the Write Editor

DJ Mansker lives in southeast Arizona. By day, DJ puts her twenty plus years of experience in the trenches of social work to use in the protective services. By night, she is a closet novelist and wait staff to her cat Trinidad. As a member of several local and national writers organizations she continues to hone her writing skills as she works to complete her first novel.

Confessions of a Chronic Procrastinator

–Superman had his booth. You have confession corner. A bizarre, if not insane, straight dialogue between a booth and its confessor. Could this be you?

I love me. I think I’m grand. I’m as much as I can stand . . . Ha ha ha, you and me, little brown jug how I love thee. Ah, yes, I’m in fine voice this morning. Wish I could remember who did that little song. Oh well. It’s about time to dust off my repertoire of Christmas carols. I’ll kill ’em at the pageant this year. Little Billy Butterball can’t stay cute and little forever. Rumor on the street has it that his voice has finally changed.

What?! Just because I “might” have started the rumor doesn’t mean I’m perpetuating it.

Anyway, I’m pumped and ready to go. C’mon world. Don’t keep me waiting. We’ve got work to do. Let’s get’r done. We’re burning daylight. Let’r roll. Let’s get this show on the road. Let’s beat feet. Let’s . . . pray I get feet.

Ah ha! Here comes someone now. This looks promising. Oh, no, wait. She’s turning around. No, no, she’s coming back. Ooo, she’s looking the other way again. Hmm. Her feet are moving this way, but everything else is looking back. Very undecided. If she’s not careful she’s going to bump into . . . oof . . . me.

Well, good morning, ma’am. Would you like to actually step inside my confession booth and talk a bit, or are you just going to stand there on my toe kick? One thin dollar is all you need to get your life back on track. Fast. Efficient. Effective.

Oh, that sounds wonderful. Only a dollar, that’s reasonable. It might do me a world of good. Okay. No. No, wait. I should probably come back tomorrow. I need to get my thoughts together. There’s plenty of time. No need to jump into this prematurely. I have more pressing things today.

Are you running late for something today?

Well, sort of. Not really. I’m a writer and I should be home writing. So many distractions are there.

I see. You must have kids at home.

No kids.

Pets maybe?

No. Well, sorta. I have dust bunnies.

Dust bunnies? How much noise can they make?

It’s not just the bunnies. There’s the laundry and the dishes, and bills to be paid and…


Yada, yada yada. I can name that tune in four notes. It was procrastination I know. And it might have ended right then at the start . . .

I see. I get a free floor show for my dollar.

>Er, um. Nat King Cole and I go way back.

Okay. So basically, you can’t seem to keep your pants in the chair and get what you know you should be doing done.

Hey! My pants are in that chair! That’s the problem. They’re in a heap, wrinkling and so are my shirts and socks and sheets. And they’ll be there tomorrow, too, if I don’t get home and take care of them.

Just like the computer and the ink and the paper. They’ll be there tomorrow, too. You don’t sound too worried about them.

Yeah, but . . . so what if I go out window shopping? I’ve got as much time as I want. It’s a novel, not a daily news bit.

Ah, a novel. So, how long have you been working on it?

Six years.

Six years! Wow, lady! The Rise and Fall of the Russian Revolution has already been written. Exactly how far along are you?

Three chapters. But they’re, like, twenty pages each. I’m having a little trouble settling on some character traits and I don’t want to get too far into things and have to go back and change it all.

It doesn’t sound like there’s much danger of that. So you’re going shopping. Are you out of paper?

No, but if I’m ever gonna get home and get back to work I need to get going. I need to stop at the bookstore, and the fabric store. I’ve got to pick up some stuff for a project for tomorrow.

>Of course. More projects. Does it have anything to do with the book? Wait! Let me guess, you’re going to knit a cover for it?

No, but . . .

Nobut. Yabut. Nobut. Yabut. You sound like some sort of chattering woodland creature. Why don’t you try writing a few pages, then go out shopping for more distractions?

You make it sound like I’m trying to avoid writing.

Well, aren’t you?

No. I’m just waiting until the time is right and my mind is clear. You can’t put a timeframe on inspiration. It comes in waves, you know.

Waves? Three chapters in six years sounds more like a very slow drip.

Hey! How many novels have you written?

Well, that’s different. I have issues. Besides, this isn’t about me.

I’m sure you’ve got lots of good advice for me, but I’ll have to come back another day.

So you’re just gonna go now, without resolution?

I just remembered where I put the dust mop. As soon as I pick up my project supplies, I can get after those dust bunnies. I’ll be one step closer to getting back to the novel. Happy holidays and I’ll be back soon.

Thanks, same to you and I’ll be holding my breath . . . not.

Now, where was I? Ah! Me me me me me me me. La la la la la la la. I think I like me me me me me better. Good king what’s his name looked out, on the feast of . . . somebody.

Eat your heart out Butterball. That trophy is as good as mine.

Merry Christmas!