Had a basically perfect weekend going on a lovely walk with a friend who's in town for a few days, grilling a batch of tofu to make banh mi and watching TV and doing nothing for a quiet evening at home, attending a housewarming party/spending the day with friends who'd managed to all be in the same place at the same time, sleeping in (so take that Daylight Savings), eating a noodle salad with the rest of the grilled tofu, walking to watch a baseball game (where it was so warm we had to move into the shade!), meeting some new people at church, and eating delicious frozen yogurt with friends and their cute toddler.
I'm in the early stages of a novel right now (round two, because I just shelved the last thing I was working on) and it's at that stage where no matter where I am or what I'm doing, in the back of my mind I'm looking for things to cull to use as inspiration. Little moments here and there, things I overhear, towns or occupations or odd habits I come across. And I feel inspired and ready when I'm out and about, and then the second I sit down to start typing everything vanishes.
I can't remember if this kind of frustration is normal for the early stages of a project, or if it's a sign something's not working. Or maybe every project is different, and however it was for me last time means nothing for the future, and everything has to just be taken on its own terms. Really, I think, there's no way to know without just steadily moving ahead. So it goes.