Through My Lens

Joanna Artis loves taking pictures, and now she gets I dream chance to do that. She has always moved around, loosing homes and family, now she's found a new home. But will the magazine job cause her to lose her the very home and chance it have her with one direction? Will she have to leave home again?


1. Somewhere New

My first camera  was a Polaroid instant film camera. One of those kinds that snaps a photo then spits out a black square for which you then wave about like a maniac till the photo forms. That was my first camera. Though old and vintage I loved my camera and the first photo I took was a photo of a love locks bridge right outside my Paris door. 

Years later I had to retire that old camera. I moved from France to Spain. Spain to England. Small town to capitol city with a around 8.1 million people. London was a scary place for one moving there all alone. The moment I got off the plane I was glad for my sister obsession with America. French was my first language but when we moved to Spain I had to quickly pick up Spanish. English became a pleasure of my sister and I. Our neighbors, who had lived in America for most their lives, decided to return to her hometown for retirement. That taught everything American and soon my sister and i were ordering movies shows from over seas. We learned English so we wouldn't have to suffer though subtitles. That being said it wasn't easy. its been eight years since I started learning and i still wasn't the most fluent. I had a bad habit of throwing in a French word here or there as I talked. Honest, I hated talking, but being that its a necessity to life I'v had to adapt.

Now I'm a 20 year old, trilingual, inspiring  college dropout photographer, forced to live in London after my sister left for america and i had to sell our home in Spain to pay for college. That was three years ago. My parents? Somewhere in Paris, probably.

"Say cheez!"

Snap. Today my customers were a lovely couple that was visiting the city for their honeymoon. You could of spotted them from a mile away. Smiling, laughing, looking into each others eyes, and pointing in every which direction. They spotted me taking my daily photos of the city. I work as partner to a well known photography shop. by partnership I mean I sell them my shots of the city every now and again for them to turn into large prints, postcards, or other various gifts. Also when people come in wanting something special they call me to the scene, which is usually once a day. Do they pay me? No. Rarely do I get a percentage of the sale. That plus the money I get for selling my photos. But the best part is they rent out one of the rooms to me above the shop and let me use the basement as a black room for my photos. Which all but make being the photographer slave worthwhile.  

The couple poses again and i kneel down, getting the setting sun between them. Honeymooners love these kinds of shoots. 

For a second the busy loud streets of London don't exist. The cars and people are gone leaving behind the old style building and jagged cobblestone road all lean in, framing, the lovely couple. Who, so transfixed with each other, don't even notice that there is a world around them. It was the look of love. Though true love? probably not. Just a temporary fascination enhancing the greatness of a new day that their marriage has brought them. It was the older couples I enjoyed to take photos of. The ones who decided to grow old together, not grow tired. Their love was something beautiful to take a picture of.  

When I returned to the shop Mr.Evens, the store keeper, told me I had an important guest in viewing room A. Thinking it was another client I quickly swap out memory cards and head to the room. Viewing room a was one of two rooms we used to show the clients the pictures I had taken, well furnished and decorated with pictures of the London skyline, customers were encouraged to take there time making there selections.

"Miss Joanna Artis?"

The man in the room was no client. He was a business man, a lawyer, a concerned stock holder.

"I'm here to day representing the concerns of the Aureus Music Group

"I'm not talking about this." I turn back to the door and start to leave.

"It's about the band One Direction. The one you almost tore apart."

I stop and shut the door. I know he's smiling before I turn around.

"Traître. What do you want?"

Oh, yea did I mention that one years ago I was a member of the paparazzi.


Authors notes

Thanks for reading. Hopefully I can get the story really going soon. I know my chapters can be short but I write what I can in one sitting a publish. 

If you'd like to Co-Author with me I would much appreciate the help in writing and editing of the story.

I apologize for any weird grammar or spelling/ word choice. I'm often a victim of spellcheck and auto correct.

Hope you enjoyed chapter one!


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