The Great Unraveling: When the Music Stops and Strategic Planning Fails
- William Haas Evans
- 2 days ago
- 19 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
Prologue [I come to strategy from a few directions. Thirty years in product, strategy, and organizational design, collaborating with organizations large and small. And a lifelong obsession with music theory, composition, and jazz. Whilst they may seem like separate threads, I see an eternal golden braid.]
Good strategy like good jazz share similar fundamental challenges. Both deal with creating coherent action over time in the presence of uncertainty. Both require balancing structure and freedom. Both demand that you work within constraints while remaining open to emergence. Both are about listening as much as planning. Both live or die based on the quality of collective improvisation in delivering something great.
The jazz metaphor is best thought of as a frame. It is a lens that reveals something essential about what strategy is and how it actually works. When you study how jazz musicians collaborate, how they balance individual expression with collective coherence, how they maintain structure while improvising freely, you are studying the same dynamics that determine whether organizational strategy succeeds or fails. Whether a leadership team succeeds or fails.
This Beyond Planning Series explores that mapping systematically. We start here, with why strategic planning collapsed, and then the question becomes whether we have the courage to learn jazz. I've created a playlist to accompany the series. - Will
Overture: The Last Symphony
When Planning Was King
"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation..."
— Lord Byron, "Darkness" (1816), lines 1-8
There was a time when strategic planning made perfect sense. The boardroom operated like a concert hall, with executives serving as conductors before an orchestra of departments and divisions. Everyone had their sheet music. Everyone knew their part. The promise was simple and seductive: "Strategic planning will produce optimal strategies" (Mintzberg, 1994, p. 12). Follow the process, execute the plan, and success would follow as surely as a symphony reaches its finale.
This was the golden age that Igor Ansoff codified in 1965 with his Strategic Planning Model in "Corporate strategy; an analytic approach to business policy for growth and expansion." The framework gave executives comfort. It gave us control. It gave us the illusion that we could compose the future as precisely as Bach wrote down his music. We analyzed our strengths and weaknesses, identified opportunities and threats, and wrote our strategic plans with the same confidence that Beethoven scored his symphonies. But there was a problem. Reality refused to follow the score.
Consider Kodak, that perfect case study in strategic planning's promise and failure to manage through disruption. In 1975, a Kodak engineer named Steve Sasson invented the first digital camera. The company had perfect information about the technology that would transform photography. They had skilled engineering resources. They had talent. They had strategic plans that acknowledged a digital future. What they had, in Clayton Christensen's analysis, was the technology but not the ability "to improvise the transition" (Christensen, 1997, p. 143).
I understand this failure differently because I lived inside Kodak's business model for years. In 1990, I was an undergrad at Occidental College in Los Angeles, carrying my dad's classic Nikon F1 camera. I loved photography. The economics of film photography created an interesting constraint. Darkroom equipment you could buy once and use for years. Most schools had them. But photographic paper and chemicals were expensive, especially for a student who wanted to shoot constantly, experiment, and learn by doing.
So I took a job at our college newspaper, The Occidental. The pay was terrible, maybe one hundred dollars a week at most. But the job gave me something priceless. Unlimited access to the darkroom. Unlimited access to all the darkroom equipment. And most important, an unlimited budget for chemicals and Kodak paper. A lot of Kodak paper.
This was Kodak's real business model of course. They did not make their money selling cameras. They weren't in the memories business either. They made their money selling the consumables that photographers needed to use those cameras. Every roll of film. Every sheet of photographic paper. Every bottle of developer and fixer. This was the razor and blades business model. Get photographers hooked on the medium and then profit from everything they needed to practice it. The company understood this model perfectly. Their strategic plans were built around protecting it. There sales force compensation model powered and reinforced that business plan.
What they could not do was recognize that digital photography would eliminate the consumables category almost entirely. No film to buy. No paper to purchase. No chemicals to replenish. The entire economic engine would vanish. You could see it coming. Sasson showed them in 1975. They planned around it. They just could not improvise their way through it.
They knew the notes. They could not swing.
