What Does What'S Done Is Done Mean In Shakespeare?

I got swept up in the same buzz as a lot of other readers when 'Forget the Diamonds, I'm Done.' started getting traction online, so I’ve been keeping an eye out for a TV adaptation buzz. As of mid-2024 there hasn’t been a formal announcement from the author or the publisher about a confirmed TV series. That doesn’t mean nothing is happening — in the world of publishing and screen deals, rights can be optioned quietly, projects can simmer in development for years, and sometimes studios shop around pilots without much public fanfare. What keeps me hopeful is the book’s cinematic qualities: vivid settings, strong character beats, and a hook that would translate well visually. If a streaming service or network picks it up, I could easily picture it as either a tightly plotted limited series or a serialized show that leans into long-form character arcs. For now, though, the clearest signs to watch are official channels — the author’s announcements, the publisher’s press releases, or industry trades reporting option deals. Until something is formally announced, I’m content rereading favorite chapters and imagining casting choices. If it does get adapted, I already have a list of small details I’d want the showrunners to keep intact — and that hopeful part of me is pretty excited just thinking about possibilities.

I've got a soft spot for anime that hit like a single, perfectly thrown punch — concise, focused, and impossible to overstay its welcome. A lot of shows benefit from one-and-done storytelling because they have a single central mystery, emotional throughline, or stylistic tone that loses impact when stretched. Take 'Cowboy Bebop' and 'Samurai Champloo' for example: both thrive with contained runs where the episodic rhythm and the main character arcs don't need overtime to be memorable. Likewise, thrillers and psychological works like 'Paranoia Agent' and 'Perfect Blue' get their power from being compact; the claustrophobic intensity of a single season or film amplifies the themes rather than diluting them. Then there are shows built around a single revelation or emotional catharsis — 'Puella Magi Madoka Magica', 'Anohana', and 'Erased' are great case studies. Their structures are designed so that every episode is a step toward a payoff; filler would only blunt the impact. Anthology-style pieces (think 'Baccano!') and surreal one-offs like 'FLCL' also feel right as limited experiences because their joy is often in compressed chaos and stylistic daring. When creators treat the story as finite, pacing stays sharp, motifs land harder, and rewatchability skyrockets. I love diving back into those tight, complete works — feels like finishing a short, intense novel and being satisfied.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about 'Ms. Sawyer Is Done Wasting Time' and whether it ever made the jump to a TV adaptation — it's the kind of title that sparks chatter in fandom corners, so I kept an ear out. As far as I can tell, there hasn't been an official TV series adaptation announced or released. The story has a devoted reader base and the kind of character-driven, emotional beats that often attract producers, but no streaming platform or network has rolled out a confirmed live-action or anime adaptation that I know of. There have been fan edits, discussion threads, and plenty of wishlists from people who want to see it on screen, but those are not the same as an announced production with cast and release dates. I follow a lot of publishing and entertainment news, and titles like 'Ms. Sawyer Is Done Wasting Time' usually get flagged early by fans and smaller industry blogs when there's any development. Often what happens is: the rights get optioned quietly first, then rumors swirl about casting or a pilot script, and only later does an official statement hit the author’s or publisher’s channels. For this particular story, I haven’t seen that cascade of signals. That said, the landscape of adaptations is wild right now — streaming services and international producers are constantly buying up rights to fresh IP, so something could pop up unexpectedly. Adaptations can take years to materialize even after rights are secured, so fan patience becomes a real test. If you're eager to stay on top of any future announcements, I keep an eye on a few places that tend to break this kind of news: the original publisher's social feeds, the author's public accounts, entertainment trade outlets, and community hubs where fans gather and translate or collate updates. Those are the spaces where rights deals and casting news usually surface first. Also, when a title with a vocal fanbase is in the adaptation pipeline, you start seeing side effects — new official art, interviews hinting at development, or listings on casting sites — little breadcrumbs that something is happening behind the scenes. Personally, I’d love to see 'Ms. Sawyer Is Done Wasting Time' adapted, because its beats and relationships feel like they'd translate well to a tight limited series or a streaming drama. It has that intimate character focus that works beautifully on screen if handled with care. For now, though, it's still a title to cheer for from the sidelines and to hypothesize about in fan circles. Either way, I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my subscription tabs open — can't resist the possibility of a great adaptation landing someday, and I’d be one of the first to tune in with popcorn and hyperactive commentary.

