Every writer I know, including me, procrastinates. We tell ourselves and others how much we love to write, how it is our passion, our reason for being, what gives meaning to our lives – and then we postpone this activity in order to do the dishes, go to the store to buy cheese, or watch an episode of Law & Order that we’ve seen twice before.
Perhaps this is why I was so charmed when I read that Leonardo da Vinci was also a dedicated procrastinator. He worked on the Mona Lisa for fifteen years. He probably only finished The Last Supper because his patron got tired of waiting and threatened to cut off his money. When he died he left fewer than 30 paintings, most of them unfinished; and right before his death he apologized “to God and Man for leaving so much undone.”
Me and Leonardo da Vinci. I am in good company.