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Flying over the Chesapeake Bay on a lazy Sunday

Updated on March 3, 2014


The Chesapeake Bay
The Chesapeake Bay | Source
The Chesapeake Bay
The Chesapeake Bay | Source
The Chesapeake Bay
The Chesapeake Bay | Source
Flying over The Chesapeake Bay
Flying over The Chesapeake Bay | Source

Flying over Chesapeake Bay

I was recently informed by my Washington D.C. editor friend, who complains endlessly about what a silly and stupid, girlish fantasy writer I have recently become. Maybe he is correct, I don’t really know anything anymore, he seems to only concentrate on my typos and my unwillingness to feel the importance of double spacing or capitalizing the correct words as the big ole AP book generally commends as importance and godly.

I understand the need to complain endlessly about the actions of others. I never get involved in the dynamics of this type of relationship. I simply do not allow the actions of others to ever upset me. I firmly believe we choose our own fate, for better or worse.

I never took a formal Journalism class in my entire life, and I only recently became this idiotic and stoic writer to write about other peoples’ accomplishments, successes and to help better market their volunteering efforts or whatever they were doing to actually help mankind. I never became a writer by any sense of the word to be a self-indulgent, ignorant, jerk.

The Washington D.C. editor just recently decided he had to show off his old Naval Aviation stripes to me and after an hour flight over Delaware, he ends up landing this experimental sports plane, unannounced, at the Chesapeake River Naval Base because he forgot to declare an air emergency before he landed, we were extremely lucky to not have been shot down or arrested after landing.

It is rather difficult to take writing advice from someone who almost got me killed over Washington D.C. air space in what was supposed to be a 45 minute Chesapeake Bay flight that ended up with me having to show ID and answer questions about whether I ever had any ties to terrorism.

This man, typically and defiantly, shows no remorse over his actions. He gives me the lecture on my writing style nine hours later on our drive back to my car that is safely parked at the Bethesda-Chevy Chase YMCA. We have just spent almost two hours being interrogated by the Patuxent River Naval staff, another two hours being driven back to my Editor’s car by Captain Marty Al lard, the true hero of this entire story.

While being held at the Naval Base, The woman who owns the beautiful sports airplane we were flying was called by my Editor and she had to send someone by car to pick us up. By sheer luck it happened to be retired Naval Captain Martin Al-lard who upon arrival at the base informed security that he used to be the Superior officer of whoever was currently running the base. It was a beautiful thing to watch.

Marty wasted no time in announcing his opinion of wasted time on a Naval Base on a Sunday afternoon. We were released and on our way off the base within twenty minutes.He is a really amazing person and I hope he goes into politics.

I was a Photographer first and a text writer second. I can write headlines and edit some nice images that captivate the audience long enough for them to spend a whole 60 seconds perhaps, reading an article.

We are not really writers anymore. Go take a walk around the internet and you will see how everything is so different. My job as an article writer is simply to hyperlink to other articles and put the reader in an endless cycle of attention deficit clicking. That is all I do, that is the name of the game. No one cares about your talent or ability to use the Associated Press guidelines anymore. There is way too much badly written material on the internet, and no one really reads anything cover to cover. Maybe there are some over thirty-five year old who attack the New York Times in such a manner. The young kids could care less. Readers have to have an attention span in which to peruse an entire three minute article to begin with and I have a pretty good sense that the majority of people under the age of twenty-two have very little attention span in which to actually commit to read an item that they find worthy of their time. You are probably better off communicating in images than in words. The images, if conveying the proper amount of emotion or anxiety or tension, are the only thing that seems to grab an audience’s authentic attention.

Sad, isn't it?

However, the Washington D.C. editor is pulling in a six figure income while being offered jobs in Saudi Arabia, New Delhi and other exotic locations, potentially due to his military and naval experience. Hope he doesn't go on a joy flight over any military bases in the Middle East.

Women in this field would never be offered the same sort of opportunities, unless they are sheer risk takers, and find the life so stimulating. Travel writing is supposedly a very romantic and embellishing art. It takes someone with guts and an entertaining vocabulary to glorify the best places in the world. Where are the Martha Gel horns of today? Who are not afraid of sneaking in to a man’s world of war and terror and things exploding every five minutes.

I apparently, am too much of a big moron and “bad writer” to ever become a part of the truly great risk takers that have gone before me. I hope to only set a great example for the ones who come up behind me and maybe they will find out before it is too late that consistency is the only true adapter they will ever need to know. Spend some time with a few American prison inmates and you will understand pain and gratitude and you won’t really care what they say about you behind your back anymore.

Once you are exposed to a world of pain over and over again, you no longer care about words like “good” or “great” or even “mediocre” those words have lost all meaning to me, and I simply wish to say a few words to that editor that rhyme with “duck shoe”. It simply has no meaning anymore, my job is to embellish and hyperlink, nothing more, nothing less. I do hope you enjoy the photos at the very least.

Chesapeake Bay

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