Hell on Earth

It's been offensively hot in the city. Thursday promises to break into the 90s again. It really puts a drag on things.

A project I worked on two years ago is back in the press. I was never officially signed onto the project: I was one of four writers being considered for the gig. But part of chasing after a gig is pitching the entirety of what you'd do with the story and I did a fair amount of work on this. Never got rejected, it just fizzled out. And now it's back out there, without a writer (publicly) attached.

I'm afraid to ask about it. I don't want to know about it if it's going to somebody else. I wince at the prospect of some of my original ideas getting woven into the project with someone else writing it. I've got other things I'm working on. Original properties. But it's like an ex declaring that she's newly single. Even if you've moved on, it stings.

More so in the heat.

Still, making steady progress on my draft this week. It could be better but I'm plugging away and I'm thankful that people aren't on my back screaming for it. Yet. I've gone through most of the little changes throughout and now I'm dealing with the two major scenes that I need to reinvent. This would be easier if the city weren't so goddamn hot.