This is what happens when organizations treat strategy like classical, even mechanical composition. You need more than the written score. You need the capacity to respond to what the room is telling you, to sense when the groove is shifting, to recognize that the other players are moving in a different direction. Kodak's planners could read the music. They understood the disruptive nature of the technology. They forecast the market. They just could not hear what was actually playing. They could not let go of the business model that had made them successful long enough to build the business model that would make them successful next.
Jazz Interlude #1: Duke Ellington – "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue"
Listen to Duke Ellington's "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" from the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival. The arrangement was written. The orchestra knew the score. Everything was planned. But when Paul Gonsalves stood up to take what was supposed to be a brief tenor saxophone solo, something unplanned took over. Twenty-seven choruses later, nearly fifteen minutes of continuous improvisation. The crowd had gone wild and the formal concert structure had dissolved into pure collective ecstasy.
This is the moment when the plan becomes irrelevant and emergence takes over. Ellington, the master composer, was wise enough to let it happen. He did not stop Gonsalves. He did not force the orchestra back to the arrangement. He recognized what was emerging and created space for it.
The comfort of the score runs deep in organizational life. Roger Martin calls it what it really is: "Planning provides comfort, not strategy" (Martin, 2014, p. 80). We mistake the ritual of planning for the reality of strategic thinking. We fall into three interconnected traps. First, the strategic planning trap itself, where we confuse the planning process with strategic choice. Second, the cost-based thinking trap, where we focus on what we can control rather than what customers value or the market is demanding. Third, the self-referential strategy trap, where our strategy is really just a description of what we are already doing, but with updated buzzwords.
The annual planning cycle becomes what Arie de Geus recognized as kabuki theater, "like a rain dance that doesn't affect weather" (De Geus, 1988, p. 71). We go through the motions because they are the motions we know, and the motions are familiar. We create thick binders of strategic plans because thick binders look strategic. But jazz taught us something different. Every performance is unique. Every time you play the song, you discover something new about it, and the audience.
This terrifies most people. It was Voltaire that said uncertainty is a dreadful state to be in. Planning numbs the fear.
Gary Hamel observed that "senior managers defend orthodoxy most vigorously" (Hamel, 1996, p. 74), and he was right. The people who have succeeded under the old system have the most to lose from the new one. Classical musicians trained for decades to play the written note perfectly. Ask them to improvise and they may freeze. This is rarely a failure of talent. This is a failure of preparation for a different kind of musical context completely!
The question is no longer whether classical composition works for strategy. The question is what we do when we recognize that it does not.
First Movement: Dissonance
The Execution Mythology: When Implementation Becomes Excuse
When strategic plans fail, we always have a ready explanation. We did not execute well enough. Alignment. If only our people had been more aligned, more committed, more disciplined, more focused in following the plan, we would have succeeded. This is the great alibi of strategic planning: when plans fail, blame the players, not the plan.
Donald Sull and his colleagues at MIT studied this execution mythology systematically. What they found challenges everything we believe about strategic alignment. Their research shows that "aligned companies perform worse" (Sull, Homkes & Sull, 2015, p. 60) than companies that maintain productive tension between corporate direction and local autonomy. Over-alignment turns out to be just as deadly as misalignment, maybe more so.
Think about what happens to jazz when it gets over-arranged. You lose the conversation between musicians. You lose the capacity for surprise. You lose the soul of the music, which lives in the space between the written notes. This is what happens in organizations that worship alignment. They optimize for coordination at the expense of adaptation. They create perfect unity around plans that turn out to be wrong.
Jazz Interlude #2: Charles Mingus – "Haitian Fight Song"
Charles Mingus' "Haitian Fight Song" gives us a different model entirely. This is not random improvisation. The piece has clear structure, recognizable themes, intentional architecture. But within that structure, the music breathes, shifts, responds to what the musicians discover together. Each player is deeply aligned around the composition's core. Not the false unity of over-alignment, where everyone executes the same plan regardless of local conditions. But the productive dissonance of people working from shared purpose while maintaining the freedom to respond to what they encounter. Mingus achieved this through what he called "collective improvisation"—individual voices in intense dialogue, sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant, always listening, always responding.
Donald Sull's team identified five myths that keep us trapped in execution theater. Beyond the alignment myth, there is the communication myth: the belief that if we just explain the strategy clearly enough, everyone will understand and execute it properly. Yet their research found that "only 55% of managers know priorities" (Sull et al., 2015, p. 61) in their own organizations. This is not a communication problem. This is a fundamental mismatch between how we think strategy works and how it actually works.
