By Martha Helgerson

The evidence starts to mount on the stairs to the third-floor home office and computer room. Magazines and bills are lodged on two steps. More magazines are parked on a bookshelf adjacent to the office door.

A peek in the five-metre-by-five-metre room reveals even more stacks of stuff.

Nearly every horizontal surface is covered. Piles of paper -- from computer printouts and tax receipts to deck plans -- blanket each square centimetre. A fan of utility bills flops out of its holder.

"Hmm, things aren't too bad here," says Morva Bowman, a professional organizer, as she whips out her notebook and starts assessing the room.

It's nothing that she hasn't seen before.

Handled haphazardly, that relentless flood of paper from schools, businesses, the Internet or your workplace can quickly pile up, creating practical problems like lost bills and visual chaos, especially in rooms tucked away from public scrutiny.

At some point, some of us throw in the towel and call in a pro like Bowman, who's been operating her River Heights company, Masters of Space and Time, for the past 18 months.

"Clutter and disorganization doesn't mean you're a bad person," Bowman says, "it means you have clutter and are disorganized. If you want to, you can fix it -- and many can and do -- if you are prepared to take the time.

"But if it is overwhelming you or causing problems in work or home life, let's sort it out so you can spend your time and energy on something more interesting.''

Bowman likens her job to other hired services such as car repair or lawn care.

Almost without exception, her clients are busy, competent professional people of both sexes. They fall into two broad categories: Those who need a kick-start and one follow-up visit, and those who require regular consultations. Depending on the job, after the initial free assessment, her price ranges between $200 and $600.

This current client -- the "piler'' -- seeks a kick-start. A busy medical doctor and researcher, his office floor houses several heaps of paper awaiting re-use or recycling, two spent ink cartridges, a dozen empty software boxes and three half-full cartons marked "desk stuff" from the family's move to this house eight years ago.

In addition, hundreds of old magazines fill two medium-sized bookshelves, with the overflow sitting atop a radiator. Household papers and research reprints pack two filing cabinets.

The room has simply run out of storage space, and the user has let things pile up -- literally.

To be fair, many "pilers'' thrive in their self-guided system just fine, oblivious to the clutter. Some psychologists even argue piles of papers represent a process of on-going thinking and a sign of complexity rather than a disorganized mind, according to a recent New Yorker magazine review of the new book, The Myth of the Paperless Office (M.I.T.) by social scientists Abigail Sellen and Richard Harper.

Bowman, a paradigm of diplomacy and discretion, looks at the mountain of miscellanea and steps lightly around domestic politics. Her job -- like all professional organizers in this growing field -- is to remain non-judgmental and to match an effective plan to the client's needs. Her credentials include an MBA, two decades of management experience, membership in the Professional Organizers of Canada group, and years as a wife and mother.

Bowman notes that this home office has "good bones." But it's time to cull and re-sort, she says firmly, respecting the owner's need for "visual clues'' (ie. piles). The job should take 10 hours.

Two weeks later, Bowman returns for a two-hour evening appointment. The strategy is basic and painstaking. Together, they confront each item and decide its fate. Two large bags are readied to handle recycling and garbage. Two medium-sized bins will see objects either classified as give-away or destined for other parts of the house.

A small hiccup arises when the client and his wife suggest that a few of the sturdy, empty software cartons be re-routed to a basement shelf to await re-use as gift-mailers.

Bowman stands firm.

"You have, what, probably 10 years' worth of boxes down there already?'' she queries with humour. "So unless you plan to frame it, get rid of it.''

Her touch is tonic -- a blend between a pleasant friend chatting as you work and a mother standing guard until the job gets done.

By 9:15 p.m., the makings of a small miracle have occurred: Horizontal work spaces are clear and clean.

The floppy fan of utility bills has disappeared into new, labelled folders. Several kilos of obsolete papers and computer disks have been purged. A "lost'' stock certificate is located, as is a broken social insurance card.

"The most frequent phrase I hear is, 'Oh, so that's where that thing was!'" Bowman says.

Most important, the desktop piles, which represented the client's "pending'' papers, were sorted into categories and marked for new life in an easy-access basket system.

As Bowman gets set to leave, she exacts a promise from the client to perform 30 minutes a week of maintenance and to undertake a list of "homework'' before her final visit by month's end.

"I find that just knowing that I'll be back sets people in motion,'' she says. "Like tidying up before the cleaning lady comes.''