I won’t go into all of the circumstances, but I had an interchange this evening with another writer. They inquired about something I was working on and then asked me to chalk the question up to being “a young writer’s mistake.”
I responded: “[Y]ou needn’t apologize… We’re all young writers, every time we sit down to stare at a blank piece of paper.”
I’ve been battling my way through this adaption of Homer’s work for about two-and-a-half months now. The end is in sight, but I can look back and see that what I’m doing is like painting the Golden Gate bridge. Once you finish, it’s time to start back through everything again.
There’s glimpses, along the way, that I’ve had of what the final script will look like. It’s those little glimpses that keep me working, on this and other projects — and they’ve kept me working for the past thirteen or fourteen years.
When there are no glimpses, I work from memory.