365 Days of writing, 2026 – 87/88

Days 87 and 88 – Repurposing old stories that didn’t get finished

…

From Dusty Box to Bestseller Shelf

How to Transform a Forgotten Manuscript into a Blockbuster Novel

You’ve probably been there: a stack of rejected drafts, half‑finished scenes, a “story” that was once your baby and now lives at the bottom of a shoebox labelled “Failed Ideas.”
If you’re reading this, you suspect there’s still a spark in that scrap of paper. Good news—there is a systematic way to rescue, re‑ignite, and repurpose that old manuscript into a market‑ready bestseller.

Below is a step‑by‑step playbook, packed with tips, tricks, and real‑world examples, that will help you rehydrate a dead story, give it fresh legs, and position it for commercial success.

1. Give the Manuscript a “Health Check”

Before you start rewriting, you need to diagnose the problem. Treat the manuscript like a patient—identify its vitals, its ailments, and its strengths.

What to Examine	Why It Matters	Quick Diagnostic Tools
Core Premise	Is the central idea still compelling?	Write the premise in one sentence. If it doesn’t make you sit up, the story needs a new hook.
Genre Fit	Does the story match a currently hot market?	Compare against the top 10 NYT bestseller lists in your genre.
Character Arcs	Are the protagonists dynamic and relatable?	Plot each major character’s “need → want → transformation.”
Structure	Does the story follow a proven narrative skeleton?	Run a quick Save the Cat beat sheet or a Three‑Act outline.
Voice/Tone	Is the narrative voice distinct or generic?	Read a random paragraph aloud. Does it sound like you?
Marketable Elements	Hook, conflict, stakes, and a unique “twist”?	Highlight any scenes that feel “movie‑ready.”

Result: You’ll end up with a diagnostic report that tells you whether to revive, re‑tool, or re‑cast the manuscript. Most “failed” stories survive this check—they just need a new lens.

2. Re‑Imagine the Core Premise

A stale premise is the most common reason a story lands in the “failed” pile. The trick is not to discard it but to re‑frame it so it hits a modern, market‑ready nerve.

2.1 Ask the “What If?” Questions

Original Premise	“What If?” Twist	New Premise (Elevator Pitch)
A medieval blacksmith discovers a dragon.	What if the blacksmith is a disgraced scientist in a near‑future dystopia who discovers a bio‑engineered dragon?	“In a world where corporations weaponize myth, a disgraced bio‑engineer must tame a living, breathing dragon to expose the truth.”
A teenage girl moves to a small town and finds a hidden garden.	What if the garden is a portal to a parallel society that mirrors the protagonist’s inner trauma?	“When a grieving teen discovers a portal garden, she must confront the alternate version of herself to heal.”

Exercise: Take the original one‑sentence premise and apply at least three “What If?” variations. Pick the one that feels freshest and most marketable.

2.2 Align With Current Trends

Genre Hybrids are hot (e.g., sci‑fi romance, cozy mystery + fantasy).
Social Relevance: Stories that echo current cultural conversations (AI ethics, climate change, identity).
Series Potential: Publishers love concepts that can be expanded into trilogies or longer series.

Tip: Use tools like Google Trends, Amazon “Look Inside”, or Goodreads “Listopia” to spot what readers are searching for right now. If your premise can be nudged to meet one of those trends, you’ve already added commercial ammunition.

3. Re‑Structure Using Proven Narrative Skeletons

Even a brilliant idea can flop if it’s tangled in a messy structure. Re‑mapping the story onto a proven framework can instantly improve pacing, tension, and reader satisfaction.

3.1 Choose a Blueprint

Blueprint	Ideal For	Key Beats
Save the Cat (Blake Snyder)	Commercial fiction, romance, thrillers	Opening Image → Catalyst → Debate → Break into Two → Midpoint → All Is Lost → Finale
The Hero’s Journey (Campbell)	Epic fantasy, adventure, mythic tales	Call to Adventure → Road of Trials → Abyss → Return with the Elixir
The Seven‑Point Story Structure	Literary & genre fiction	Hook → Plot Turn 1 → Pinch Point 1 → Midpoint → Pinch Point 2 → Plot Turn 2 → Resolution
Three‑Act + Plot Points	All fiction	Setup (Act 1), Confrontation (Act 2), Resolution (Act 3)

Action: Draft a quick outline of your story using one of these skeletons. If you find large gaps (e.g., missing midpoint twist), note them for the next rewrite round.

3.2 Insert “Set‑Pieces” that Sell

The Hook (First 10 pages): A scene that drops the protagonist into immediate conflict.
The Midpoint Twist: A revelation that flips the stakes.
The Dark Night of the Soul: The protagonist’s lowest point—crucial for emotional payoff.
The Final Image: Mirrors the opening but shows transformation.

