John D. Rockefeller Meets Laura Ingalls Wilder

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books, gardening, history, John D. Rockefeller, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie, philanthropy, reading, Standard Oil, weeding, writing

For years, I’ve enjoyed studying John D. Rockefeller, industrialist and one of the founders of Standard Oil.

John D. Rockefeller

Admired and reviled, he was an astonishing philanthropist, someone whose business ran others out of their business. Like him or not, John D. Rockefeller revolutionized industry and changed the meaning of philanthropy as he gave away much of his fortune.

It’s not as well known that Rockefeller also used his single-mindedness and focus as a writer. Considering he had plenty to occupy his day, John D. scoured his work with a careful eye, writing and rewriting until he had a tight, well-crafted document.

It isn’t really about spewing words on a page – it’s about staying on-message, weeding out words that don’t bloom where they’re planted.

A few years ago, the kids and I were reading the Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. We learned that Laura and her sisters each had only one or two toys.

A corn husk doll. A ball. That was probably it.

We decided to give this a whirl. Books went back on the shelves, Matchbox cars were stowed in their boxes, dolls tossed in the toy box. Each kid chose two toys, and for the next few hours, that’s all they played with.

At first, it was exciting.

Wow! I’m just like Laura Ingalls Wilder!

It didn’t take long for this exercise to turn into a perceived restriction. Just two toys? What can I do with them??

But like many other situations, a perceived restriction often spurs creativity. The kids shared the toys, pooled their efforts and had fun together.

It’s a bit like writing – we have thousands of words at our disposal, but we really only need a few of them. Revising isn’t a fun part of writing, but it’s very necessary. I tend to do a “word dump,” writing all at once. But I never submit my work afterward. Instead, I step away, and if possible, let at least a day pass before I return and start hacking away.

That restriction is a lot like gardening – pull the weeds, and you’re left with work that blooms.

How do you “weed” your writing?

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The World’s Most Silent Prom Date

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AMC Matador, awkward teenage stage, big hair, dance, dating, high school, humor, junior prom, old cars, senior prom, writing

I’ve been following “Because Life Doesn’t Fit in a File Folder,” Renee A. Schuls-Jacobson’s totally hooty blog. Her recent post, “I Remember Prom,” started a flood of Big Hair Memories. I shared this message with Renee, but it lacked the photos that give it that certain…something.

Picture it: South High’s Senior Prom, 1983.

I never gave much thought to prom, seeing it as just a reason for the Hobnobbers to Hob Nob Even More. Then Mike asked me to the senior prom and I felt this strange compulsion to go.

Me and my big hair. Not really…

The hair issue was already decided – back then, Big Hair reigned, and to be otherwise coiffed spelled doom. But what would I wear? What about shoes? Did I need a purse?

My poor parents.

I just hadta, hadta, hadta have this $100 dress, which was a lot for them 30 years ago, but Mom bought it without complaint. It had a jacket with filmy sleeves, a gazillion buttons up the back and a cami-sorta-slip-thingy underneath. 

As if there wasn’t enough lace on the dress, I wobbled around on lacy sandals, too. Throw in some big hair and a bunch of Aqua Net and I looked like stiffened baby’s breath with a wig on.

To top it off, Mike was a super nice guy, but we were oh, so wrong. He was on the honor roll, straight-A, destined for law school, and I had a hard time getting through Chemistry 1 without frustrating my poor teacher to the point of drinking over my inability to grasp redox equations. Poor Mr. Ahlf, but that’s another story…

A classic.

Mike picked me up for the prom in his dad’s orange AMC Matador and the whole way to the restaurant, we didn’t say a peep. Nothing. For the whole meal, we didn’t talk. Nothing. The whole way to the dance, you guessed it –

Nothing.

The World’s Most Silent Prom Date had just been enacted. We got to prom, and my friend and her date were there, whooping it up and laughing. Clearly, they had agreed upon a Talking Prom Date.

Renee’s post was the key that unlocked the door to my Strange High School Memories vault, reminding me of the time my best friend and I drove her dad’s Dodge Diplomat to the junior prom.

I guess prom wasn’t so bad after all…

Planned Spontaneity

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creativity, excuses, Facebook, inspiration, nicknames, priority, working, writing

When I was a kid, one of my dad’s many nicknames for me was “Grandma.” Not because I favored support hose and flowered polyester dresses, but because I had predictable habits, especially in the morning.

I’m eating different cereal now, but my mornings still follow a routine: get up, exercise, come home and have a cup of tea, and start my day. Overall, I like participating in planning events, rather than being surprised. It’s what my brother-in-law calls “Planned Spontaneity.” 

Thanks, Pat – it’s still a good line, and it still works!

Recently, though, I’ve done something that altered the flow of my day, changed the way I relate to people, and challenged my voice as a writer. I got a part-time job. It’s been a challenge because I’m used to organizing my day around homeschooling, my writing jobs, etc. Now I’m on someone else’s punch clock, dealing with a range of people.

I’ve found that writing has become even more important to me, given the fact that my routine has been disrupted and I don’t have the freedom for it that I used to. Something I took for granted is suddenly changed.

I just read Blaine Hogan’s post “When You Don’t Have Enough _____ to Make What You Want.”

Blaine suggests, quite convincingly, that “when you make the agreement, internally or otherwise, that creativity is tied to resources, you are dead in the water…What you lack isn’t resources, it’s imagination.”

http://www.clkr.com

He’s right, though. I’ve been internally whining about my lack of time to write, but really, it’s my lack of making it a priority. I have the same, God-given 24 hours that everyone else on the planet has; how I use them is up to me.

I’m sensing it might be time for some planned spontaneity!

Writing has always been a life line, a way to create, to bring words into being that no one’s ever read before, which is pretty cool. Finding the words to tell people’s stories – whether it’s writing their newsletter, sharing their story in an article, or writing a peppy Facebook post – is an honor. Plain and simple.

Interestingly, my time restraints have given me a sharper focus when it does come time to write. There’s a bright side to everything.

What excuses have you been telling yourself that hold you back from what you should be doing? Could a dose of Planned Spontaneity help?