In jazz, there is a difference between knowing the chord changes intellectually and feeling the groove in your body. You can explain bebop harmony to someone for hours, but until they play it themselves, they do not really know it. Organizations keep thinking that better explanation will create better execution. What they need is better learning while doing.
The third myth is about performance culture. We believe that demanding high performance creates high performance. But Sull's finding is stark: "Performance without safety kills innovation" (Sull et al., 2015). When people are afraid to deviate from the plan, afraid to try something new, afraid to report what is not working, you get perfect conformity around bad ideas. You get Enron. You get Wells Fargo's fake accounts scandal. You get DOGE. You get every case where people knew the plan was wrong but were too afraid to say so.
Response Diversity. Miles Davis famously told his players, "Do not fear mistakes. There are none." This is not permission for sloppiness. This is recognition that in improvisation, what sounds like a mistake in one moment becomes the doorway to opportunity in the next. You cannot innovate without psychological safety. You cannot adapt without the freedom to deviate from the plan.
But here is the deeper problem. Richard Rumelt cuts through the execution alibi with devastating clarity: "Bad strategy isn't absent strategy" (Rumelt, 2011, p. 36). It is not that we failed to execute a good strategy. It is that the strategy itself was bad. Most of what passes for strategy is actually just a list of goals, vapid aspiration statements, or a description of what we wish would happen. Real strategy requires diagnosis of the situation, a guiding policy to address the challenge, and coherent actions that flow from that policy.
Without these elements, you do not have a strategy to execute. You just have hopes and dreams, neither of which a strategy does make. I promise.
The jazz parallel is exact. Bad performance reveals bad composition. If the song does not work for the room or the situation, playing it with more technical excellence will not fix it. You need a different song.
Henry Mintzberg spent his career documenting what actually happens with strategy. His finding is uncomfortable: "10% of strategies realized as intended" (Mintzberg, 1994, p. 24). Ninety percent of the time, what emerges is different from what was planned. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but definitely different. This is not failure. This is the nature of strategy in turbulent environments. The music you play is never exactly the music you planned to play.
The question becomes whether we design our organizations to write music or to play it. Planning assumes writing. Strategy requires playing, because it’s not about the sheet music (consultant call it a playbook), it’s really about experience created in that moment, between the performers and the audience. Between your products and your customers.
Second Movement: Silence
Systems Deafness: Missing the Music Around Us
We often intervene in the wrong places. This is Donella Meadows' devastating diagnosis of why most organizational change efforts fail. She identified twelve leverage points in complex systems, ranging from parameters and numbers at the shallow end to paradigms and goals at the deep end. Her observation was simple and damning: "Most interventions target weakest points" (Meadows, 1999, p. 79) because those are the easiest to see and measure.
We adjust parameters when we need to change paradigms. We tinker with budgets when we need to transform mental models. In musical terms, we adjust the volume when we need to change the key. The problem is not that we are playing too loud or too soft. The problem is that we are playing in the wrong key for the song we are trying to play.
Jazz Interlude #3: Ornette Coleman – "Free Jazz"
Ornette Coleman's "Free Jazz" is 37 minutes of collective improvisation that shattered every convention about how jazz should be structured. Two quartets improvising simultaneously. No predetermined chord changes. No agreed-upon key. No written melody to return to. Nothing but eight musicians committed to creating music together in real time, listening with fierce intensity to each other.
When Coleman released this album in 1961, the critics savaged it. They called it noise, chaos, anti-music, the death of jazz. What they could not hear was a new kind of order emerging. Coleman's musicians were not playing randomly. They were listening to each other with extraordinary attention, responding to patterns as they formed, creating coherence without imposing predetermined structure. This is systems deafness. The critics literally could not hear what was happening because they were listening for the patterns they expected. Conventional harmony, familiar rhythms, recognizable melodic development. Their mental models drowned out the actual music. They were listening for what should be there rather than hearing what was there. The times, they are a changin'.
