The Ink Is Not Yet Dry

The fact that I originally signed up to WordPress nine years ago, almost to the day, with a heartfelt “plan” to immediately start doing something with it, tells me something didn’t quite go as planned.

Actually that’s wrong on two fronts.

Firstly, there was no plan, just an inkling. A teeny, tiny inkling of an idea.

Secondly, its not that things didn’t go to plan. There was no chartered course for me to follow. I was a blowin’ in the wind, operating on wishful thinking. You can see the conundrum that I had left myself with. No wonder it didn’t work. Nine years is a long time for a child. There was always time for a new plan. The margins were permeable.

Its the blink of an eye for a parent. The ink went very dry back then.

The idea that failing to plan is planning to fail, is often attributed to Benjamin Franklin. While Franklin remains a highly regarded writer, he was also many other things. A polymath, if you will. Widely knowledgeable. Well read, for whatever that is worth in the real world. 

This saying is often attributed to a 1970s time management expert, Alan Lakein, at least according to Google and Wikipedia. On the positive ledger, I think of the United States in the 1970s as an era of self-made millionaires, positive thinking gurus, Hallmark cards, and motivational posters. Along with good music, the beginnings of turntablism, poetry, and literature, rights activism on many fronts, and a drive towards innovation and efficiency.

Yes, there may have been a little war and a few big businesses behind some of that, some serial killers and some political impropriety. There are always two sides to a story. Sometimes many more.

Of course, both Franklin and Lakein have their elements of truth. I certainly first heard the phrase some time in high school in Australia in the 1980s, when I was lapping up the positive thinking ‘literature’ in stealing myself for studying for university entrance exams. I really wanted to0 get into a city university. I was throwing everything at it. 

 Amongst my little collections of belongings from my childhood is a book of “sayings” which I started in high school. This very quote is one of the earliest entries, as it always resonated as good logic. In it, the quotation is attributed to Benjamin Franklin.

I probably first read it on a motivational calendar or poster popularised by Lakein, which I had likely paid my hard-earned weekend supermarket casual wages for. Thousands of kilometres away on the other side of the world. Probably with a picture of an intrepid traveler, maybe even a trooper in military greens, examining a map and terrain, accompanied by a pack full of professional equipment.

Now I write it, I can actually recall the image. For said trooper, there would be no turning back. The plan would not fail. It would have factored in all eventualities.

As an adult, I started hearing this saying again quoted by many of the people I worked with over time. They all seemed to attribute it to military leaders.

I do recall one bloke espousing the words to an entire contingent as if he had come up with the saying himself. They all nodded. A few of them were smart and confessed later they knew exactly where it had come from, Napoleon Bonaparte, George Washington. I guess they didn’t write the Wiki entries.

Planning is a very good skill for military folk to do well. Their  careers can make or break on a good plan. Sometimes the ink has well and truly dried, the troops are on their way, but the plan needs adapting. New frontlines need to open. New heroes need to emerge. But the general plan remains… that’s part of why the chief planner may in fact be a general.

In many ways the origins do not matter. My reason for honing in on this now is to reflect on the art of writing, and the will to write, or else risk writing being an endless, thankless task of introspection and projection. There is a common question in writing circles, particularly with novelists, and that is are you a planner or a pantser?

For the majority of my life, for writing in my public sector career, there have been requirements for the written form which have predetermined much of what will be included, even if the content changes. What’s the problem you’re trying to solve? How do you know it’s a problem? What are the options? What are the risks? And so on and so on… Fascinating stuff, particularly with wicked societal problems. I’ve had my share to write about, advise about. In different circles. Rewarding stuff, when your advice is put into action. Heartwarming stuff, when it changes peoples’ lives.

many of us live for seeing that come into fruition.

That is why people doing this work do the long hours, sometimes without sleep to meet critical deadlines, sometimes without thanks. Serving the decision-making factory. It can be fun, but also exhausting, sometimes disappointing.

It will often feel important, but rarely does it feel joyful, particularly when you’ve been around the bush just a few times. Even with positive outcomes, there will be a backlog of regrets which you inevitably turn into the ‘unfinished business.’

Twenty-five years gives rise to more than a few times. In this context, it was always the people that made the experience joyful. It was always home, that made the experience tolerable.

Strangely, writing for joy can be a much lonelier enterprise. The idea to write for joy was not new for me. It doesn’t mean writing about joy, but nine years ago, having reviewed my first draft just now, although the subject should have been joyful for me, it wasn’t for those around me. They were living my work without the intrinsic reward. I stopped writing after one hour. That wasn’t writing for joy. Writing life was hard work.

Nine years ago I was just letting the inkling of the idea stew a little before I could turn it into a plan. I realised quickly I had to relearn how to write. Same language, different purpose. Same species, different expectation. Different role for me, too.

It needed a different type of plan.

Four years ago, spurred on age, health, dissatisfaction and disappointment, I realised I needed to relearn the human art of writing for joy.

Looking back, the little book of quotations became filled not with quotes from famous people, but instead things people had said to me that actually mattered. Family, friends, teachers, colleagues, enemies, homeless people, children, and the occasional great gift from an author whose words I could not forget. Poet, novelist, scriptwriter, philosopher. The scribe captures the human experience. Anyone can scribe. To choose to spend one’s time capturing life in words,  is to reflect back to the world what is seen and experienced.

Through this blog, because it is a blog, not a novel, I am somewhat pantsing it in order to discover my audience, and build up new skills. But it’s now part of my plan. I hope you enjoy this blog as I explore this new world of writing for joy.

Keep the feedback happening, and I’ll keep the ink wet.