If your original manuscript lacks any of these, write a new scene specifically to fill the gap. Don’t be afraid to add fresh material; you’re building a new book on an old foundation.

4. Refresh Characters – Make Them Marketable

Characters are the heart of any bestseller. A weak protagonist is a death sentence, no matter how clever the plot.

4.1 Profile Every Major Character

Element	Example Prompt
Core Desire	What does the character really want, beyond the plot?
Flaw	What internal flaw sabotages their progress?
Arc	How does the character change from start to finish?
Unique Trait	What singular, memorable detail makes them stand out?
Market Tag	Can you pitch them in 5 words? (e.g., “The Reluctant Vampire Detective”)

Write a one‑page character cheat sheet for each protagonist and antagonist. Having these at hand makes it easier to spot flat or generic figures in the old draft.

4.2 Apply the “Baker’s Dozen” Upgrade

From The Writer’s Digest handbook: upgrade at least 13 aspects of each central character:

Name – make it memorable and genre‑appropriate.
Physical quirk – a scar, a tattoo, a habit.
Voice – distinct speech pattern or catchphrase.
Backstory – a secret that fuels the main conflict.
Goal vs. Motivation – clarify the external goal and internal need.
Obsession – an irrational compulsion that drives choices.
Conflict with protagonist – deepen the antagonist’s personal stake.
Moral code – what lines they won’t cross?
Relationship dynamic – unique chemistry with the love interest.
Transformation trigger – the event that forces change.
Iconic scene – a set‑piece that showcases them.
Symbolic object – a keepsake with narrative weight.
Future hook – a thread that could spin off a sequel.

If you can’t think of a change for a character, that’s a signal to ditch them or merge them with another role.

5. Update the Writing Style – Make It Sellable

Even a great plot can get lost under clunky prose. Here are three high‑impact ways to polish the language without doing a full rewrite.

Technique	How to Apply	Why It Works
Show, Don’t Tell (with a Twist)	Replace “She was angry” with a concrete action: “She slammed the door, the hinges screaming.”	Readers feel the emotion, not just read it.
Active Voice + Tight Sentences	Cut passive constructions: “The letter was written by him” → “He wrote the letter.”	Increases momentum, especially important in genre fiction.
Sensory Layering	Add at least one sensory detail (smell, sound, texture) per paragraph.	Immerses readers; sensory‑rich prose sells better on book‑covers and blurbs.
Dialogue Tags → Action Beats	Replace “‘I’m scared,’ she said.” with “‘I’m scared.’ She curled her fingers around the cold railing.”	Makes dialogue feel natural and adds subtext.
Consistent POV	If you’re switching between first‑person and third‑person, decide on ONE and stick to it.	Reduces confusion, improves narrative cohesion.

Quick Exercise: Take a random 500‑word excerpt from the old manuscript. Apply all five techniques above. If the passage reads noticeably tighter, you’ve unlocked a major upgrade.

6. Conduct a Mini‑Market Test – Before You Go Full‑Scale

You don’t have to commit to a full publishing contract to gauge market viability. A mini‑test can save months of work.

Create a 1,000‑Word Sample – The opening hook + the first major conflict.
Build a Simple Landing Page – Use Carrd or Substack. Include a compelling tagline, cover mock‑up, and a “Leave your email for early access” form.
Drive Targeted Traffic –
- Facebook genre groups (run a $5 boost).
- Reddit threads (r/romancewriters, r/fantasy).
- TikTok “booktok” teaser video (30‑sec reading).
Collect Data – Click‑through rates, sign‑ups, comments.
Iterate – If response is lukewarm, revisit the premise or hook; if it’s hot, you have proof of concept for agents/publishers.

Success Metric: At least 200 email sign‑ups within two weeks for a debut‑author genre piece is a strong signal.

7. Position the Manuscript for Agents & Publishers

Now that the story is revived, it’s time to package it.

Element	Pro Tip
Query Letter	Open with the hook (first line of your revised opening). Follow the classic “who you are, what you’ve written, why it matters.” Keep it under 300 words.
Synopsis (1‑page)	Highlight the new three‑act structure, not the original messy outline.
Sample Chapters	Provide the revised opening and a later climactic chapter—show both the hook and the payoff.
Cover Concept	Even before a designer, sketch a cover hook (e.g., “A dragon in a biotech lab”). This tells agents you’ve thought about market placement.
Marketing Pitch	Mention the mini‑test numbers (e.g., “200+ readers signed up in 10 days”) and any social buzz (“#DragonBio trending on TikTok”).

Agents love a story that already shows traction; your mini‑test data becomes a persuasive bullet point.

8. Bonus: Turn the “Fodder” into a Series Blueprint

Best‑selling series dominate the market. When you rescue a single story, think ahead:

Identify the Core Conflict – Can it be escalated in a sequel?
Map Out the World – Create a Series Bible (rules, geography, magic system).
Plant Seedlings – Insert a future plot thread (a mysterious organisation, a hidden artifact).
Develop Secondary Characters – Give them arcs that can become focal points in later books.

