Over the past few weeks, I’ve stepped into a new role that has placed me right back into the world of Private Jet Aviation. It feels good to be back in my wheelhouse—sales and operations—working with an incredible ops team that truly loves what they do. What makes it even more rewarding is that we are a fully remote team, spread across the country, yet united by our passion for aviation. Different walks of life, different backgrounds, but one shared drive. It shows in the way we work together.
When I came home to Alaska, my heart was set on helping in any way I could. I wanted to contribute, to lend my experience, and to move projects forward. But the reality was harder than expected. Leadership support was missing at key moments, and decisions that needed to be made simply weren’t. It left me confused and, if I’m honest, a little discouraged.
In the end, it became clear that my help wasn’t truly needed in the way I had hoped. That was a difficult realization, and making the decision to move on wasn’t easy. But today, I find myself deeply thankful for this new opportunity and for the people I now get to work alongside.
I still hope the best for the projects happening here in Metlakatla. This is home, and I care about the work being done. But for now, I’m grateful to have found a team and a space where my skills are being put to good use again.
At the end of the day, I see this as another reminder that the journey—whether in aviation, family, or faith—isn’t always a straight line, but every turn has a purpose in shaping where we’re meant to be.
Faith-focused: “Through it all, I’m reminded that God’s plan often unfolds in ways I don’t expect, but always in ways that prepare me for where I’m meant to be.”
Family-focused: “It’s another reminder that the work I do isn’t just for me—it’s about creating stability and setting an example for my family, showing them that resilience matters.”
Aviation-focused: “Much like flying, this journey has had its turbulence and course corrections, but every adjustment keeps me moving toward the horizon where I’m meant to be.”
Becoming a writer and publishing your first book isn’t some unreachable dream—it’s a very real, achievable goal. And here’s the best part: you don’t have to do it all at once. A blog can serve as your creative testing ground, your accountability partner, and your first audience. It’s where your voice takes shape and where the seeds of a book can begin to grow.
This journey, from concept to creation, unfolds in stages. Each step builds on the last, taking you closer to the moment when you hold your book in your hands.
Step 1: Define Your Purpose and Idea
Every book begins with a “why.” Why do you want to write? Who do you want to reach?
For nonfiction, think about the problem you want to help readers solve. Your blog posts can act as mini-experiments—sharing tips, ideas, or reflections that let you see what resonates.
For fiction, passion is everything. Choose a story you love enough to live with for months (or years). Anchor your characters and plot around a central theme—the heartbeat of your story—that carries it all the way through.
Step 2: Create a Strategic Blog
Think of your blog as both your writer’s portfolio and your workshop.
Choose a niche: A focused blog builds trust and attracts the right readers.
Pick a platform and name: WordPress, Squarespace, or even Substack work well. Pick a name that’s easy to remember and feels like you.
Write in advance: Draft a few posts and an “About Me” page before you launch. Give visitors something to explore right away.
Promote consistently: Share your work, connect with readers, and show up regularly. Consistency grows your community.
Step 3: Develop and Outline Your Book
Outlines aren’t about limiting creativity—they’re about giving yourself a roadmap.
Structure matters: For nonfiction, create a logical flow that builds chapter by chapter. For fiction, map out your story arc and your characters’ journeys.
Use your blog as a testing ground: Write posts that double as book material. Pay attention to what readers respond to—that feedback is golden.
Step 4: Write the First Draft
This is where the real work begins—but also where the magic happens.
Set goals: Daily or weekly word counts help the project move forward.
Build a routine: Treat writing like an appointment you can’t skip.
Silence the inner editor: The first draft is supposed to be messy. Get the words down; polish later.
Step 5: Revise and Edit
A book is truly made in the rewriting.
Self-edit first: Tidy up structure, fix pacing, strengthen characters or arguments.
Seek feedback: Beta readers and writing groups help you see blind spots.
Go professional: A skilled editor sharpens your manuscript to industry standards.
Step 6: Publish and Promote
Now comes the leap—from private project to public book.
Choose your path: Traditional publishing means agents and proposals; self-publishing offers more control and faster timelines.