This is the situation many organizations face now. The old structures do not work. The new structures have not yet emerged. The temptation is to plan harder, to create more detailed models, to impose more control. But you cannot control your way through complexity. You can only sense and respond your way through it. Crossing the river by feeling the stones.
Peter Senge brought systems dynamics to organizational thinking with The Fifth Discipline. His famous Beer Game simulation shows how "rational actors create irrational systems" (Senge, 1990, p. 42). Give people a simple supply chain, have them optimize their own part of it, and watch as the whole system produces wild oscillations that hurt everyone. Individual excellence creates collective cacophony. Perfect local optimization produces global dysfunction.
This is what happens when musicians do not listen to each other. Everyone plays their part perfectly and the result is noise. The solution is not better individual performance with individual performances measures. The solution is better collective awareness. You have to hear what the whole band is playing, not just your own line.
But organizations are structured to prevent this kind of hearing. Functions (departments) optimize their own metrics. Functions protect their own resources. Everyone is playing their sheet music correctly. No one is listening to what the room actually sounds like.
Strategy is not formed through planning. Strategy is formed through pattern recognition in retrospect. You do things, you notice what works, you do more of that. Improvisation dominates composition.
The Honda motorcycle story is instructive here. When Honda entered the U.S. market in 1959, their plan was to sell motorcycles that would compete with Harley-Davidson. The big bikes kept breaking down. Meanwhile, Honda executives were riding small 50cc Super Cubs around Los Angeles and people kept asking where they could buy one. Honda succeeded by abandoning their plan and following the pattern that was emerging. As Richard Pascale wrote, "Honda succeeded by failing forward" (Pascale, 1984, p. 57).
You find the groove through mistakes, through responding to what you hear, through following the energy in the room rather than the chart on the music stand. Honda's executives were playing jazz without knowing it. Their head office in Japan kept asking for implementation of the plan. The U.S. team kept improvising based on what the market was telling them. The improvisation won.
But we cannot see this pattern while we are living it. We can only see it afterward, in retrospect, when we look back and tell ourselves a plausible-sounding story about what happened. The problem is that we then take that retrospective story and turn it into a plan for next time. We take the jazz that emerged and we try to write it down as classical music. We convert lived experience into a procedure.
This is systems deafness: the inability to hear what is actually happening because we are listening for what we expected to happen. Our enterprise program management office measures our compliance to the score. The score in our heads drowns out the music in the room.
Third Movement: Cacophony
Compound Crisis: When Failures Interact
Individual failures are bad enough. But complex systems have a property that makes failure even more dangerous. Problems interact. Today's solutions become tomorrow's problems. The systems archetype is called "fixes that fail" and Peter Senge described it precisely: "Today's problems from yesterday's solutions" (Senge, 1990, p. 57).
This is what happens when you intervene in a complex system without understanding its structure. You push on one variable and it moves. Success. But that movement changes other variables, which change still other variables, which eventually come back to make your original intervention counterproductive. You adjust the volume and realize you needed to change the key. Now you are playing the wrong notes very loudly.
Think about the waves of management fads that crash through organizations. Total Quality Management. Business Process Reengineering. Business Score Card. Six Sigma. Agile. Lean. Each one promises to fix what the last one broke. Each one works initially because it targets real problems. Each one eventually becomes part of the problem as it gets systematized, bureaucratized, turned into procedure rather than principle.
In musical terms, these are feedback loops. Your sound shapes the room which shapes your sound which shapes the room. Jazz musicians learn to work with these loops rather than against them. They listen to the reverb and delay and adjust what they play based on what comes back. Organizations try to eliminate feedback loops through tighter control. This is like trying to play music in a soundproof room. You lose the very thing that makes adaptation possible.
The evidence keeps mounting. COVID-19 showed us what happens when perfect plans meet imperfect reality. Organizations with detailed strategic plans found those plans useless. Organizations with adaptive capabilities learned and responded in real time. The difference was not in planning quality. The difference was in improvisational capacity and competency.
Digital transformation efforts fail at a 70% rate despite massive investment in planning and methodology. The plans look good. The frameworks are sophisticated. The project management is rigorous. And yet most of these efforts fail or deliver far less than promised. Why? Because transformation is not a composition problem. It is an improvisation problem. You cannot plan your way from one state to another when you do not really know what the new state should look like or how to get there.
