Do I even inhabit my mind?

I pulled up my original Word doc of Bobby Carapisi, skimmed through it and pulled out the sections I'm keeping for the screenplay to put on a separate document. The next step is to go through that and slice out all the extraneous chit-chat and mental wordage I've put in it, thanks to Eric, Bobby, and Allen.

I'm also updating it from 15 years ago, when it first came out. Bobby now tells his story on his phone instead of a tape recorder. Eric doesn't take his long walk from downtown to Hollywood, anymore; too much of that area's been redeveloped and is now bland. And I chopped out Bobby's courtship of his wife, Donna, and will be combining two of Allen's remembered rapes into one.

There are a couple of TV talk show transcripts I need to figure out how to work around because they are long. As is Eric's ordeal while undergoing the gathering of evidence for the rape kit. At the moment, I'll be lucky to keep it at 150 pages.

So why am I doing this? No idea. It's almost automatic. I did not consciously choose it. My thought, today, was to work up my expenses for the last three jobs and have those ready for Monday...even though I won't get reimbursed until the middle of the month, at the earliest.

I also need to prep for another packing job the week of the 18th. But playing with my book like a screenwriter doing an adaptation took preference.

This won't be the first time I've shifted a long book into a screenplay. I used two books about Beryl Markham to develop a 130 page screenplay about her life up till she flew from the UK to North America, and got an award for it. I just don't know if I can do that with something I originated.

So much of the story's emotional depth comes from the lives I build in each character. It's that way with all my novels, even the erotic ones. I write stories and characters, not porno-crap mean solely to titillate. Maybe that's why I don't do so well with them, sales-wise.