No writing today. Maybe if I had been more organized and stricter with myself...but then, I guess it's possible I still could get some writing in, if I can get this other stuff done.

Today I caught some of the end of Unforgiven (the movie with Clint Eastwood), which--I think this is probably accurate--sparked my ability to write novels. I saw that movie when it came out (1992), and it opened the door as far as thinking, "Hey, now I understand what you need to write a whole novel, rather than short stories or picture books." The movie sparked a driving question, and characters soon followed, and suddenly I knew I had enough to work on and explore for many pages and a lengthy period of time. Before that it was always, "How could I ever write a book? What on earth can anybody write about for that long?"

That was the first book I ever wrote. Much rejected, never published--but I still feel there's something to it, and I am still determined to work it out. I have not seen Unforgiven since then, but seeing that bit today made me think I might be able to start to figure this out. What I have is characters and a situation, but not much of a problem--at least, not an interesting one with anything at stake. I think that if I look at the situation--which involves one of the adults in the story--and consider how it might parallel the MC's situation, bearing in mind working toward problems rather than playing with character--I might come up with a book that works.

Someday. Not today, though. I am feeling a bit discouraged because I was also thinking that it is likely to be a good long while before I have anything finished. Six months, a year. More. Both my WIPs are in early stages--both after years of work and multiple "finished" versions. I feel rather wheel-spin-ery today, very...oh, what's the guy rolling the boulder up the mountain. Sisyphus. That's it.