Bright day for speculation: I don’t have a confirmed release date to hand because the studio and official channels haven’t pinned one down yet. That said, I’ve been following the chatter and patterns around shows like 'Ms. Sawyer Is Done Wasting Time' for a while, and a few things make me cautiously optimistic. If production follows the usual rhythm—announcement, staff confirmations, then a trailer drop—we’d typically see a season greenlit about 9–15 months before broadcast. That makes a mid-to-late 2025 window plausible if the project is already in active production. In practice, delays, scheduling on streaming platforms, and source material pacing can stretch that timeline. I’d keep an eye on official social accounts, seasonal anime lineups, and the streaming service that picked up season one; they tend to drip teasers before any formal date. Personally, I’m treating this as a patient wait: rewatching favorite episodes, rereading source material if applicable, and enjoying community theories. I’m excited either way and expect a proper announcement to feel worth the wait.

I get a kick out of helping authors figure this stuff out — there are more places to sell finished books in both print and ebook than most people realize, and each one has its own flavor and trade-offs. For pure reach and convenience, I usually point folks to Amazon KDP first. KDP handles both Kindle ebooks and print-on-demand paperbacks (and now hardcovers in some regions). The upload process is pretty streamlined: EPUB or KPF for ebooks, print-ready PDF for interiors, and a cover file sized to the trim. KDP is great for speed and visibility on Amazon, but the trade-offs are Amazon-centric royalties and the option of KDP Select exclusivity if you want Kindle promotions — that’s useful if you plan price promotions or free days, but it means you can’t sell the ebook elsewhere while enrolled. If I’m aiming for real bookstore availability or want library distribution, I usually add IngramSpark into the mix. Ingram runs a massive distribution network (bookstores, libraries, independent sellers globally) and their print quality and retailer acceptance are top-notch. The upload is a little more meticulous — you’ll want clean PDFs, correct spine calculations, and a properly formatted ISBN. In my experience, mixing KDP for Amazon retail presence with IngramSpark for everything else is the most pragmatic setup. For authors who prefer a single aggregator to handle multiple ebook retailers (Apple Books, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, Google Play), Draft2Digital and PublishDrive are excellent: they distribute ebooks widely with a simple dashboard, and Draft2Digital now offers paperback print distribution options too. Kobo Writing Life, Barnes & Noble Press, Apple Books, and Google Play Books are worth uploading to directly if you care about niche audiences — Kobo is great internationally, B&N helps with the US bookstore market, and Apple is essential for iOS-focused readers. A few other practical notes I always tell friends: Lulu and BookBaby are solid if you want author services (editing, design) plus distribution; they do both print and ebook. Smashwords is older and focused on ebooks to smaller retailers, while services like BookFunnel and Prolific Works handle direct ebook delivery for promos. Don’t forget library channels — OverDrive/Bibliotheca access often comes through distributors like Ingram or specialized services. Also, plan for ISBNs, proof copies, print cost math (royalties are after printing), and file specs — investing time in a good interior and cover pays off. If you want, I can walk through a recommended step-by-step checklist for a single book launch based on your priorities (maximum reach, bookstore presence, or indie-only control).

