It occurs to me that writing a second draft of a book is a bit like making a highly detailed painting then putting it into a magic box that turns it into an instant jigsaw. Except you don't get to reassemble the jigsaw for another six months. And not only that, after those six months are up none of the pieces appear to fit any more, so you have to re-shape them by hand. One by one. Hundreds of them. Until they fit together. Sort of.
This blog on unfinished hotels lost in the Egyptian desert got mentioned on Boing Boing. It occurred to me if I were thinking of making a dirt-cheap sf movie set on another planet, preferably one featuring an abandoned colony, I could do a lot worse for shooting locations.