Jazz Interlude #4: Miles Davis – "Pharaoh's Dance"
Miles Davis' "Pharaoh's Dance" from Bitches Brew marks the point where jazz, rock, funk, and electronic music collapse into each other. Twenty minutes of electric exploration where all the old categories dissolve. Is this jazz? Is this rock? Is this funk? The musicians themselves did not know what to call it. This is what compound crisis feels like. Not one system failing, but multiple systems failing simultaneously, their failures amplifying each other, the categories we used to make sense of the world no longer holding. You cannot apply the jazz solution because this is not just jazz. You cannot apply the rock solution because this is not just rock. The boundaries that used to organize our thinking have become meaningless.
Miles Davis was not trying to destroy categories per se. He was following the music to places where the categories could not follow. The crisis was not his creation. He was just honest enough to acknowledge it and skilled enough to keep creating through it. This is where digital transformation finds itself. Not a technology problem or a business model problem or an organizational problem. Everything, all at once, all the time, interacting, amplifying, creating something that cannot be addressed by solving one piece at a time.
This is where many organizations are now. The old categories do not work. The score has stopped making sense. The question is whether we have the courage to put down the sheet music and start listening to each other, really listening, and respond to what we actually hear rather than what we expected to hear.
Finale: Attacca
The Paradigm Must Die
So here we are. The edifice of strategic planning lies in ruins around us. Not because people did not try hard enough. Not because we need better planning tools. But because the fundamental paradigm has reached the end of its useful life.
Henry Mintzberg said it clearly in 1994: "The edifice must be rebuilt" (Mintzberg, 1994, p. 416). He saw it then. Thirty years later, the rubble has only grown higher. We keep trying to renovate a building that needs to be torn down.
This is hard to accept. Strategic planning has been the cornerstone of management practice for half a century. MBA programs teach it. Consultants sell it. Executives aspire towards a seat at the strategic planning table. Admitting that the paradigm is exhausted feels like admitting that we wasted all that time and effort.
But paradigm shifts do not work that way. The old paradigm was useful for the conditions in which it emerged and it was the best we knew at the time. Stable markets, predictable competitors, rich resource base, slow technological change, clear industry boundaries.
Under these conditions, planning makes sense. You could forecast the future with reasonable accuracy because the future looked a lot like the present. You could optimize for efficiency because effectiveness was already understood. Build it and they will come.
Those conditions no longer exist. Markets are global and volatile. Competitors emerge from adjacent industries, and most barriers to entry have been eroded. Technology transforms business models overnight. Industry boundaries blur and dissolve. In these conditions, planning becomes actively harmful because it locks you into assumptions and commitments that may be wrong before the plan is finished.
What we need is not better planning. What we need is better improvisation. The physicist David Bohm said something that applies here: "From breakdown comes breakthrough." The collapse of the old paradigm creates the space for something new to emerge.
And it is emerging. In the ruins of strategic planning, we can see the first outlines of strategic jazz. Organizations that succeed now do not succeed because they planned better. They succeed because they sense better, respond faster, learn quicker. They maintain clear purpose while staying flexible about means. They set the groove and then improvise within it.
Jazz Interlude #5: John Coltrane – "Ascension"
John Coltrane's "Ascension" is 40 minutes of collective improvisation at the edge of chaos. Eleven musicians pushing past every boundary, reaching for something beyond what jazz had been. This is not destruction for its own sake. This is creation that requires destruction first. Tearing down to build up. Breaking through to something new.
When the paradigm dies, this is what the breakthrough sounds like. Terrifying because it is unfamiliar. Exhilarating because it is alive. Completely necessary because the old forms can no longer contain what needs to be expressed.
Coltrane and his ensemble were not destroying jazz. They were liberating it from everything that had become constraint rather than structure. They were showing that you can let go of almost everything and still create coherence, still maintain meaning, still make music that matters.
This is the promise waiting in the ruins of strategic planning. Neither chaos, nor nihilism. But a new form of ordering based on different principles. Order that emerges from practice rather than being imposed from plans. Coherence that arises from listening rather than from following scores.]
We have to let go of the comfort of the score. We have to accept that we will not know what the music sounds like until we play it. We have to develop the skills and the nerve to improvise together in real time. It's time to swing!
