Just, no. There’s no shortage of ideas, and they aren’t what matters. For instance, let’s riff:
Tinnekas is a young female spider, learning her place in the world and growing frustrated with spider society. It’s way too isolated, focused on solitary living, only rarely coming together for summits and seasonal ceremonies. She wishes they worked together more, like the bees who sometimes stumble through their webs, or the crows in the trees nearby who shout their bickerings and camaraderie at each other in great black flocks. She has one friend, another girl spider, and they dream of setting up a communal network in a long stand of junipers on the nearby hill, impossibly far but taunting with promise.
They’re always there, but what matters isn’t some novel concept or grand epic plan, it’s the execution. Anyone can have ideas. We hardly ever do the ponderous ditch-digging of filling the canvas and getting words down to the end of page after blank page.
The idea is a path from L.A. to San Diego. The work is a billion heated, raked, steamrolled rocks carefully aligned day after day in the sun.