Promote through your blog: Share behind-the-scenes posts, teaser chapters, and cover reveals.
Engage your readers: Offer freebies, giveaways, or early access to your most loyal subscribers.
Marketing isn’t about shouting—it’s about sharing your story with the people who are already listening.
Final Thoughts
Writing a book is less about talent and more about persistence. When you use a blog as your starting place, you don’t just build an audience—you build momentum. Each post becomes a step closer to the finished manuscript.
Your words matter. Your story matters. And if you commit to the process, one day soon, you’ll get to see your name on the cover of a book.
For me, this process isn’t just theory—it’s real. My own writing journey began with stories from the docks and skies of Southeast Alaska, where I worked around seaplanes as a teenager before eventually flying them myself. Those experiences became the foundation for my first book, a memoir that I’m shaping one post, one reflection at a time.
Blogging gave me the courage to put my words out there and test the waters. Each story I shared—about the rhythms of flight, the wild beauty of Alaska, or the lessons learned in the cockpit—helped me see what resonated with readers. Over time, those small pieces began to connect into a bigger story, one worth turning into a book.
That’s the power of this process: a blog isn’t just practice, it’s preparation. It’s where you discover your voice, gather your readers, and slowly but surely, build the pages of a book that’s uniquely yours.
Notes from Alex: Streams of Salmon and Stories of Generations
“A timeless cycle that connects streams, people, and history.”
“There’s something timeless about standing at the mouth of a stream and watching salmon return, as if witnessing history swim right before your eyes.”
The other day, I drove down to two different streams. One held a strong pink salmon run, just beginning to gather momentum, while the other was alive with chum and coho pushing upstream. At the mouths of the streams, schools of salmon shimmered and surged together, filling the water with life. I sat there for a moment, just watching, and found myself pondering the deeper story unfolding before me.
These runs have been happening for centuries—long before I was here, long before any of us. And to see it still going on today, against the odds, feels poetically beautiful. Nature’s persistence has a way of humbling us. The salmon return, generation after generation, as if carrying the heartbeat of this place.
Of course, things have changed. The salmon fisheries for commercial harvest are not what they once were. I can remember stories of the 70s, 80s, and 90s, when the runs were stronger, the harvests larger, and the docks busier. Will it ever return to those days? Probably not—or at least, I don’t know. What I do know is this: a handful of commercial boats, both gillnetters and seiners, still work these waters today. Their efforts provide jobs, income, and a thread of economic impact for the community.
This is a salmon-run community, through and through. Generations of fishermen and women have made their living on these runs, and that tradition continues, even if the scale looks different now. The sight of those salmon pressing upstream reminded me that while times change, the core of this place—its connection to the salmon—remains the same.
It’s more than just a run of fish. It’s history, tradition, and survival, all swimming together in the current.
For me, standing by those streams was more than just an afternoon stop. It was a reminder that I too am part of this cycle, part of this tradition. Even if I’m not on a boat, even if I’m not casting a net, I carry the stories, the memories, and the gratitude for what the salmon represent. Observing their return ties me back to my roots, to the community I belong to, and to the generations before me who lived by these same waters. In that way, the salmon’s journey upstream mirrors my own journey—returning, remembering, and carrying forward what truly matters.
Some passions sneak up on you quietly. Mine roared in on the whine of propellers and the smell of saltwater spray. In a place where seaplanes are lifelines and the skies are our highways, I didn’t just see airplanes — I saw freedom, adventure, and a world waiting to be explored from above.
At a very early age, I was bitten by the aviation bug. In Southeast Alaska, the only way to get from town to town — and for the most part, this still holds true today — was either by boat or by plane. And around here, seaplanes aren’t just handy, they’re essential.
When I was a kid, my dad worked part-time at the local airport. Sometimes he’d take me along, and that’s where I first laid eyes on the Ellis Airway Grumman Goose. I was amazed by those birds — their graceful lines, their ability to land on both water and land. Back then, our small airport also saw Pan Am, TWA, and the U.S. Coast Guard come through. For a young boy already fascinated by flight, it was pure magic.
