Around this time every year, on nights I can’t seem to sleep I count my blessings instead of counting sheep. And when I run out of blessings, I naturally count books I am thankful that have not been turned into movies–books trapped in what is often called “development hell.” This is a very special sort of blessing, and they are all of them very near to my heart.

But then I inevitably start to think of all the cinematic injustices that have fallen upon some of my most beloved stories and I just get all steamed and end up staying awake for another three days. Minimum.