*makes many lists*

[angela_n_hunt]

*looks at calendar*

*rubs eyes*

It is Friday, yes?

Yes.

I am eyes deep in everything. Like so deep in things to do that I am deliberately going to crawl out from under this mountain and grill and drink with friends tomorrow and pretend that I am not about to be mugged by work.

Until then, I make All the Lists. And I do mean, all of them.

Script adaptation of Strange Weather is going really well, but I still need to condense 99 pages into 40. WHEE. Adaptation is its own art, because you have to have the whole arc of the story in your head, and in the case of a trilogy, the arc of the whole trilogy as well. There are things that if you lose them now and they show up later, you will be fucked. And other things where there are scenes you love, but in a book you can be chitty chatty a little. In a film, you motherfucking cannot. Every second must support your arc, your story, and your structure. As a result, my brain feels like it’s about to split at the seams from holding this all in.

And I’m doing this while pushing this giant rock that is the press right now, because I bit off more than I can chew, but I’m not done chewing. It’s epic and awesome, but holy cats, I’ve got a fuck ton of work to do in the fourth quarter here. Publishing is not for the weak, I’m just sayin’.

Someone send cabana boys and tequila, stat.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.