An Amateur Author's Odyssey to Recognition

Gloomy Musings on Human Paranoia

       I am sure in my heart of hearts that there was a time when people were more accommodating for one another’s needs. I have to believe this, because if I did not then the thought that we have always been so frustratingly paranoid and mistrusting would only thicken the coat of cynicism I have been so readily developing during my college years. I am not a social person at the best of times, so it is hard enough just working up the nerve to ask people for help in a class assignment. But to be viewed with what I can only describe as wary scorn as a result does little to warm me to the human race in general. 

            My original plan for the photography assignment was to visit historic Zoar village. Unfortunately, though a pleasant enough place, there were few people around, and the problem with taking pictures of buildings is that they are most likely still going to be there the next day, which may be convenient but doesn’t offer much in the way of unique photos. Thus I had to find a new location.

            I decided to go to the Hartville marketplace, which I was assured was abundant with people. Though this proved correct, few were willing to allow having their picture taken. Also, the cramped confines of the aisles made photography in general a difficult prospect. Eventually I settled on clandestine photos as I walked about the store, snapping as quickly and inoffensively as I could before anyone could complain, although I did attract a few suspicious looks. In all I found one man who was kind enough to accommodate me, which did raise my spirits slightly.

            All in all I would say this was more an exercise in the psychology of the human condition than a journalistic venture, though it did, in its own way, prove enlightening. It is sad that people are so distrusting nowadays, but maybe I just need a thicker skin. Hopefully I can learn to be more persuasive if my journalistic career is to involve a lot of photography. 

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