Life at 45: Scars, Stories, and Everything in Between
Life at 45: Scars, Stories, and Everything in Between
Yesterday, I turned 45.
Forty-five doesn’t sound like much when you say it out loud. It’s not one of those milestone numbers people make a big dramatic fuss about. But when I look back at what’s packed into those years, it feels less like a number and more like a well-traveled road with a few wrong turns, a couple of bar fights, and at least one questionable map.
In that time, I’ve been a lifeguard. A medic. I was a Mormon missionary once, and later an ex-Mormon, which is less of a clean break and more of a long conversation that never quite ends. I’ve worked in safety, trying to keep people from doing dumb things, and in sales, learning that people will absolutely do dumb things.
I’ve been married twice. Loved hard, learned a lot, picked myself up, and kept moving. Not always gracefully, but forward counts.
I’ve lived in nine states and moved 26 times. I know how to leave, and I know how to start over. Both come with their own kind of weight.
Somewhere along the way, I got dubbed a Knight by The Knightly Order of the Fiat Lux. Which still sounds like something out of a late-night campaign session, but I’ve got the title, so I guess that makes it real. Still waiting on the dragon, though.
I opened a gym, Geek and Gamer Fitness, because clearly I thought mixing barbells and nerd culture was a good idea. Honestly, it still is.
I’ve played hundreds of TTRPG sessions, built worlds, told stories, rolled dice that betrayed me at the worst possible moments. I’ve hit the shutter on my camera thousands of times, chasing those perfect little slices of time that don’t last nearly long enough.
I love conventions, DragonCon, ECCC, PAX, places where everyone shows up exactly as they are, turned up to eleven, and somehow that becomes normal.
I’m a son, a brother, an uncle, and a friend. Roles that don’t come with clear rules, just a lot of showing up and doing your best.
And yeah, there’s been anxiety. Depression. Some darker stretches where things got heavy and stayed that way longer than I would’ve liked. That’s part of the story too. Not the whole thing, but it’s in there.
My life hasn’t been smooth. It’s been chaotic, unpredictable, occasionally ridiculous, but never boring. I’ve lived a lot of different versions of life in these 45 years. Enough to know there isn’t just one way to do this.
It’s a little strange realizing there’s probably less road ahead than behind. Not scary, just… real. Makes you pay attention a bit more.
But however much time is left, one thing’s clear: I lived. I tried. I didn’t sit it out.
And honestly? That feels like something worth being grateful for.
Welcome Home Santa
It’s Christmas Eve, and somewhere between the soft hush of falling snow and the distant clatter of a ladder against a gutter, Santa is on the clock. The man is working overtime. He’s crisscrossing time zones like they’re minor inconveniences, squeezing down chimneys that absolutely did not pass code inspection, and fueling himself on a diet approved by exactly zero nutritionists: warm cookies, cold milk, and the occasional carrot filched from a reindeer who definitely earned it.
It’s beautiful chaos. A red-suited blur of good intentions and poor sleep hygiene. He keeps going, not because it’s easy, his knees disagree, but because he knows what’s waiting on the other side of the night. He knows that when the sleigh is parked, the hat is hung, and the last ho-ho-ho finally gives way to a yawn, Christmas morning will arrive like a quiet reward. Home. Stillness. Maybe a fire crackling. Maybe a moment to put his feet up and remember why all this madness matters.
So here’s to the magic, the mess, the crumbs on the plate, and the carrots with teeth marks. Here’s to the work behind the wonder, and the calm that comes after the storm of tinsel and joy.
Merry Christmas, everyone. 🎄
Winter Solstice
Happy Winter Solstice, everyone.
I’ve always loved this time of year, the quiet hinge in the calendar where everything slows down and the world leans into itself. I’ve never been someone who fears the dark. Quite the opposite, actually. Darkness and night have always felt like home to me. That’s where my shoulders finally drop, where my breathing evens out, where the background noise in my head lowers to a tolerable hum. In the dark, I can exist without having to perform. No spotlights. No explanations. Just stillness.
A lot of people celebrate the Solstice for the promise it makes, the return of light after the longest night. That’s fair. Optimistic, even. Very on-brand for humanity. But I celebrate the Solstice because it’s dark. Because this is the night that doesn’t apologize for itself. The longest stretch of shadow, officially sanctioned by the cosmos. A reminder that darkness isn’t a problem to be solved, it’s a place you’re allowed to rest.
