Let me tell you about the time I completely screwed up a photo-shoot. And I mean completely. I’m talking lights in the wrong place, brain fog from skipping lunch, and enough rookie mistakes to make you wonder how I’ve managed to stay in this business for decades.
But here’s the thing: I’m actually glad it happened. Because if there’s one truth I’ve learned after years behind the camera, it’s this—failure isn’t just part of the process. It is the process.
The Setup That Should’ve Been Easy
Picture this: I’m at A1 Brake and Carburetor, this incredible auto restoration shop in the valley. We’re talking classic cars, vibrant colors, beautiful natural light streaming through garage door windows—the kind of location photographers dream about. I’ve got Ronnie James lined up as my model, my assistant Kirsten on board, and nine lights packed in my car. Nine lights. That should tell you everything about how prepared I thought I was.
What could possibly go wrong?
The Perfect Storm of Screw-Ups
First mistake: I hadn’t eaten all day. Look, I know better. You’ve seen those candy bar commercials where someone gets cranky because they’re hungry? That’s me, except I get brain fog. My thinking slows down. Simple decisions become complicated, and complicated decisions become impossible.
Second mistake: I found out last minute that we only had about two-and-a-half hours total—including setup and tear-down. Suddenly I’m rushing, and “slow is fast” becomes “panic is… well, panic.”
I started moving before I started thinking. Usually, the first thing I do when I walk into a location is assess what’s already there—the natural light, the existing fixtures, the environment. This time? I just started throwing up lights wherever my hungry, frazzled brain told me to.
The Technical Disaster
Out of nine lights, I used three. Three! The rest? Sitting there useless because I hadn’t checked whether they were on the right channels. These were strobes I hadn’t touched in years, and I just assumed they’d work the way I remembered.
But the real face-palm moment came later, when I realized what I should have done with my key light. See, those garage doors had these big windows with gorgeous sunlight pouring through. Any photographer worth their memory card knows that’s your motivated light source—you position your key light there so it looks like the natural light is doing the work.
Did I do that? Nope. I stuck lights wherever, breaking the visual logic of the entire scene. It was basic. It was rudimentary. It was exactly the kind of mistake I warn beginners about.
Why It Stung So Much
Here’s what really sucked about failing this time: I wasn’t alone. Kursten showed up ready to learn and help. Ronnie was there to model. When you waste other people’s time because you got lazy and rushed—that’s a different level of failure. That’s the kind that keeps you up at night.
I’ve photographed celebrities with 10-minute time limits. I’ve shot magazine covers with the pressure of a ticking clock. I’ve done this before. So why did I fall apart on what should have been a straightforward session?
Because I got comfortable. Because I thought I could wing it. Because I prioritized getting home early over getting the shot right.
The Silver Lining (And Why You Should Fail On Purpose)
Here’s the beautiful part: I get to go back. The shop is shutting down for a full day so we can re-shoot properly. That’s a luxury most photographers never get.
If you’re shooting a wedding, you don’t get a do-over when Aunt Martha is blinking in every photo. If you’re photographing a maternity session, you can’t ask the client to get pregnant again because you messed up the lighting. Those moments are gone the second they happen.
Which is exactly why I tell beginners: go fail. Fail spectacularly. Fail often. Fail when nobody’s paying you and the only thing at stake is your ego.
When I started in photography, failure was expensive. I’m talking $6 per roll of film, plus processing, plus the agonizing wait to see if anything even came out. Every mistake cost real money. Today? You can burn through 6,000 frames for exactly zero dollars. That ability to practice—to fail fast and fail free—is the greatest advantage modern photographers have.
The Skateboarder Who Taught Me Everything
I once watched a kid at a skate park try to nail a rail trick. He fell. He fell again. He fell so many times I thought he was going to break something. But here’s what fascinated me: every time he bailed, his body made a tiny adjustment. He’d get a little further down the rail before falling off. Then a little further. Then he’d stick the landing but botch the dismount.
Two hours of falling. One perfect run. Then he fell again.
That’s exactly what failure in photography looks like. Each mistake teaches your brain something that success never could. You learn to see problems before they arrive. You learn what “wrong” looks like, which makes “right” easier to spot.
What I’m Doing Differently Next Time
Next time—and there will be a next time, because even veterans have bad days—I’m slowing down. I’m eating breakfast. I’m checking every channel on every light before I leave the house. I’m assessing the location before I unpack a single stand.
And most importantly, I’m remembering that “lazy photographer” thing I call myself? It’s supposed to be about working smarter, not about skipping steps because I don’t feel like carrying sandbags back to the car.
So go fail this week. Mess up a portrait. Blow the exposure on a landscape. Put your lights in the wrong place and then figure out where they should have gone. Do it now, while the stakes are low, so when it really counts, you’ll already have paid your dues.
Because the only photographers who never fail? They’re the ones who stopped shooting.
Some Final Results
Here are the final results from this session. As I said, I totally messed up the shoot.
Deaqon James is a professional photographer and creator of “The Lazy Photographer” channel, teaching photographers how to make more money while shooting less.
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