Howard Seaborne
AUTHOR

Howard Seaborne

Literature & Fiction
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I think you should hear this from me. Sure, I could write it in the third person and try to make myself sound interesting in the most detached way possible. But where’s the fun in that? Born the second of five (perfect positioning), I grew up in the house my parents built on my grandparents’ farmhouse front lawn (all the fun of the farm without the stress of having to be a farmer). There’s a picture of me at age six holding the birthday cake my mother made. It has an airplane on it. I started working on the farm around age ten. The whole time my head was in the clouds. If I wasn’t watching airplanes fly over, I was daydreaming about them, reading about them, building models and flying balsa airplanes off the top of sixty-foot silos. I started flying lessons when I was sixteen. With some money my parents borrowed using the family car as collateral, I earned my commercial license and flight instructor rating and turned professional when I was eighteen. In parallel to all this, starting around age ten, I began writing “novels.” They were painstakingly scrawled in cursive in lined-paper spiral notebooks using those old cartridge-type fountain pens. Glorious adventures of spies and pilots and evil-doers. Daydreaming at its finest. I also read. About airplanes. About history. About men and ships and the sea. Around the time I should have been applying to the airlines for a chance to wear the ultimate uniform, they invented the “Arab Oil Embargo.” Look it up. And while I was building hours to meet airline hiring requirements, a guy named Lorenzo raped and plundered Eastern Airlines. Look it up. For the better part of the next decade, there were scores of over-qualified pilots applying for every single job opening. While flying charters, I realized that as much as I love flying, and still do, I might not be cut out to fly from A to B to C to D and back to C then B then A, week in and week out. I needed a creative outlet. Enter Vic Zilbert, a private-pilot student of mine who owned an ad agency. He saw something in the kid from the farm with the leather flying jacket, and I found out you could make money by making shit up. Vic let me write. Then he edited the living daylights out of what I wrote. I learned more about writing from Vic than all the English classes in my limited education. I kept on writing. I kept on flying. And here I am. These days I fly a Beechcraft Bonanza, a Beechcraft Baron and a Rotorway experimental helicopter that I built myself. (Look it up. www.Rotorway.com) Nothing, and I mean nothing, beats that “Peter Pan” moment when being earthbound ends and flight begins. Except maybe writing about it. Thanks for reading about it. This is approximately what it says at the end of my novels. Howard Seaborne began writing novels at age ten and flying airplanes at age sixteen. He is a former flight instructor and charter pilot. Today he flies a Beechcraft Bonanza, a Beechcraft Baron and a Rotorway experimental helicopter that he built in his garage. He lives with his wife and writes and flies during all four seasons in Wisconsin.
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