The world tells us, constantly and loudly, that more light is better. Be visible. Be productive. Be “on.” The Solstice gently counters with a raised eyebrow and a low voice: or… you could sit still for a minute. You could let the night be the night. You could stop trying to fix everything long enough to feel your feet on the ground and your hands wrapped around something warm.
There’s no right or wrong way to celebrate the Solstice. Light candles. Don’t. Meditate. Don’t. Make it sacred or make it simple. Just know that the darkness you’re standing in isn’t empty, it’s generous. It holds space. It gives cover. It asks very little of you.
So here’s my hope for all of you in the coming year: fewer stresses that gnaw at you in quiet moments, more happiness that shows up unannounced. More nights where you feel safe enough to exhale. And if anyone needs me, I’ll be by the fire all day, drinking hot apple cider, fully committed to the radical act of doing absolutely nothing useful, except maybe being present.
Blending Special Effects and Photography
People tell my wife and me, fairly often, that we make a great team. They say it with confidence, like it’s an observable fact, and honestly, they’re not wrong.
She comes at things as a Special Effects Makeup Artist, with patience (sometimes), precision, and an ability to transform a human canvas into something entirely new. I approach the world as a photographer, always chasing light, texture, and moments that feel just slightly out of reach. When we work together, those two worlds overlap in a way that feels natural, balanced, and quietly exciting.
Over the years, we’ve collaborated on a wide range of creative projects. Choosing a favorite would be nearly impossible, not because they’re all equal, but because each one represents a different chapter, different ideas, different risks, different memories. They mark where we were creatively and personally at the time.
One project that still stands out took place shortly before we left Orlando, just before Christmas. We collaborated with two wonderful models on a body paint shoot that came together beautifully. It was the kind of session where everything clicked: the planning, the trust, the energy in the room. Those are rare, and when they happen, you feel it immediately.
This morning, while sitting with a cup of coffee, I revisited that shoot and decided to re-edit two images of Gabrielle. I like doing that from time to time. As my skills evolve year after year, it’s interesting, and honestly grounding, to return to older work and see how my approach has changed. The images stay the same, but the way I see them doesn’t.
I’m a big fan of both of these photographs, especially after giving them a fresh look. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
Summoning Krampus
Summoning Krampus
I am not exactly sure when this became a tradition. It was never planned or announced. A few years ago, my wife, Leslie, and I decided to do a Christmas themed photoshoot. Just one. Something fun and different. Somewhere along the way, without either of us really noticing, it turned into an annual ritual. Every year since, we have come up with a new idea or theme, something we want to create together before the season slips away.
This year, I felt drawn in a darker direction. Less glossy Christmas fantasy and more old world legend. One night, while sitting on the couch watching NCIS, I turned to Leslie and asked if we could talk about this year’s Christmas shoot. Then I asked how she would feel about doing a Krampus themed photoshoot.
She was immediately on board, with one condition. She wanted to include some classic pin up poses with Krampus.
Oh no, I said. Not that.
Which of course meant that was exactly what we were going to do.
From there, the planning began. We needed a model who could handle heavy prosthetic makeup, pull off a dark and ominous presence, and still have enough personality to lean into something playful. Finding the right person was not easy. Scheduling quickly became the biggest challenge, but eventually everything lined up. Our friend, model, and collaborator Will agreed to join us on a cold Thursday night after finishing a full workday.
That alone deserves recognition. Most people do not leave a long shift at work eager to drive forty five minutes, sit through an hour of prosthetic application, and then stand outside in the cold for a photoshoot. But Will did, and he did it with patience and enthusiasm. We could not have asked for a better person to bring this idea to life.
Leslie handled the costume and makeup from start to finish. My contribution was buying a Santa suit the day of the shoot. She did everything else. Designing, painting, airbrushing, distressing fabric, sculpting and applying prosthetics. I know how talented she is, but these themed projects always remind me just how much skill and artistry she brings to the table. The amount of work that goes into these looks is enormous, and it always shows in the final images.
Originally, I wanted to photograph Krampus in front of a large fire pit, using the flames to create dramatic silhouettes. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts and more lighter fluid than I care to admit, the fire never really cooperated. All I managed was a weak smolder. So we pivoted. Instead, I made a simple torch using a stick, some fabric, and lighter fluid, and suddenly we had the atmosphere we needed.
