THE URGE TO WRITE

All my life I have had an urge to write and this desire was validated in 1986 when I answered the questionaire to ascertain my personality and temperament type according to Myers/Briggs. I discovered that I was an INFP personality type. It is necessary here to explain a little about the different types who make up the population in a community. Myers/Briggs divided people into four types and then broke those four types into another four sub-types, thus giving us a group of sixteen different types. These types are likened to the Gods. The Sensing/Perceiving Dionysian types are ACTION motivated and make up 38% of the population. The  Sensing/Judgmental Epimethean types are WORK motivated and comprise another 38%. The less common Intuitive/Thinking Promethean types use the power of their MIND and consist of about 12% of the population and are to be found in scientific and professional occupations.  The Dionysian SPs, the Epimethean SJs and the Promethean NTs pursue ordinary goals, the goals of the remaining 12% the Intuitive/Feeling Apollonians cannot be seen as other than extraordinary. Because there are more Extraverted than Introverted people, the Ns as they are called, make up the smallest proportion within each group. Thus the INTJ, INFJ, INTP and the INFP are the rare ones, each only occurring in 1% of the population. To understand an INFJ or INFP you must understand their cause for they are SPIRIT motivated. All the NF types have good communication skills, but tend to prefer different forms of writing. The INFJ types write poetry; ENFPs are good at writing advertising and screen plays; ENFJs make crusading and inquisitive journalists, while novelists are frequently found amongst the INFPs.

Every person will have a variation in their scoring on the questionaire. I found that my highest score was for Intuition, meaning that I was lacking in the Sensory area. My lowest score was for Perception which indicated that I wasn’t totally without Judgmental characteristics. When I knew my weaknesses and strengths it helped me to accept my weaknesses and develop management methods. In a world where 76% of the population is Sensing, I often appear slow and clumsy as I work out which way to achieve the desired result. As an example I taught myself the rule, “Lefty loosy, righty tighty.” Now when faced with a stop-cock, a round tap, I think, “Turn to the left to loosen, turn to the right to close it tight.”

It has been a great advantage to me to have a partner, my husband Eberhard, who is an ISTJ. He knows I am an imaginative dreamer. His type make great managers and he frequently fulfills the role of my supervisor.

Eberhard and Fay, June 2006

Learning that all the Apollonian NF types practiced writing as a creative form, validated my desire to read and write. Now I understood why I had roamed the hills as a child seeking to be alone so I could daydream in peace. I understood why I wasn’t competitive and didn’t like to play card games with my sisters, preferring a quiet corner where I could bury my head in a book.

During my two years of High school I had an excellent teacher of English. While I excelled at writing essays I couldn’t be bothered with learning the rules of grammar, using my intuition to achieve the desired results. It is a pity that I had to leave school at the age of sixteen. The INFPs are seen as late bloomers who often don’t come into their own until they reach university. What might I have done with my life if I had had the opportunity to study literature and drama? This is idle speculation.

In the year 2000 my children gave me a 60th birthday party and presented me with a gold pen and suggested I should write the story of my life. I came home and that night composed this essay.

“Oh, you silly children. Why don’t you let sleeping dogs lie?” This thought flashed into my mind, but I bit my tongue. This was their day aimed at giving me pleasure and I didn’t want to blight it with past shadows. They thought it was my day. They had organized this family get together as a gourmet picnic in the park to celebrate my 60th birthday.

“I can’t believe how much trouble your daughters are going to, to make this a special occasion for you,” Sue, my daughter-in-law, had gushed over the phone earlier in the week. I had accepted her words without comment. Yes, I knew they would be sparing no effort. I had trained them that if a job was worth doing it was worth doing well. I’m proud of my children for I know they did not have an easy childhood with their father often absent, but I’m pleased that they have acquired my values, although that is not surprising considering I was always there for them in their formative years.

Not content with public park facilities, these three, my oldest children were making an extra effort to please me. Tables and chairs had been hired, picked up and delivered to the chosen site by Rodney. Carol had brought her best lace cloths and a superb floral arrangement of white and gold flowers. Debra had spent countless hours with a fine brush decorating with gold paint the white plastic plates. Green and gold balloons festooned the trees. The three families had brought a delicious assortment of canapes, salads and terrines to form an appetizing feast.

The family group photographs were snapped, candles lit and the family regrouped to sing “Happy Birthday.” As the words tapered off, young Jordan seized the moment to offer a tentative, “Hip, Hip!” Following his lead everyone joined in the “Hoorays!”

I had to respond. What should I say I wondered, looking around at their smiling faces? I began by thanking Jordan, not yet ten years of age, for his contribution.

“Jordan likes to do the right thing. He has a sense of orderliness,” Sue said.

Twenty years earlier I had been told by a psychologist, “Your children all like each other.” She had thought it remarkable that I had reared five children who all respected and enjoyed the company of each other. Seeing the pleasure on their faces, I thanked them for their combined effort. I told them how much joy it gave me to know that I had a family who could meet together with such harmony.

“Mum, I know the other two would have loved to be here today,” Carol said. Paul was in China and Adrian in England . “They both said to give you their love. Now we want you to open your present. It is a combined gift.”

The gold paper rustled as I untied the ribbon to reveal an empty, gold photograph frame.

“It is for one of the photos we took of you today,” Rodney said.

“What’s this,” I joked. “Have I become a golden oldie?”

The next gift unwrapped was a compact disc – mood music. A gold Parker pen appeared. Underneath these smaller items I found a book entitled, How to Write Your Life Story.

“We think you should,” Debra said.

Fifteen years previously Debra had uttered the consoling words, “At least Mum, you have lived an interesting life.” She had used past tense and I was then only forty-five years of age. What did they expect, these children of mine?  Were they according me an honor? Did they want to know my innermost thoughts? Were they hoping to read amusing anecdotes of their childish pranks?

Did I dare? Could I bring myself to write a true account of my sixty years? Should I dredge up the childhood unhappiness, the consternation caused by always being out of step with others, the marriage that had ended in despair leaving me suicidal? Yet, I would have to do this if I were to account for my present success.

If I were to write of my life, especially the years of disappointment, frustration and hurt caused by Stewart whom I loved deeply and whose love I had so badly craved, perhaps my children would say, “This is not the father I remember.” They would be faced with the question again of, “Who is telling the truth?”

It would be three more years before I decided to write, not the story of my life, but to record the manner in which I then lived my life. Over the years since my sixtieth birthday I had begun recording a daily journal of my activities as a series of incidents and finally put them into book form. During my childhood I had listened to men yarning and women gossiping and realized they were story telling, each in their own manner. Re-reading my manuscript I came to the conclusion that my form of writing was similar to journalism in that I was describing events. I thought my writing was entertaining and informative, but could I WRITE?  I pondered this question, finally deciding to go Online to the Society of Queensland Authors and request a critic to read my manuscript for a fee. Amongst the critics who responded was a former journalist. He advised me that, “Yes you can write, but you need direction about what you write. Rewrite your manuscript and direct it at a woman in her forties, a member of a book club, who dreams of sitting on a terrace sipping a glass of wine.” After sending him the third draft, he emailed me, “Spot on. You got it right this time. Finish the manuscript!”

To be continued.