Printing your work helps secure photography jobs. It has for me since 1996. Yes, we are right smack in the middle of the Digital Age, but print has a way of cutting through the noise. 

Print can be slow, semi-costly (depending on what you print), and complicated when you add in the edit, sequence, typography, page design, and trim size. But the payoff is when print lands on the desk of someone who makes decisions and understands the importance of those things. 

Phones down. Books up. Based on my personal experience, printed pieces linger on places like the desks of editors, agents, and art buyers. The desks of decision makers.

Before print, no one was looking at my work

My first encounter with the power of print to secure a job dates back to New York City in 1996. I made my first trip as a wannabe photographer, and like the total novice I was, I made a myriad of bad decisions. 

I wore a tie with cameras on it, thinking this would endear me to New York editor types. I also had hair down to my shoulders and spent as much time partying with my friends as I did attempting to visit the photo authorities. And I also neglected to bring anything in print. My entire approach was based on a single page of 35mm transparencies. I thought I was cool, awesome, and supremely talented. Wrong again, on all counts.

I assumed that the photo authorities would all be equipped with ultramodern light tables or slide projectors, or some other high-tech device I had yet to be exposed to, but no, not at all. In fact, many did not have any kind of viewing device. 

They held up my beloved work to desk lamps, windows, or any other feeble light source emitting from their office spaces. I realized quickly they were not seeing my work. The top two rows of my slides were singles, and the bottom three rows were a story. Not one person figured it out. Gut punch.

Even before I left New York, I was already thinking, “There must be a better way.” And there was. I decided to make my own magazine. 

There were a few initial issues, however. I did not own a computer, had no design skills, and no idea how to start. Oh, and I had no money. Other than that, it was easy. 

The turning point in my photography career: making my first magazine

I asked the design department at the newspaper I worked for to help build my magazine, and they told me not to come back or ask them again. I asked other photographers, who mostly brushed me off. I ended up at a reprographics house, far out on the dusty fringe of the city. The entire place smelled like ink and glue. 

Fortunately for me, the repro house had a “computer kid” in the back who took a liking to my photography, and he offered to help me in exchange for one of my images. And this is how my print career began.

Three months later, I had my first magazine—an oversized, laminated thing that featured three stories and basic, rudimentary layouts. 

I can’t explain how empowering this felt. In short, creating this one-off print piece changed my life, and the payoff began as soon as I started mailing them out. 

I could only afford ten copies, so I chose the ten most desirable clients I could think of. All the people I thought would never show any interest in me: The New York Times Magazine, German Geo, and The National Geographic, amongst others. I mailed them off and waited.

When the handwritten letter from the Director of Photography at The National Geographic arrived, my first thought was “Oh no, I must have done something wrong.” Why would he, a legend, reach out to me, a nobody? I was so shocked to receive something from National Geographic that I had forgotten I had sent the magazine. 

The letter was complimentary and cordial, inquiring as to how I had created my “thing.” The letter said, “We haven’t seen anything like this before.” 

Shortly after the letter arrived, my phone rang, and the person on the other end had a heavy, German accent. “We don’t normally work with young photographers,” she said. “But we are intrigued by your portfolio and your story on Guatemala.” It turns out the voice belonged to the photo editor at German Geo Magazine. 

The copy I mailed to a Magnum photographer arrived back at my house with a letter encouraging me to keep going and inquiring about how I had crafted my magazine. By creating my own publication, I had created a much-needed professional spark.

What made the magazine work

The magazine worked for a variety of reasons. First, it was new. The technology needed to make what I did was uncommon at the time. Most personal computers were slow, software was basic, and print options were nothing like they are today. 

The magazines also worked because they showed off a diverse skill set. They showed I could edit, sequence, write, design a page, and tell a story. They also showed I was at least semi-consistent and could photograph a wide range of subject matter, both domestic and international.

The second publication: creating a series

Since publishing my first magazine, I’ve printed hundreds of different pieces, many as roadmaps for other creatives. I’ve made books, magazines, edition-of-one art books, collaborations, and lo-fi zine publications. 

However, one of the most important to my career was a small book series that paid tribute to the original Life Magazine, a publication that played a significant role in my development as a photographer. Each time I would do a story, I would create a small book—forty pages, softcover, nothing fancy or expensive. I titled the series Essay, and the cover design is a black-and-white copy of the original Life Magazine design.

After printing four issues, the little stack began to take on a life of its own. Even though they were non-precious—softcover books with basic design and a limited number of images—the fact that there were four issues made them seem like more than the sum of their parts. 

I cannot remember why I brought them to a party, but I did. At the end of the night, I went to collect my books, and a man was looking at them. 

“I’d like to hire you for one year to make this kind of work for our company,” he said. 

“I don’t know anything about your company or your industry,” I replied, being the great salesperson that I am. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I think you can do it.” So, I did. (I would give myself a C.)

Practical advice: how to build a photo book to get hired

These days, I no longer do photography assignments, but I still make quite a few books. I highly recommend you do so as well, especially if securing professional creative jobs is part of your plan. 

If it seems daunting, take a deep breath and remember, bookmaking should be fun, not stressful or compromising in any way. Start now, today. Here’s how.

1. Start simply: Decide on the photographs or body of work you want to print. That is enough for one day. Sleep on it.
2. Don’t overdesign: If your work is decent, you don’t need to overdesign or stylize anything. Give your work space and let it carry the piece.
3. Design your cover last: Remember to take your time. This is the first impression (and maybe the only one), so make it count.
4. Think in series: Like my Essay publications, a few books with the same ingredients allow you to build out what feels like a library of your best work.
5. Include your contact info: Add your email, phone number, and website—not just your social handles. Many high-end clients won’t communicate through social channels, so you need traditional methods as well.
6. Make a bunch: Small books, large books, and everything in between. 
7. Share them: Take them to meetings, mail them out, and give them away when it makes sense.

Make your breakthrough book now

One last thing: Forget about perfection. I completely understand wanting to make the best work possible, but thinking you must make a perfect book before you hit print holds many people back. 

I have not seen a perfect book, and if I did, I fear it might be slightly boring. When someone engages with your book, they are also engaging with you and your story. Do you have something to say? Are you an interesting person? These are, at least in my mind, on the same importance level as the work itself.

Getting work in 1996 was difficult, and it is still difficult today. Printing your work will put you in the minority now, a wonderful place to be. Will it work every time? No, but the benefits far outweigh the effort or expense. 

I’ve also discovered something about print people. They tend to move more slowly, are more thoughtful than most, and when they engage, they tend to do so at depth. They know what it takes to make a book, and they appreciate taking one’s time. 

Landing any photography job is an incredible feeling. Landing one based on a combination of both your talent and your printed vision feels even better.

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Dan Milnor has made hundreds of books as Blurb’s creative ambassador. He helps creatives like you gain the confidence and skills to make their first book. With Blurb, you can design, print, and distribute your work—all on your own terms. Get started today.