Fear & Flatulence at Thirty Thousand Feet
BY JL COPELAND
* For a bit of mood music as you read this post, I suggest this banger by Joy Division:
I’m a nervous flier.
What do I mean by nervous?
No, I’ve never refused to board a plane.
Yes, in 2026 , I have looked into the Trans-Siberian Express as a sensible* means of travelling to and from the UK.
*SPOILER: Not sensible, and since the start of the Russia-Ukraine War, now even less so.
No, I don’t need anxiety medication or to ask the flight attendants to keep the pints of Jack Daniels coming.
Yes, on the ‘pros list,’ in the mental back and forth about relocating to the UK, high above
‘cultural integration of children’ and ‘spending time with ageing parents,’ is ‘long-haul flights can go fuck themselves.’
As regular readers will have worked out by now, I have an overactive imagination. I also struggle in some circumstances where I have a lack of control.
I don’t think I’m so bad that it’s noticeable. It’s not like I’m clawing at the back of the seat in front with the sick bag over my head screeching,
‘WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE AND NO ONE HAS EVEN READ MY BOOK YET!!!’
I actually thought I’d improved.
Then two summers ago, on the annual flight back to Blighty with the kids, turbulence.
Nine frickin’ hours of it.
I shit you not.
I can—usually—deal with a few little bumps here and there. It’s pretty unavoidable on a thirteen-hour flight.
But NINE HOURS.
I wasn’t so much having kittens as having panther cubs, the little critters raking their salt-streaked claws along the curves of my colon on their way out.
The kids, bless their ignorant little hearts, took no notice of the bad air trying to buck them against the roof of the cabin. They spent most of the time squabbling about what to watch.
But didn’t they have separate screens, you ask? The Girl is three years older than The Boy and insists on setting their viewing agenda for the entire flight. She likes control, too.
While they’re arguing about the merits of Catch TeeniePing versus Kung Fu Panda 4, I’m eyes-closed, arm-rests crumpling beneath my vice-like grip, attempting to keep breathing—and bowels—in check as I wonder when the wings are going to snap off.
It was so bad I thought, ‘there’s no way I’m getting on the plane back to Korea.’
So, I turned to Google.
Has a plane ever crashed due to turbulence?
If you’re a faint-hearted flier like me, you’ll be relieved to hear that no plane ever crashed due to turbulence.
That made me feel better.
But what about the rest of it: an overlooked mechanical fault? Simultaneous heart attacks for both pilots? AI becomes aware, gives the finger to humanity and, Skynet-style, downs every plane in the sky? etc. etc.
If you go down that road, you’ll end up like the guy in my short story, One in a Million, and never get out of bed.
On the return flight, bad air again. Hours of it. But I dealt with it, just.
Along with the Googling, I had also remembered this piece of time-worn but true advice: only worry about things within your control.
Apply that nugget of wisdom to every area of your life, and you’ll do just fine.
Why do I get so anxious when writing?
I’ve seen that question on many writing forums. When it came to writing my, anxiety used to paralyse me or at best, make me feel overwhelmed. Not anymore.
To paraphrase a famous quote: What’s the use of worrying? ‘None of us are getting out of here alive.’
How to deal with anxiety as a writer?
To repeat, only worry about things within your control. And even then, keep your concerns to a bare minimum. Focus.
I could worry about things like: Will Nicksgate ever be published? Will anyone read it? Will I finish it before my parents die? Will I finish it before I die?
And all that would be a waste of time and energy.
Each day, I lift one of my dainty size 7 feet and put it in front of the other one.
Last week, I finished the sixth draft of Nicksgate. (Yes, you can blow the party horn now.)
This week, I am going to feed it into one of those text-to-speech jobbies and listen back to it.
Next week, I start the editing.
When that’s done, I’ll send it to beta readers.
I’ll read the feedback. Then more editing.
One step at a time, not worrying about anything except what I can deal with, right now.
And so it goes.
What do most writers struggle with?
They let themselves become overwhelmed. Worries about things that are beyond their control worm their way into their minds. They lose heart, they lose focus. Self-doubt blooms inside them like a black rose.
All writers at some point forget that writing can be very simple: concentrate on one thing at a time, and keep going.
You’ve got this. Now stop the handwringing and do what you need to do.
Or, as Monty Python puts it:
By the way, I’m five hours into the flight back to Korea as I write this.
So far, smooth skies.
But if I don’t make it, remember what I said about—wait, if this fucker goes down… OH MY GOD, none of you will get to read this blog post. The humanity! What about JL?
WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF JL!?
Until next time—I hope.
Speak soon,
JL
PS: For more nuggets of writing wisdom, check out my five top tips for writers. Part one is HERE.
PPS: If you like stories about dealing with fear, check out this post about dogs and this post about my delightful experience at a heart hospital.
PPPS: For freebies and more of the struggles of a writer marooned in Korea, trying to tunnel out of one word at a time, along with other freebies, sign up for my newsletter: