Fail to Plan,

‘No plan survives first contact with the enemy.’ So said Helmuth von Moltke, Field Marshall of the Prussian army way back in the 19th century. Well, what he really said was “No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main strength,” but we like to simplify things now. And he probably said it in german - “Kein Operationsplan reicht mit einiger Sicherheit über das erste Zusammentreffen mit der feindlichen Hauptmacht hinaus.”

This masterpiece of strategic and tactical reasoning has never been so evident as in this morning. I had planned on writing a piece on the anatomy of a writing prompt, how they can help train the writer, and how they can - with a little TLC and a bit of nurturing - blossom into a beautiful piece. (Some writers may be able to take a prompt and end up with a well-crafted composition in two minutes flat, perfect grammar and spelling, and no plot holes - but I am of the ilk who, either, stares dumbfoundedly at the title for several minutes with no idea, or has a billion ideas surging through my brain like a Black Friday Sale mob intent on picking up a 1000” TV for a tenner. I need time, and several revisits to make something half passable).

Anyway, back to that plan. It wasn’t a finely detailed strategem on how to conquer the world, nor even at the level of a bsiness plan necessary to get a few thousand pound from your local bank. At best, it could be described as a ‘back of a fag packet’ plan, as my partner would say. It was easy:

• show the writing prompt,

• find my original piece, the first musings and discuss the thought process,

• go through the changes that I made over the next few visits,

• show the whole of the final piece,

• Ideas for carrying it on…

Perfect. Even a ‘back of fag packet plan’ can succeed. But as Moltke theorised, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The enemy being in this case, me. Specifically, my disorganisation.

Could I find the original hand written notes? The second draft, even? Nope.

I am disappointingly disorganised, majestically messy, and orderless at an Olympian-level. Numerous notebooks on the go, none labelled. A writing desk that has become a pandemonium of monumental proportions, a dumping ground of odds and sods and, despite being enclosed by shelves, it is now the abode of my TBR piles.

Ahh, the writing desk. A nook in a busy home, in a relatively quiet part of the 1730s farmhouse, with a window overlooking the North Sea. Sounds idyllic. It is. But also bloody freezing in winter. Hence, I decamp to my work desk during the cold seasons. Which is more of the same. Less TBR, but more To-Be-Done.

And so I find myself writing this instead. My shambolic planning and organisation highlighted further by the fact that I started this on Friday - and forgot we had visitors due in the evening.

Now the saddening thing about this, is that I do try. Honest. I really do. I put systems in place and keep to them religiously. For three days.

For. Three. Days.

Apparently, it takes an average of 66 days to form a new habit. Counting from now, that gives me close to the end of March if I start now.

• Clear the desk - and keep to the right one.

• A system for drafts, writing group work etc.

• A space for ‘everything on my desk.’

That’s my goal. SMART; Specific, Measurable, Acheivable, Relevant and Timed. I’ll keep you posted.

Should be easy…

After all, 13 years ago, I gave up smoking, overnight, with no patches or medication - and no slip ups. Work that out.