"I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'"
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias" (1818)
[A Note on Poetry and Transitions
The poets whose words frame this article wrote during their own time of great unraveling. Byron composed "Darkness" in 1816, the "Year Without a Summer," when volcanic ash blocked the sun and crops failed across Europe. Shelley wrote "Ozymandias" in 1818, as the Industrial Revolution transformed everything humans understood about power, organization, and possibility. The railroad was coming. Electricity would follow. The world these Romantic poets knew was dissolving.
They wrote about collapse and transformation because they were living it. They understood that old forms of order were ending. They sensed that new forms were emerging, though they could not yet see their shape clearly. This is why their words serve us now. We too stand in the liminal space between. We too must learn to see in the gathering dark.
Each article in this7-part series opens and closes with poetry from writers who witnessed fundamental transformation. Their words remind us that we are not the first to face the end of certainty. Others have stood where we stand now. They found their way forward not by clinging to what was, but by learning to perceive what was emerging.]
What Comes Next
We have diagnosed the failure. Strategic planning has collapsed under the weight of complexity it was never designed to handle. The edifice lies in ruins. This is necessary. This is painful. This is done.
But diagnosis is not enough. The next question presses: if planning fails, what succeeds? If we cannot compose the future in advance, how do we create coherence? If the score no longer works, what does?
Article 2 turns to these questions. It explores how we recognize patterns in complexity. How we sense what is emerging before it becomes obvious. How we distinguish signal from noise when everything is moving. How organizations learn to see what planning cannot capture.
Next in the Series:
Article 2: Patterns in the Storm: Recognizing Emergent Signals
Complete Jazz Playlist for Article 1 (on Apple Music)
1. Duke Ellington - "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" (1956, 14:39)
Album: Ellington at Newport
Lesson: Structure overwhelmed by emergence
2. Charles Mingus - "Haitian Fight Song" (1957, 12:10)
Album: The Clown
Lesson: Organized rage against systems
3. Ornette Coleman - "Free Jazz" (1961, 37:03)
Album: Free Jazz: A Collective Improvisation
Lesson: Complete abandonment of structure
4. Miles Davis - "Pharaoh's Dance" (1970, 20:05)
Album: Bitches Brew
Lesson: Categories dissolving
5. Cecil Taylor - "Enter Evening" (1966, 11:00)
Album: Unit Structures
Lesson: Percussion destroying harmony
6. Albert Ayler - "Ghosts" (1964, 10:03)
Album: Spiritual Unity
Lesson: Primitive return
7. John Coltrane - "Ascension" (1966, 40:23)
Album: Ascension
Lesson: Collective breakthrough
8. Sun Ra - "The Magic City" (1966, 27:44)
Album: The Magic City
Lesson: Alternative paradigms
Coda: Keith Jarrett - "Part I" from The Köln Concert (1975, 26:01)
Bridge: From chaos, new order emerges
References
Christensen, C.M. (1997). The Innovator's Dilemma: When New Technologies Cause Great Firms to Fail. Boston: Harvard Business School Press.
De Geus, A. (1988). Planning as Learning. Harvard Business Review, March-April, 70-74.
Hamel, G. (1996). Strategy as Revolution. Harvard Business Review, July-August, 69-82.
Martin, R.L. (2014). The Big Lie of Strategic Planning. Harvard Business Review, January-February, 78-84.
Meadows, D.H. (1999). Leverage Points: Places to Intervene in a System. Hartland, VT: The Sustainability Institute.
Mintzberg, H. (1987). Crafting Strategy. Harvard Business Review, July-August, 66-75.
Mintzberg, H. (1994). The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning. New York: Free Press.
Pascale, R.T. (1984). Perspectives on Strategy: The Real Story Behind Honda's Success. California Management Review, 26(3), 47-72.
Rumelt, R.P. (2011). Good Strategy Bad Strategy: The Difference and Why It Matters. New York: Crown Business.
Senge, P.M. (1990). The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Practice of the Learning Organization. New York: Doubleday.
Sull, D., Homkes, R., & Sull, C. (2015). Why Strategy Execution Unravels—and What to Do About It. Harvard Business Review, March, 57-66.
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