meaning builds, how a walk turns into something you can edit into a narrative.
But I haven’t actually run the assignment I keep describing yet.
So this post is me doing the only honest thing: turning the idea into a self-assignment I can repeat over the coming weeks—then letting the results earn the confidence.
Because this line keeps ringing in my ears:
“There’s a difference between documenting a topic and telling a story.”
— The VII Foundation — Visual Storytelling Techniques with Acacia Johnson
I can document a topic all day long. I can bring home competent frames.
What I want is the next step: a thread, a sequence, a story.
This is the plan.
The Assignment Name
One Place. One Hour. Six Frames. One Line of Truth.
Not a grand project. Not a “when I have time” idea. A repeatable structure I can run even when I’m tired, uninspired, or the light is flat.
The Commitment
Two sessions per week for the next four weeks.
Short enough to sustain. Long enough to learn something real.
I’m treating it like a training block—same way I approach any long practice: show up, repeat, refine. (Related: Three Sessions a Week for 105 Weeks.)
The Location Rule
For the entire four-week block, I pick one small location and stay loyal to it.
One corner. One strip. One stop. One stretch of sidewalk where people repeat themselves.
The point is not novelty.
The point is familiarity—because familiarity is where patterns show up, and patterns are where story begins.
The Sequence Rule
I’m not chasing “a great shot.”
I’m building a mini photo essay every session.
This is the simplest reminder I’ve found lately:
“Photo essays typically open with an establishing shot…”
— PPA — Master the Photo Essay
So each session, I’m hunting for six frames with six jobs:
- Establishing frame — where are we, what does this place feel like?
- Human anchor — one person who holds the scene
- Detail — the proof-of-life clue (hands, signage, texture, objects)
- Relationship — person + environment (or person + person)
- Tension/contrast — the thing that complicates the mood
- Closing frame — not a conclusion, just an ending tone
And I’m allowed to miss.
But I’m not allowed to pretend a random handful of single shots is a story.
If I need a refresher on structure and pacing, I’ll lean on my own blueprint (and keep remembering to keep it simple): How to Build a LIFE Magazine Photo Essay.
The Awareness Rule
The plan is to start each session the same way: 10 minutes of walking with the camera down.
Watching for repetition, contrast, and momentum. Watching for the “this keeps happening” signals.
This is the same muscle I’ve already written about—attention before action: Situational Awareness and the Photographer’s Eye.
The Editing Rule
I don’t get to declare a story on the same day I shoot it.
I’m borrowing this constraint directly:
“So that’s also for me why time in editing is so important, to just sit.”
— Magnum Photos — Gregory Halpern: Editing and Sequencing
So my rule is:
- Same day: ingest + quick shortlist
- Next day (or later): final six, ordered as a sequence
- Then: one sentence per image — a caption that tells the truth, not a poem that hides it
The Weekly Deliverable
At the end of each week, I assemble one “micro-essay”:
- 6–10 images
- in sequence
- one line of truth per image
- plus a short paragraph answering: What did this place reveal this week that it did not reveal last week?
If the answer is “nothing,” that’s still data. It means I didn’t stay long enough, look hard enough, or I chose the wrong place.
What Success Looks Like
Success is not one banger.
Success is boring and measurable:
- 8 sessions completed
- 4 sequenced micro-essays assembled
- a clearer sense of what I keep missing
- and a process I can run again without needing inspiration to show up first
That’s the point of the assignment: I’m not trying to “shoot a story.”
I’m trying to become someone who can recognize a thread, follow it, and bring back more than a topic.