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Well, it’s officially unofficial.  The call from the west coast came today at 3:29 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time: The Prodigal is in play for a Hollywood movie deal and being shopped around by a Real Live Producer.

Of course, that little bit of news and $4.25 will get me a ridiculously overpriced cup of something at Starbucks (where I never go unless someone else is paying). Carly Simon would tell me that my movie dreams are just clouds in my coffee, and she would be right, but they certainly are cheaper, less fattening, and longer lasting than a salted caramel latte.

Why am I mentioning this now? Why trade on hypothetical, wannabe fame and not wait for my fifteen minutes of actual fame on the red carpet? Apart from the obvious answer—the relentless care and feeding of my enormous ego—the reason is statistics, my friend.

The good news: only one percent of all novels are ever optioned for film.  (Yay Prodigal!)  The bad news: only one percent of books optioned for film ever make it out of “development” onto the silver screen.  (Boo Hollywood!) Very likely the most I’ll get out of this whole flirtation is the fun I’m having telling you about it, right now.  If I’m lucky, maybe the buzz will sell an actual book or two and I’ll be able to afford my own salted caramel latte.

The details are super secret (of course), but what I learned just today from my “contact” (also secret) on the “west coast” (sounds cooler than the actual town) is that a producer with several feature films to her credit starring A-list actors YOU WOULD DEFINITELY KNOW has convinced a no-fooling, two-time Academy Award winning screenwriter who wrote  the scripts for several blockbuster movies YOU WOULD DEFINITELY KNOW to be the consulting scriptwriter for the project to bring The Prodigal to film. She (the producer) is starting to line up the money people and angling to get a major Hollywood heartthrob YOU WOULD DEFINITELY KNOW to play the male lead. I was told that an “MOU” (I had no clue this meant “Memorandum of Understanding” until I Googled it) is coming my way to clear the path for all this to happen.

So, there you have it. All this and the Earth still remains firmly, inexplicably attached to my feet, and my phone stubbornly still refuses to ring.

What, me so vain? Not a chance, Carly.  But all this celebrity is enough to make a writer thirsty.  Say, Buddy, can you spare $4.25 for a latte?