My last post is no longer here. It was supposed to be mildly amusing. It was supposed to say something about how sitcom writing in the 1960s and 1970s affected my own “writer’s journey.” But it was forced, and the more I re-read it, the more tortured it felt. I was trying too hard to be funny, and that always produces the opposite result. As one of my editors said, “This sentence is so tortured it should be put out of its misery.”

So that’s today’s lesson: There are sentences that cannot be saved. There are blog posts that aren’t good enough. There are days when the little voice in my head is right.

[Update: I don’t want to scare anyone into thinking it takes four years to learn how to fly. It took me that long for other reasons. Normally it takes from 2 to 12 months, depending on your availability and the weather, with 60-80 hours in the air.]

After four years of lessons, including a long interruption from covid-19, I finally earned my private pilot certificate! Traditionally I should write something profound about flying, but in the end it wasn’t about conquering the air. It was about conquering myself. I often study a new interest but don’t actually do anything with it. I buy a book or two. Maybe I dabble for a while. Then I move on to something else. This time around, I quit taking flying lessons twice (besides the break for covid-19), but I went back each time. Getting the certificate became an exercise in ignoring the shoulder angels who whispered that flying was too difficult.

Aviation has taught me confidence and humility in equal measures. By nature, I’m not adventurous. I’m not interested in flying blind in the clouds, relying on instruments to keep myself upright. Give me a nice day with high clouds and I’ll fly a few thousand feet up, enjoying my life and the view of the world below. That’s enough for me, because the shoulder angels aren’t wrong. The paradox of human flight is that if you listen to your fears, you’ll never leave the ground, but if you ignore the quiet doubts, someday you’ll become a cautionary tale.

And now that the mental pressure is off, I can turn my attention back to another ambition. I have a novel out for querying. While the responses dribble in, I’ll get back to work on a couple of short stories that have been languishing. There are some earlier novels that need significant re-writes and some sketches that need to grow into real books. In the past four years, my flying skills got better and so did my writing. It’s only a matter of time before something gets published, as long as I don’t quit.

In a week, I’ll be flying to San Diego Comic-Con. It’ll be the first time in three years. During the depths of the covid-19 crisis, I missed the Con, the people, and my friends. I missed the crowds and the long lines of eager faces waiting to get into the convention center each morning. I missed the artists I’ve gotten to know over the years. I missed the writers. And mostly I missed the volunteers with whom I work.

In the meantime, I’m nearing the end of my preparations to earn my Private Pilot certificate. Between uncooperative weather and my being a slow learner at certain kinds of tasks, it has been a long road. My landings are much better now, and I’m much more in sync with the combination of visual and physical skills needed. Most of what’s left is a cross country solo flight down to Columbia (SC), then to Greenwood near Abbeville, where my dad used to be the Episcopal priest, then back to Greenville. It would have happened a couple of weeks ago, but the weather keeps throwing low clouds and thunderstorms in our direction. The flight school is busy with summer camps this week, so my next opportunity will be Friday, but the weather is already looking unsuitable. After that, I just need to refine some specific skills for the “check ride”–the Private Pilot version of the final exam.

The delays don’t trouble me. Aviation teaches Patience, and those who are slow to learn become cautionary tales in the ledgers of the NTSB.

I have a Gaslamp Fantasy novel queried out to a number of agents. Now I’m waiting for responses. The intervening silence can eat away at a writer’s confidence, but the patience I’m learning from flying helps keep my confidence intact. That, and working on another novel. It’s the first time I’ve tried a middle-grade story–the backstory of one of the main characters from an earlier fantasy novel. And there’s a short story still in the works, and a slightly wacky fantasy novel that involves some stroppy furniture. I’ll keep trying until something gets published.