Having a series roadmap not only makes the current book stronger but also shows publishers you have a long‑term vision—something every bestseller author needs.

TL;DR Checklist

	Action
1	Diagnose the manuscript (premise, genre, structure, characters).
2	Re‑imagine the core premise with “What If?” twists and trend alignment.
3	Re‑structure using a proven narrative skeleton; insert required set‑pieces.
4	Upgrade each major character with the 13‑point character checklist.
5	Polish prose: show, active voice, sensory details, dialogue beats, consistent POV.
6	Run a 1,000‑word mini‑market test and collect real data.
7	Package a query packet (letter, synopsis, sample chapters, cover hook, marketing pitch).
8	Sketch a series bible to demonstrate future potential.

If you follow these eight steps, you’ll turn that dust‑covered manuscript into a market‑ready, agent‑friendly bestseller candidate—or at the very least, a polished novel that stands a genuine chance of breaking through the noise.

Real‑World Example: From Rejection to Royalty

The case of “The Last Alchemist” (pseudonym).

Original State: A 30,000‑word fantasy short story shelved in 2015 after two “nice try” rejection emails.
Revival Process:
1. Premise Shift: “What if the alchemist is actually a disgraced chemist in a post‑pandemic world where alchemy is a regulated industry?”
2. Structure: Mapped onto the Save the Cat beat sheet. Added a mid‑point betrayal.
3. Character Upgrade: Gave the protagonist a scar that glows when she uses forbidden chemistry—a symbolic “hidden power.”
4. Prose Polish: Trimmed 12,000 words, tightened dialogue, added scent of iron in every lab scene.
5. Mini‑Test: 350 sign‑ups on a landing page in 3 weeks, plus a TikTok video that hit 12k views.
6. Result: Agent query accepted; the manuscript sold to a mid‑size imprint and hit the USA Today Top 50 within six months.

The moral? A forgotten story is just a raw ingredient—give it the right seasoning, and it can become a bestseller feast.

Final Thought

Every writer has a box of “failed” ideas. The difference between a discarded draft and a bestseller isn’t magic; it’s methodical creativity. Diagnose, re‑imagine, restructure, and market‑test. Then package it like a product that readers can’t resist.

So dig that shoebox out, pull out one of those dusty cast-offs and get ready to turn it into your next gem.

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility that the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’, but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

There was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and keeping an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him he was not the concierge, and instead he brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position, then clunked when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the lift lobby, only what was in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over to the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 15

It’s the halfway mark.

Checking the word count, I’m up to over 25,000 words, so that’s around the halfway mark.

But…

I’m simultaneously working on chapters 6 through 13 of part 3, and since it’s partly written and in outline, a few parts are missing. I think I’m going to have to go back and, at the very least, read it again and put in notes for the first edit.

Several tangents have caused issues going back, but it’s nothing major, and if I have time before the month ends, I will fix it. Otherwise, it can wait until the first edit.

Otherwise, it’s not all doom and gloom.

Going forward, I have the outlines for chapters 14 through 20, and they follow along from those previous. And I still have to find a place for an interlude that will have a bearing later on.

Of course, in the meantime, all of it will run through the theatre of my dreams.

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 14

Distractions, distractions…

You guessed it, the Maple Leafs are playing the New York Islanders, and it’s not going to be pretty.

It’s made worse by the fact that Chester has decided to barrack for the Islanders.

Turncoat!

But, it gives me an idea to dig myself out of a plot hole, and there’s more scribbling before I go to the master plan, now on the computer, and I can easily move things around.

I was writing yesterday, and somehow my mind took the story off on a tangent.

Sleeping on it, it led to another part, and then it will neatly fold back into the master plan later on. It’s a twist no one will see coming, simply because I didn’t, at first.

As of last night, my word count is sitting at 25,044 words, which is good and gives me a buffer in case I get a blockage of some sort.

Today’s word count looks like it will be about 1,400 words.

The Maple Leafs are 2 to 0 down, and I think I’ll change the channel to a repeat of Murdoch Mysteries.

All I have to do is get the channel changer out from under the cat.

Maybe not.

A to Z – April – 2026 – L

L is for – The last laugh

…

Sitting around the table in the lawyer’s conference room were seven very eager faces, and, at the other end, opposite Blanding, my parents’ lawyer.

It was time for the reading of the will.

The seven seated at the other end were, in age order, eldest to youngest: Jacob, John, Jesse, Julian, Judy, Jessica, and Jennifer.

Me, I was named Ferdinand. Yes, that apparently was a name, but I usually used my middle name of Aloysius, or more often than not, the short form, Al.

There was a reason why I was sitting away from the others. Technically, I was not a brother, but the only child of my stepfather’s brother, adopted by him after my parents died a year after I was born.

