Stuck.
Listening to music, the house is dark, the kids are asleep and it is COLD outside. Cold and gray and I am growing very weary of gray day after gray day after gray day. Enough already. SNOW or Shine. Rain and melt the rock hard ice fields in my yard or SNOW, will ya already?
Though the snow would sort of suck at this point because my garage door is still broken. ( A wee little mishap occurred Christmas Eve and we are still waiting for the parts). Therefore, scraping snow from my windshields would be annoying -- mostly because I can't reach the windshield that easily.
I don't feel short, you know, until I have to do things tall people take for granted.
I think I'm writing an odd sort of buddy (slash) Road trip ( slash) gambling (slash) love story kind of movie. Gee whiz, with that sort of certainty why-oh-why might I be stuck at all. Criminy. It is a bloody drag, dragging myself through the pages, but I must go on. I know I need more set pieces. I know I need more action. I know I need the pacing to be a hell of a lot faster. I know, I know, I know -- it's just the getting them there...It's just the coaxing the characters this way, while the other one goes that way, and the other guy they were not expecting comes around the corner to say, "BOO! Now ya DIE!" They are simply not cooperating -- dang it. And my ideas at this point feel as exciting as a brown paper bag. Expletive!!
Note to self: Just finish the damn thing -- you can burn it later if you must.
