Step one is always the same: choosing your target. Do you want a landscape, a close up of a flower, a pet’s portrait, or Heaven forbid, a photograph of actual people? Choosing the target is always the hardest part, because the landscape is always covered in puddles since it has been raining since May, the flowers are always swaying with the wind and come out a beautifully colored blur every time, the pet is scratching at the door to get out, and the people hate your guts because you always have a camera in your eye. Your knick-name is Cyclops.

Step two is basic. You must have a battery in your camera that has enough remaining power to withstand a five second photo processing. Perhaps I am placing these steps in the wrong order technically, but in reality, the battery is almost always thought of after the fact. You see your great shot first, then you worry about whether you have the capacity to capture it or not. Then you figure out that you don’t, so you go running through the house screaming incoherent words about the intellectual capacity of your average battery. You fumble, you rummage, and eventually you find what you are looking for. But of course, by that time the photo opportunity is gone. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to worry about film?

Step three is the easy part. After you change your battery and pick a new “perfect” shot, you will actually experience the joy of taking a picture. You have framed it, focused it, clicked it, and watched the image come up on the view screen. Congratulations! You have successfully cut the head off Aunt Martha. Not that it would have mattered much since her eyes were shut anyway. In a moment, Aunt Martha will want to see her picture, after all, she just had her hair done and all. You have a couple of options now. You can surreptitiously delete the picture and tell her, “it didn’t come out”, or you can toss the camera into the nearest trash receptacle, knowing that if Aunt Martha ever saw that picture your photography career is over anyway.

You wisely keep the camera and delete the hideous photo. Now you have to take another one. This time aim high but not too high. Aunt Martha ‘s four chins have to be visible so she can scream at you for having no artistic talent and making her look fat. Now is the time for step four. Now this step is the technically difficult part of the process, and if you are not particularly computer literate, you may have a little trouble here. Hint: The power button on the P.C. is usually the one with no markings near it whatsoever. If in doubt just push them all until something starts to hum.

Step five comes after the hum. This is when you have to actually get your fabulous picture from the camera, into the computer. The easiest way is to remove the removable chip, (once a five year old shows you how) and drop it through the vent slots on the back of the computer. This method will necessitate a visit from that nice computer repairman named Bubba, who will take the back off your P.C., locate the chip, and remove it with electrically super-charged tweezers because his hand is too big to fit down into that confined space. Bubba’s doctor bills should arrive in your mailbox soon.

Step six: The five year old has uploaded your picture from the camera, into the P.C. Now you are ready for some heavy-duty photo editing, that is, assuming that you can tell which shortcut opens the photo software, and which one will erase your hard drive. Now, after you have had your hard drive reformatted, you finally locate the correct software link and you move the mouse to it and click. When the poor mouse squeaks in pain and you release it to the family cat, you are ready to locate the computer’s mouse and open that software.

Step seven is the actual editing of the photograph which was taken six weeks ago last Friday and could have been done faster at Wally’s Supermarket down the street. If you can still locate the original five year old child let him do it.

See what a gorgeous photo you have created! Now aren’t you glad you went to all that trouble?