The photos turned out better than I expected. Many of my shoots rely heavily on post processing, but projects like this are different. They demand more attention to framing, lighting, and timing in the moment. When everything comes together on set, there is less fixing and more refining afterward.
While I still have a few pin up edits left to finish, the darker Krampus images came out exactly as I had hoped. They feel grounded, eerie, and just a little playful.
I am really proud of this one.
Enjoy.
Adam Scott - Photographer - Atlanta GA
Lisa Frankenstein - The Bride of Lisa Frank
Lisa Frankenstein - The Bride of Lisa Frank
Long before I ever touched a camera, I was just another night owl lost in the endless scroll of Tumblr. I’d spend what felt like lifetimes drifting through a sea of moody portraits, cosmic color palettes, and quiet emotion, wishing I could create something that lived up to what I saw there. I sometimes wonder how many miles my thumb traveled in pursuit of inspiration.
Now, years later, I stand behind the lens as a photographer, my work a living collage of all those nights. I can still feel the echo of Tumblr’s influence in my images, the colors, the texture, the quiet ache for beauty. It’s a craving that never really fades, this urge to bring the imagined into being.
Luckily, I’m married to someone who shares that creative pulse. Leslie, a Special Effects Makeup Artist, often dreams in a different direction than I do, but every so often, we both catch the same spark. That happened when she came to me with an idea: The Bride of Frankenstein, but with the color palette of Lisa Frank.
I saw it immediately. dolphins' in rainbow hues, gothic drama dipped in 80s nostalgia. Lisa Frank, the queen of technicolor notebooks and childhood joy, had never stepped into the shadowy world of Halloween… until now. The idea felt both absurd and perfect.
We’d played with the Bride before, once twisting the concept into something new, but this was different. This time, it was about contrast: horror meeting harmony, darkness bathed in color. So, we gathered at Casa Scott. Kat, our model, brought her radiant energy and creative soul. Mac, our stylist, arrived armed with combs, hair picks, and enough hairspray to stop time. Leslie conjured her magic with colors that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. And me... I stood ready to catch the spark when it hit.
Did we capture it? The impossible blend of gothic and glitter, of lightning and laughter? I’ll let you be the judge.
But I like to think that somewhere, deep in the archives of Tumblr, a ghost of my younger self is scrolling through the feed, pausing on this one, and smiling.
Spirit Halloween on 35mm Film
Spirit Halloween on 35mm Film
I took my old Olympus mju ii point-and-shoot 35mm, into a Spirit Halloween store. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much. Just some fun shots of skeletons, masks, and the chaotic aisles of seasonal weirdness. But film has a way of catching ghosts you don’t see until later.
When I got the scans back, the photos were nothing like what I thought I’d captured. They came out gritty, raw, almost dirty in a way that feels too perfect for Halloween. A cheap mask looks like something cursed. A plastic skeleton feels like it’s waiting for the lights to go out so it can move. Even the props, mass-produced and over-the-top—carry this dingy, haunted vibe you’d never expect in the bright chaos of a store.
And that’s what I love about it.
Film always surprises me. It doesn’t care about perfection or control, it leans into the flaws, the blur, the shadows, the dirt in the frame. That’s where the magic happens. In a world that polishes everything smooth, there’s something thrilling about images that feel a little unhinged, a little haunted. Spirit Halloween is chaotic enough on its own, but through the lens of 35mm film, it becomes something else entirely: a lo-fi fever dream where the plastic monsters feel just a bit too real.
That’s why I keep coming back to film. It makes even the fake look real, and sometimes, realer than I bargained for.
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Flying A Drone Into Fireworks
Flying A Drone Into Fireworks
Have you ever wondered what it would be like flying a drone into fireworks?
We’re only a few days into 2025, and I have to admit—I’m feeling uneasy about what lies ahead. This year carries an ominous weight that’s hard to shake, and though I’m doing my best to stay hopeful, it’s a battle against a creeping sense of dread. There are plenty of reasons I could list for this feeling. I’m worried about my 9-to-5 and what the future holds for me there. I’m anxious about the state of politics and the uncertain direction of America. I’m deeply frustrated by the way some religious institutions continue to groom, manipulate, and exploit their members—all while enjoying tax-exempt status.