I knew, even then, that one day I would become a commercial pilot.
Years passed, but that dream never faded. Then in January 1987, I made it happen. I traveled to a flight school in Northern California with one mission: earn my Private Pilot’s License. I did that — and more. In just seven months, I had also earned my Commercial License, my Instrument Rating, and my Seaplane Rating.
During those months, I literally ate, slept, and breathed aviation. Every day was a deep dive into the world I loved, and each hour in the air only deepened my passion.
My very first flight was in a Cessna 172, and I can still remember the thrill of that moment — the hum of the engine, the lift as the wheels left the ground, the world shrinking below. That flight wasn’t just a beginning; it was the start of a lifelong career in aviation.
And so, the boy who once stood at the edge of a runway watching Grumman Gooses take off, became a pilot himself. The journey had begun.
Decades later, I still feel the same rush every time I step into a cockpit. The boy who once pressed his face against the airport fence, mesmerized by a Grumman Goose, has flown countless hours over some of the most breathtaking landscapes in the world. Aviation didn’t just give me a career — it gave me a way of life. And every time I take off, I’m reminded of that first spark, and the dream it carried me into the sky.
There are days that simply pass by, and then there are days that etch themselves into your soul. Yesterday was one of those days here in Metlakatla, Alaska—a celebration of our roots, our people, and the heartbeat of our culture. Founders Day wasn’t just an event; it was a living reminder of where we come from, and a powerful glimpse of who we are.
Yesterday was Founders Day here in my hometown of Metlakatla, Alaska, and the history behind it all is truly amazing. This annual celebration honors our beginnings, and yesterday’s events were nothing short of honorable, heartfelt, and unforgettable.
Last evening, the Git Leeksa AKS – People of the Rising Tide – hosted an event at the Town Hall, where the 4th Generation Dancers also performed. The songs sung and the dances shared carried a weight of tradition and pride that could be felt deep in the soul.
When the People of the Rising Tide began their final series of songs, the drumbeats and voices shook the very walls of the building—and they shook me just as deeply. I could do nothing but smile, even as tears streamed down my face. The power of that moment, the connection to culture and history, was overwhelming in the best way.
Mr. David Boxley spoke from his heart, delivering words filled with wisdom, truth, and healing. It was all good medicine—something our spirits needed.
Last night was the perfect ending to August 7th, a day of remembrance, celebration, and community in this incredible place I am proud to call home: Metlakatla, Alaska.
As the last drumbeats faded into the night, I walked away carrying more than just memories—I carried a renewed sense of pride, connection, and gratitude for this place and its people. Founders Day is not only about honoring the past; it’s about keeping our culture alive in the present and passing its heartbeat on to the future. In Metlakatla, that heartbeat is strong, and last night, it was felt by every soul in the room.
Preserving the Past, Embracing the Future—One Journal Entry at a Time
There’s a quiet power in putting pen to paper—or fingertips to keys—and capturing the moments that shape us. Not just the milestones, but the in-betweens: the early morning thoughts, the fleeting emotions, the conversations that linger. These are the threads of our lives, and journaling is how we weave them into something lasting.
✍️ Why Now?
We live in a world that moves fast. Days blur into weeks, and before we know it, seasons have passed. But your story deserves more than a passing glance. It deserves to be remembered, reflected on, and shared. Whether you’re navigating a career shift, rediscovering your roots, or simply trying to make sense of the day-to-day—now is the time to start documenting.
Journaling isn’t just for writers. It’s for thinkers, dreamers, doers. It’s for anyone who wants to live with intention and remember the journey.
📚 What You Capture Matters
Your thoughts: Raw, unfiltered, and honest. They’re the blueprint of your inner world.
Your experiences: From the mundane to the extraordinary, they shape your perspective.
Your growth: Journals become a mirror, showing you how far you’ve come.
Your legacy: One day, these pages may speak for you—telling your story to those who come after.
🌿 A Personal Note
As someone who’s spent years in the skies and now finds grounding in storytelling, I’ve come to see journaling as a form of flight. It lifts the weight of unspoken thoughts and gives them space to breathe. It’s a way to honor the past, make sense of the present, and shape the future.
