If there is one thing I've learned over my 30 years as a published writer it is that not everyone is going to love what you write. In fact, a healthy number of people are probably going to disagree with just about anything you put out there. Look, even weathermen have this problem, and all they have to do is translate a METAR into whatever language they are communicating in that day. A writer who wants others to read what she has written cannot win. My advice? Get over it.
So much more easily written than said! Yes, even I can get annoyed by reader comments from time to time. Most recently I wrote a blog piece for an alphabet-soup aviation group that was really just a reflection on the new year, and my aspirations for flying in it. Simple. Pretty. Chock-full of suggestions on where to go with your airplane. I was clear about where I live and fly: south Florida. Winter is our favorite flying season here because the weather is as perfect as it gets, and predictable, too.
Commentary included pithy reminders that half the country is covered in ice and snow and, given the general conditions under which ice and snow occur, why would anyone want to go fly in a light aircraft? Well, that may be true for that commenter—but I wish he'd had a little more whimsy.
Heck, I wish he'd just considered that some of the most beautiful flying one can do is on a crystal clear, ice-cold still-wind day. (I know; I've done it.) The sky doesn't get any bluer than when it contrasts with a prairie of pure white snow, perhaps pocked by cottonwoods, pine and spindly aspen or birch, or even framed by colossal granite mountains.
The good news about this particular blog is that it is read by a huge faction of aviators, and before I could even argue with myself over whether to respond to the commenter another commenter came to my defense, noting that the other half of the country was basking in the best possible flying weather, from California to South Carolina and destinations south all was CAVU on that particular morning—a typical winter flying day for 95% of those locales.
My point precisely. Good to know at least one reader agreed.
So much more easily written than said! Yes, even I can get annoyed by reader comments from time to time. Most recently I wrote a blog piece for an alphabet-soup aviation group that was really just a reflection on the new year, and my aspirations for flying in it. Simple. Pretty. Chock-full of suggestions on where to go with your airplane. I was clear about where I live and fly: south Florida. Winter is our favorite flying season here because the weather is as perfect as it gets, and predictable, too.
Commentary included pithy reminders that half the country is covered in ice and snow and, given the general conditions under which ice and snow occur, why would anyone want to go fly in a light aircraft? Well, that may be true for that commenter—but I wish he'd had a little more whimsy.
Heck, I wish he'd just considered that some of the most beautiful flying one can do is on a crystal clear, ice-cold still-wind day. (I know; I've done it.) The sky doesn't get any bluer than when it contrasts with a prairie of pure white snow, perhaps pocked by cottonwoods, pine and spindly aspen or birch, or even framed by colossal granite mountains.
The good news about this particular blog is that it is read by a huge faction of aviators, and before I could even argue with myself over whether to respond to the commenter another commenter came to my defense, noting that the other half of the country was basking in the best possible flying weather, from California to South Carolina and destinations south all was CAVU on that particular morning—a typical winter flying day for 95% of those locales.
My point precisely. Good to know at least one reader agreed.
Flying is a lot more fun than sitting around not flying and wishing you were someplace else. The best stories come from challenging situations. The northern winter is just one of these.
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