To put it simply, I’m worried. But even in the face of that worry, I’m determined to hold onto hope and find moments of joy. So, as 2025 began, I decided to kick it off with something fun, something a little wild. On New Year’s Eve, I had one simple request:
I wanted to fly my drone into a bunch of fireworks.
Midnight came and went, and while I didn’t get to pull it off at the stroke of the new year, later that night in front of my in-laws’ house, I finally had my chance. I launched my drone into the air, right into a cascade of bright, exploding fireworks. Watching the bursts of light and color unfold through the drone’s lens was exhilarating—like capturing a front-row seat to chaos and beauty combined.
I haven’t had time to edit the footage yet, but for now, enjoy this unfiltered, raw video. Here’s to holding onto hope, even when the skies feel heavy, and chasing those moments that make it all worthwhile.
Santa Comes Home After A Long Night
Santa Comes Home After A Long Night
Last year, I got a chance to do something really special—a photoshoot with a friend I’ve known since my senior year of high school. She called me out of the blue and asked if I’d be interested in coming back to North Carolina to shoot her and a few of her burlesque sisters. Of course, I said yes. I mean, how could I not?
I was equal parts excited and nervous. It’s been years since we’d worked on anything together, and this was definitely new territory for me. But I love a creative challenge, so we made it happen.
When the day finally rolled around, it felt like stepping into a whirlwind of nostalgia and artistic energy. These women brought such an amazing vibe—confidence, humor, and so much personality. I couldn’t stop clicking my camera; every moment felt like magic.
By the end of the shoot, I had so many photos. Even now, months later, I’m still finding hidden gems I missed the first few times I went through them. That’s one of my favorite things about photography—there’s always something new to discover when you revisit your work.
But the real twist came from another photographer who joined us that day. Out of nowhere, he pulled out a Santa suit he’d brought along and offered to use himself as a prop. Honestly, none of us saw it coming, but it was perfect.
That’s when inspiration struck: What if we turned Santa into the star of the shoot? Picture this—Santa, exhausted from a long Christmas Eve of delivering gifts, coming home to his “reward.” The idea was too good to pass up.
We jumped right in, and the results were hilarious, cheeky, and surprisingly glamorous. I still crack a smile every time I look at those photos. They’re a mix of festive fun and the kind of burlesque elegance that only these performers could pull off.
This shoot was such a great reminder of why I love doing what I do. It wasn’t just about the photos; it was about the energy, the collaboration, and the unexpected magic that happens when you lean into the moment.
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The Winter Solstice
The Winter Solstice
Yesterday marked the Winter Solstice, the day with the least amount of sunlight and the most darkness of the year. For anyone unfamiliar, it’s a moment that holds deep significance in many cultures, both past and present. It’s often seen as a time to set intentions for the year ahead, gather around fires with loved ones, enjoy good food, and, most importantly, to rest. For many, the Solstice feels like the true end of the year—a closing of the season and the start of the gradual return to light.
For much of my life, I didn’t know anything about the Winter Solstice. Growing up Mormon, my understanding of the world was shaped almost entirely by that framework, leaving little room for
exploration of other traditions. It was about a decade ago that I first encountered the Solstice, and its themes and rituals resonated deeply with me. Over the years, it has become increasingly meaningful, a quiet yet profound cornerstone in my personal journey.
Yesterday, I spent the morning gathering materials for what I can only describe as an offering of sorts, placed in my backyard. It was born from a mix of creativity and inspiration, and I’m pleased with how it turned out. While I don’t worship or follow any specific deity, I like to think the universe received it with goodwill.
The rest of the day—and much of the night—was spent by the fire. There’s something grounding about watching the flames dance, feeling the warmth, and letting the smoke cleanse away lingering burdens. Even now, as I sit writing this, I’m wrapped in the hoodie I wore last night. The comforting scent of smoke lingers on the fabric, a subtle reminder of the embers that burned into the night.
As is often the case during moments of reflection, my camera accompanied me, becoming part of my observance. When the sun set and the light faded, I captured a self-portrait—a visual memento of the day. I quite like how it turned out, and it feels like a fitting way to mark the occasion.
To those of you who celebrate the Winter Solstice, I hope it was a day of peace and renewal for you. And as we step into the coming year, may it bring light, blessings, and growth for us all.