When most people think of photographers, they picture us strolling through golden fields, cameras slung casually over our shoulders, capturing the magic of life in a single click. Romantic, right? Well, let me ruin the fantasy for you: being a photographer is 90% sitting at a computer, squinting at the screen like a sleep-deprived goblin, and 10% trying to remember where you put your lens cap. Take last week, for example. I spent an hour shooting a family session in the field by the house. It was picture-perfect: kids running, parents laughing, golden light streaming through the trees. It was a Hallmark movie in real life. But as soon as I got home, I transformed into my editing "cave creature" self. Five hours later, I was still tweaking Aunt Linda’s flyaway hair and debating whether the shadows in the dog’s fur were “moody” or just “weird.” And don’t even get me started on removing the random photobombing jogger who appeared in the background of 17 otherwise flawless shots. That guy owes me half a day of my life.

If you’ve ever seen a photographer in their natural habitat, you might think they’re just artsy types frolicking in golden hour fields or scaling precarious cliffs for the perfect shot. But once the camera clicks stop, the real goblin hours begin.

That’s right—photographers are basically computer goblins, living in a dimly lit cave of screens, coffee mugs, and approximately 72 tabs open at once. Allow me to elaborate.

The Editing Lair

Picture this: a photographer hunched over a computer, face illuminated by the cool glow of Lightroom. Their fingers dance across the keyboard, dodging and weaving through sliders and masks like they’re playing a video game nobody else understands. Somewhere in the background, there’s a soft playlist of lo-fi beats, punctuated by muttered curses whenever Photoshop decides to crash (again).

If that’s not goblin behavior, I don’t know what is.

The Hoard of Storage

What’s a goblin without a hoard? For photographers, it’s hard drives—so many hard drives. There’s the backup drive, the backup-backup drive, and the “just in case” drive that’s still full from 2015. Add in cloud storage subscriptions, random SD cards in every drawer, and a desktop that looks like a game of digital Tetris, and you’ve got yourself a proper hoard.

Oh, and don’t even think about asking a photographer to delete old files. “I might need this one random outtake someday,” they’ll say, clinging to a blurry photo of a pigeon like it’s the One Ring.

Speaking Fluent Goblin-Tech

Photographers have their own language, and it’s indecipherable to outsiders. Sentences like, “I need to calibrate my monitor because the sRGB on my exports is too warm,” roll off their tongues as if they’re discussing the weather.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are left nodding politely, wondering if “calibrate” is a fancy word for “turn it off and on again.”

Goblin Hours (aka Deadlines)

Photographers thrive in goblin hours. When the world sleeps, they’re meticulously retouching skin tones, fixing flyaway hairs, or removing that one random bystander who photobombed an otherwise perfect shot. Their sleep schedule is less of a schedule and more of a gamble. "Just one more edit" often turns into a 3 a.m. rabbit hole of color grading experimentation.

Coffee is their elixir, and snacks are their sustenance. Empty wrappers and half-drunk mugs of tea form a ring around their workspace, like some kind of summoning ritual for creative inspiration.

The Endless Quest for New Gear

Goblin lore often involves quests for shiny treasures, and photographers are no different. Except their treasure is gear. Lenses, camera bodies, and gadgets with names so complicated they sound like spells. They’ll pour over reviews and forums for weeks, deciding between a f/1.4 or f/1.2 lens, because apparently, 0.2 makes all the difference.

And once they have the treasure? It’s lovingly added to their gear hoard, only to be used twice because their favorite lens still reigns supreme.

Conclusion: Embrace Your Inner Goblin

So yes, photographers are basically computer goblins, toiling away in their digital caves, hoarding terabytes of treasures, and speaking in tongues no mortal can understand. But here’s the thing: goblins make magic. From their dark lairs come photos that capture memories, tell stories, and occasionally make you cry (in a good way).

So next time you see a photographer during their goblin phase, give them a nod of respect. Just don’t touch their hoard.