Lately, I’ve been researching the Tsimshian Nation and learning the stories carried along the Skeena River. The history is beautiful—layered with meaning, resilience, and spirit. Listening to video recordings of these stories being told in our language is deeply inspiring. It reminds me that journaling isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. It’s a way to preserve voices, honor ancestors, and keep traditions alive.
And speaking of new chapters—I’m about to begin a new role in aviation, and I’m truly grateful for the opportunity. The onboarding process is underway, and I’m looking forward to the adventure ahead. It’s a fresh horizon, filled with possibility and purpose. A chance to grow, connect, and continue writing my story with intention.
So if you’ve been waiting for the right moment to start—this is it. The time to journal is now. Begin to document your life, one word at a time.
Today, I found myself slowing down—taking a real, honest look inward. It’s been a season of self-evaluation, reflection, and growth. But let me tell you, growth isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes, it feels like a storm, like wandering through a tunnel with no light in sight. I’ve come to call that time in my life “the dark night of the soul.”
It was rough—probably one of the hardest things I’ve walked through. But the biggest takeaway I have from it is this: YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT.
When you’re in the thick of mental and emotional struggle, it’s easy to believe it will last forever. But growth often begins in the moments when we choose to take one small step forward, even when it’s hard. For me, that has meant actively working on my mental well-being, choosing not to sit in the darkness but to walk toward the light.
Growing through mental health isn’t just about surviving—it’s about actively nurturing ourselves, seeking connection, and using the resources available to us. Here’s what I’ve been learning:
1. Self-Care and Well-being
Mindfulness and Meditation: Even a few minutes a day of slowing down and just being present can make a difference. Mindfulness has helped me quiet the chaos inside and tune in to what’s real and true.
Physical Activity: A simple walk, moving my body, getting outside—it’s surprising how much it shifts my perspective and mood.
Sleep Hygiene: I’ve learned to value rest. Without it, the mind struggles to heal and reset.
Healthy Diet: Eating well isn’t just for the body—it impacts the mind. Balanced meals, less processed junk, and being intentional with what I put into my body have helped me feel more stable and energized.
Limit Substance Use: Letting go of things that numb me has allowed me to feel again—and feeling, though hard at times, is part of true healing.
Practice Gratitude: Gratitude has been my anchor. Some days it’s as simple as saying, “I’m thankful I woke up today,” and other days it’s a long list of blessings.
2. Building Connections and Support
Social Connections: We are not meant to walk this life alone. Spending time with friends, family, or just being around people who bring light helps chip away at the loneliness.
Support Groups: Finding people who understand—who get the struggle—has been powerful. There’s strength in knowing you’re not the only one fighting this battle.
Volunteering: Helping others, even in small ways, shifts my focus outward. It gives me purpose, and purpose is a powerful antidote to darkness.
The truth is, mental health isn’t just something we “fix” once. It’s something we cultivate—through small, daily practices, through seeking help when we need it, and through being gentle with ourselves in the process.
If you’re in that dark night of the soul, I want you to know that you are not alone. The road through it may not be easy, but there is a way through. And on the other side? Growth, resilience, and a deeper understanding of who you are.
“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise. Healing begins the moment you believe you are worth the light.”
“Our stories were never lost—just waiting to be revived. Last night, the drumbeat echoed through the Longhouse, and with it, the spirit of our people.” — Notes by Alex
Last night, I was moved in a way that’s hard to put into words—but I’ll try.
I’m just taking a moment to freewrite, letting my thoughts flow and my fingers type as they wish. Sometimes, we need that—a space to just be and create without boundaries. Last evening, we gathered at the Longhouse as two of our local dance groups performed: People of the Rising Tide and the 4th Generation Dancers. They danced and sang for a group visiting our community, and what they shared was nothing short of beautiful.
There’s something powerful—unshakably powerful—about watching young people commit so fully to something so meaningful. You can see the dedication in their movements, feel the conviction in their voices. And then there’s the drumbeat—steady, sacred, and alive. It resonates deep in your chest, almost like your heartbeat syncing with something ancient.