Oddly enough, the desert felt alive to me long before I ever read a movie tie-in — and that’s the best way to explain who created the world everyone argues about at conventions. The original novels were written by Frank Herbert, who crafted the core six: 'Dune', 'Dune Messiah', 'Children of Dune', 'God Emperor of Dune', 'Heretics of Dune', and 'Chapterhouse: Dune'. His books built the deep ecology, the religious and political machinations, and that singular obsession with spice that makes the series so addictive. Frank’s prose is dense, meditative, and full of aphorisms; it rewards slow reading and a few margins full of notes. After Frank Herbert passed away, his son Brian Herbert—using notes and outlines left behind—teamed up with Kevin J. Anderson to expand the timeline. They wrote a huge body of spin-offs and prequels that aim to fill gaps and answer questions readers had for decades. Notable trilogies include the 'Prelude to Dune' books: 'House Atreides', 'House Harkonnen', and 'House Corrino'; the grand-scale 'Legends of Dune' trilogy covering the Butlerian Jihad with 'The Butlerian Jihad', 'The Machine Crusade', and 'The Battle of Corrin'; and later sequels that try to finish Frank's story—'Hunters of Dune' and 'Sandworms of Dune'—which were marketed as conclusions based on Frank’s notes. There are also the 'Great Schools' books like 'Sisterhood of Dune' and the 'Caladan Trilogy' with 'Dune: The Duke of Caladan' and its follow-ups. Fans are split—some love the expanded universe for its fast pace and worldbuilding, others miss Frank’s philosophical slow-burn. Personally, I enjoy both approaches for different moods: when I want weighty, thought-provoking chapters I go back to Frank; when I crave plot momentum and broader imperial history, Brian and Kevin scratch that itch. If you’re diving in, a practical path is to read the original six first, maybe peek at 'The Road to Dune' for background material, and then decide if you want the prequels or the sequels. There’s no single right way to experience it—just a lot of sand, spice, and strong opinions to enjoy.

If you're staring at a shelf of finished series and wondering where to plunge in, my gut says start with publication order most of the time. I love the way stories were released to the world — authors often wrote with a certain unfolding of revelations and world-building in mind, even when they later added prequels or side tales. Reading in publication order preserves that unveiling: you get the same surprises, the same gradual expansions, and you also follow the author’s growth. For instance, with something like 'The Wheel of Time' or 'Mistborn', the publication path shows how the world and tone evolve; with 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy, reading 'The Hobbit' first is natural because that's how Tolkien shaped readers’ expectations. When I take that route, I also savor author notes, magazine essays, and the extras published alongside the main books — they often enrich the experience rather than just being optional fluff. That said, there are classic exceptions and little tricks I’ve learned by trial and error. Prequels can be spoilers in disguise: some reveal backstory that undercuts mystery, so I often read prequels after the main arc unless the prequel was written to be a gentle gateway. Novellas and short stories? I usually tuck them where they add context without stealing tension — sometimes right after the main book they relate to, sometimes saved for a reread. A good example is 'The Dark Tower' series where 'The Wind Through the Keyhole' works as a mid-series detour; Stephen King himself suggested a placement between certain volumes. For series with clear internal timelines like 'The Chronicles of Narnia', I prefer publication order over chronological order because the reading experience feels more purposeful that way. If a series is finished and heavily chronological (think multi-era epics), reading chronologically can be incredibly rewarding too — you’ll watch the world history unfold smoothly. Practically speaking, I make a small cheat sheet before I start: publication order, recommended author placement for prequels/novellas, and any annotated or illustrated editions worth hunting down. I pair maps and appendices with the main volumes rather than front-loading them; dipping into appendices mid-book can be a mood-killer unless you’re in a deep reread. If you’re in a book club or want spoiler-avoidance, lean on publication order and flag novellas with a note like ‘read after book X’. Audiobooks? Great for slow sections and travel chapters. Ultimately I try one method, and if it feels off I switch on the next read — reading is supposed to be joyful, not a syllabus, and sometimes the wrong order teaches you more about what you love in a series than the perfect one ever could.

I love that little line — it feels like folklore now, but it actually comes from William Shakespeare. He wrote the phrase in the tragedy 'Macbeth', and the line appears in Act 3, Scene 2. In the play, it’s Lady Macbeth who utters the curt comfort "What's done is done" as she tries to steady Macbeth after they’ve both been pulled into murder and its fallout. The cool part is that the phrase is meant to sound decisive, but the play later dismantles that neatness: guilt keeps rising until sleepwalking and madness, which makes the line bittersweet rather than truly consoling. If you like dates and editions, scholars date the writing of 'Macbeth' to around 1606, during the early Jacobean period — Shakespeare was writing for a court that had fresh anxieties about regicide and power after the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. The play was first collected in the First Folio of 1623, but composition and likely early performances were a decade or so earlier. I find it neat to think about a packed indoor theater in London, candlelight and all, when that throwaway sentence landed and started echoing for centuries. It’s a tiny line with huge cultural life, and whenever I read it I imagine both the stage and the quiet aftermath where the real consequences live.