A driver, driving.
An engine, engineering.
A task's been given, a right turn's been taken, and the whole of her world has been trashed, literally torn to bits, in favour of this new journey, this forced slog through the snow, this odyssey.
Ivan Locke, it's a quiet little nothing of a film that could have so easily been relegated to stage play or radio play, and it would have worked, but then the cameraman was amazing, and the way the film was shot over seven nights while travelling, actually travelling the trip from A to B that our humble hero Ivan Locke takes, and the supporting cast were actually THERE, every night with him, phoning in their piece live, every night, every take shared by the whole cast and crew even though only one man is in the driving seat having to sort it all out and cope with his life falling apart around his ears.
The onerous, ponderous, odious task.
And I knew where the Kumiko novel had to go -- on a wonderful crazy journey -- with Kumiko strapped in for the long haul while all these people gather round her and argue with her and love her and hate her and join forces with unlikely allies and take amazing turns of story. I've got the first four chapters done, dusted. They're about 4,500 words each, and that makes me happy. And finally... finally, there'll be a birth scene just like in the film.
But it'll be an abortion ... or at least an already happened scene ... and all'll seem lost. Nothing will add up. But it'll not be lost, and everything will (eventually) add up. There'll be a rhyme and reason for it all, not matter how grim it gets. Trust me, I'm a liar and a thief of other people's genius.
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