Some songs bring tears to my eyes. They’re sung in our Native language—words that carry more than just meaning. They carry memory, identity, history. They carry us.
The storytelling through song and dance is incredible. And what strikes me the most is that when I was growing up here, much of this wasn’t around. These traditions had been set aside… not lost, not forgotten—but buried beneath years of silence. Now, a new generation is unearthing them. Reviving them. Living them. It’s beautiful.
It gives me hope. It gives me pride.
My prayer is that this revival continues, that the stories keep being told, that the songs keep being sung, and that our dances keep shaking the ground beneath our feet. So that generation after generation can share in this sacred gift.
Harold C. Hudson — my grandfather, my mom’s dad — was an amazing man.
He had that kind of quiet strength you never forget. A soul anchored in purpose. A presence that made an impression.
He loved to fish. It wasn’t just a hobby — it was who he was. A commercial fisherman, he spent much of his life on the water. But his talents didn’t stop there. Grandpa was also a gifted carver. He made some of the best cedar wooden spoons you’d ever see — all smoothed by hand, each with his unique touch. He’d carve deer calls, too. Many of those spoons and calls were given away to family — shared with love, with no fanfare. That’s just the kind of man he was.
He also loved sports. Never missed a basketball game. Baseball on TV? That was his rhythm during the season.
But if you really wanted to see Grandpa light up, let him sing.
One of his favorite hymns was: “I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.”
That song came to life in a very real way when Grandpa was in his 80s. He joined a group from our hometown of Metlakatla on a trip to Israel — a journey that deeply touched his heart.
I remember how proudly and joyfully he’d say:
“Yes, I walked where Jesus walked.”
He’d show us the Polaroid photos he took — Jerusalem, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane. That trip meant the world to him. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. You could hear it in his voice.
One time, while I was home from college, I was playing the guitar in the living room. Grandpa came out and sat with me. He began to sing. That moment — singing with Grandpa Harold, who was in his 90s — is one I’ll never forget. It was simple, but it was sacred.
He left a mark on my life. I remember him reading the Bible. I remember hearing him pray from his room. I miss that so much.
Looking back, I realize just how much of a foundation he helped lay for my own faith — my own walk with the Creator.
When darkness gathers, it’s not the time to retreat—it’s the time to rise.
“Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake, fire and slaughter! Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!” — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
There’s something in the human spirit that stirs when we hear a battle cry—not one born of violence, but of resolve. Tolkien’s words don’t just belong in the realm of fantasy. They live in us. They echo in our quiet moments of doubt, in the face of rising storms, in the still morning when the world hasn’t yet caught fire—but you know it’s coming.
We all face our own “sword-days.” Moments where everything is on the line. Where darkness tries to crowd in. Where you feel the pull to sit it out, to stay hidden, to let someone else ride.
But we weren’t made for retreat.
We were made to rise.
Like the Riders of Rohan, sometimes we are called to charge—not because the odds are good, but because the cause is just. Not because it’s safe, but because someone must stand. Because honor, truth, and courage still matter. Because deep in our souls, there’s a warrior cry waiting to be released.
And here’s the thing: it’s not about war. It’s about courage. It’s about how you face your battles—your setbacks, your disappointments, your losses, your doubts.
Maybe today your battlefield is a broken dream. Maybe it’s a silent struggle no one else sees. Maybe it’s leadership under pressure, or being a light in a weary family, a divided community, or a hurting world.
But no matter the shape of your battle, the call is the same: Arise.
Arise with love. Arise with faith. Arise with vision. Arise not because you’re fearless, but because you’ve chosen to move forward anyway.
We may not ride horses to Gondor. But we do ride into each new day—often with splintered shields and trembling hands. And still we ride.
Because someone’s waiting on the other side of your courage. Because your rising may awaken another. Because light is stronger than darkness—and it travels fastest through the willing.
So whatever today holds, ride boldly into it.
Ride now. Ride now.
– Notes by Alex A place for reflections, reminders, and the quiet roar of courage.
Notes from Alex 