Procrastinate Much?

It's ok to procrastinate from writing, by writing, right?

All writing on Omnishambles is generated by someone sitting behind a keyboard, likely procrastinating, and refusing to use AI.

Right now my floor looks like an explosion of paper. There are books half buried in the mess, a cup of cold coffee, an old brownie camera off to one side, and a deep sigh forming somewhere in my mid-belly. It is a chaos of my own making, the slow messy beginnings of, what I hope, will be my next poetry book. There is sorting to be done, work to be found in notebooks, files to located, and random bits of writing to be gathered together into a logical order. But right now, I need a break.

There is something magical about finding vintage books at an old second hand shop or thrift store. I have an thing for the textured fabric covers of old books-the kind with faded gold filigreed designs, well thumbed frayed edges, and with a little heft to them. Regular old, uninspired looking wrinkled paperbacks have their place too. What connects them is what you find inside when you get lucky.

A while back, I’m not sure when, I lent out my copy of Mary Oliver’s Devotions. I don’t even remember who I lent it to, so wherever it may be I wish it to be well loved and worn out. Which leaves me haunting thrift stores in search of a new/old, first edition copy. Truthfully, I’d take any edition but for sentimental reasons I’d like one similar to what I had. I haven’t found that particular book, but I did find a somewhat tattered paperback copy of New and Selected Poems, by Oliver which is also sitting in my pile of pre-book debris. The cover is dull, the edges are curled and yellowed, but the interior is unmarked-which is good in some ways, and sad in others.

What gave this book life and story was what I found resting between In Blackwater Woods and Sleeping in the Forest (pps 178-I81)-a partially torn, partly cut out magazine scrap of Mary Carr’s poem, Last Love. The clipping came from the January 30, 2005 issue of the New Yorker, I checked (thank you Google) and which, coincidentally, retains a portion of an article about Hamas and Gaza on the back. Interesting timing, that.

Anyway, I went digging around for a distraction this morning in the form of Browning’s Complete Poetical Works, Cambridge Edition, a book I unearthed on the sagging shelves of a local thrift shop for fifty cents, probably ten years ago. I’ve read some of this 1895 edition but what keeps me coming back to it is not the poetry, but what lives on the pages. Many contain marginalia in precise and tiny script, some so small I need a magnifying glass to read. Some in pencil, some in ink-the old fashioned dip pen style with thick and thin lines that fade once the pen needs replenishing. A quick search of the name penned on the first page (again, thank you Google) and I learn a little about who made those notes. Really, I didn’t need to look up anything to know this individual was thoughtful, intellectual, and thorough. And liked to write in his books-my kind of person.

Maybe it is procrastination to dawdle away a couple of hours reading poetry and researching unnecessary information, or simply a way to give my mind a rest, but running a finger along pages that speak not just to poetry but to a peopled history of being, of time and place, of why writing matters, and what it can do made me a bit more hopeful. I am no Oliver, Karr, or Browning-or who thought in careful words around margins, or saved a raw edged clipping that told of the war of love on one side and the love of war on the other, but for some mad reason writing brings it all together and keeps me adding my own words to the endless story.

So, I guess, sometimes I also write to procrastinate from writing…? It works, I guess. With that out of my system it’s time for more coffee and to get back to work. Keep scrolling for a few book recs and an invitation to see what new project I am working on.

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Or is it procrastinating…

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What’s on my desk…

Besides cold coffee and stacks of paper, you’ll find a copy of How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope, by James Crews (

Poetry Is Life

). I dip into this one daily. You’ll also find The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin and Your Brain on Art: How the Arts Transform Us by Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross. My latest obsession is a small book by

Seth Haines

called The Observationalist, a kind of photo docu/journal. It was captured over the course of twenty-seven days in 2023 and combines image and thoughts in an inciteful and lush combination. Well worth the order and a great way to support another artist’s great work.

Other Projects…

If you like my own work here, please consider subscribing to The Writist. I had this idea a while back to invite people into my creative process and provide access to work as it is created. The Writist follows the progress of two projects: the compilation and publishing of my third poetry book along with the making of 10 handmade art books related to the poetry from my as yet unnamed book. Paid subscribers to The Writist get the chance to go deeper with behind the paywall access to new work, work in the editorial process, subscriber only notes, studio updates, community conversations, first release options, zoom events, and other opportunities along the way. Free subscribers will receive the newsletter with updates on the projects and will always have the option to upgrade to paid. For less than the price of a cup of coffee you can help support my work and become part of a small but growing community of creatives supporting each other as we walk the creative path together. Hope to see you there!