Still working on the synopsis.

And for the record, it still sucks, though maybe not quite as bad as before (I've torn up two versions already). Times like this I feel like if I could just get myself out of my own way I'd be unstoppable, or immovable, or something like that. As in, just crank out the sentences, Jen, and who the hell cares. Well, me, for one thing, because when I crank out the sentences and line 'em up I could put my own teeth to sleep. Nothing sounds very exciting in a synopsis. Life, death and the meaning of God sound about as thrilling as watching paint dry. Seriously, try writing one of these and you'll see what I mean.

And if you think writing one's bad, take pity on the poor soul who has to read it. For example: "A farm boy on a remote planet dreams of being a fighter pilot in the rebellion against the Empire. Then one day he finds a droid that carries secret plans for the Empire's new superweapon. He tries to return the droid to its former owner and meets an eccentric old man who tells him strange stories about his father. His aunt and uncle get killed, and he goes off with the eccentric old man to fight the rebellion against the Empire. Oh, and he falls in love with a hologram." With material like this, you gotta wonder how in hell George Lucas became a multibajillionaire. I mean, he had to pitch this to somebody. Somebody had to read that paragraph, or one kind of like it, and say, "Sounds good, here's $20 million."

(You think that's bad, try being David Lean. "A British soldier meets a band of Bedouin nomads. They march across the desert with a bunch of camels. They attack a city. Then he goes home." "Great, son, here's the money. We think there's an Oscar in this!")

Should I quit whining and get back to work? Of course I should.