It had remained a well-kept secret until the day my stepmother, who died a few hours earlier than my stepfather, was conscious long enough to tell the eldest son of my adoption.

From that moment, I became persona non grata with nearly all the other siblings. It went from thirty-five years of harmonious sibling rivalry to me instantly becoming an outcast. I don’t think it was what the mother had intended, but then she hadn’t realised just how greedy and insecure her children were.

I had, though it had taken time. The two eldest boys thought I was different, not just the fact that my name didn’t start with a j, but the fact that I had red hair and that I had slightly different characteristics.

While the parents were alive, no one really questioned it. After they died and there was a fortune at stake, it came down to being one less to divvy up the pot of gold.

But here’s the thing. None but one, Jennifer and I stayed to look after them in their home when neither could look after each other or themselves. The others left home as soon as they could and only came back for handouts to save them from their stupidity.

For them, the memories of what happened in that house were a stark reminder of everything they should have become. They had been given every opportunity, but none seemed to like the idea of having to work for it.

Jennifer and I both got the intended message and understood. I remember the number of times the father had said, if only the others had been like Al. He made a point of it. The others blamed me when the father started rejecting their demands for assistance, saying that I had made their lives impossible. Nothing in that house, as far as they were concerned, had led anywhere for any of them except to catastrophe.

In turn, I never understood them. From a very young age, they all believed they would be looked after, which is why work or tried to make their mark when, in the end, there would be a fortune waiting for each of them.

Or perhaps I did. Their parents spoiled and indulged all of them. Not me. Perhaps that was the indication I should have seen that I was not really one of them. The father never gave me anything, often telling me that he expected me to make something of myself, as his brother had.

I never understood what he had meant by that until the mother’s revelation. Then everything made sense.

More than once, he had said, privately to me, that I was not one of them, that I did not have to be like them, that they, meaning the eldest two boys, would never amount to anything.

He was right.

But it was his fault they turned out that way. His and their mother.

Now, a greater catastrophe was likely to befall them if the father had carried out his threat to cut them all off.

I was there when he told them they had six months to turn their lives around, during which time they would not be getting their usual allowances.

As far as he was concerned, it was time for all of them to sort themselves out. His ultimatum had been met with stunned silence and disbelief. I don’t think any of them had considered the well might run dry.

The fact that the parents died in an accident raised a few questions in my mind, so soon after the ultimatum, and the thought, however unbelievable or insidious, was whether one of them, or all of them together, had ‘arranged’ for their deaths.

Jennifer was more inclined to believe they had. None had a story that would stand deeper probing. Each was vouching for the others, alibis were shaky, and as far as she was concerned, the police had closed the case too quickly. As far as they were concerned, it was an accident.

I looked at Blanding and caught his eye. He had his inscrutable face on. It was time to begin

…

“Right,” he said after clearing his throat. “Shall we start?”

He looked around the table at all the expectant faces. No one could tell whether he was about to deliver good news or bad. Even I didn’t know.

All I had was a phone call from the lawyer’s office, a request to be there. The others tried to have me excluded, but Blanding would have none of it. He simply told them that the reading could only progress if all eight of us attended, an explicit condition stipulated by both parents.

The room went silent.

“Now that the investigation into the untimely deaths of your parents has been concluded and a result of death by misadventure recorded, the will can now be read. It doesn’t necessarily mean that any benefits will automatically be payable at the conclusion of this reading. There are formalities, and these will take time.”

Eldest son: “How much time?”

“As long as it takes.” That was it. No more. Blanding took the will document out of the folder in front of him and removed the first page. The good stuff presumably started on the next.

The eldest son was going to ask another question, but then decided against it. I got the impression he was kicked in the shin under the table.

Blanding continued. “Your mother’s will has been read and wishes executed. She died before your father, and her wish was for everything to go to her husband and several annuities for friends. She never thought of her domestics as servants but friends.”

Eldest son: “But she didn’t leave anything directly to any of us, not even the girls.”

“No. Her intention was always to leave it to your father. Had she, in fact, survived him, there was a small lump sum payment of approximately a thousand pounds each and the annuities.”

“What about the estate, the holiday houses, the apartments overseas?”

Yes, the eldest son had been doing his homework, listing all the places we went to, not realising that the property portfolio was largely smoke and mirrors. I discovered the true nature of what they owned and what they rented, and it didn’t surprise me.

The father had been very clever to hide the fact that they were not as wealthy as most people believed, and having ready cash to give the children meant a gradual depletion of assets over time.

Being who they were didn’t mean they were filthy rich. The trick their father had told me once is to appear rich without anyone guessing what your true financial situation is.

Blanding put down the document and took off his glasses. I thought he was going to massage his forehead like a person trying to assuage the pain of an oncoming headache.

Maybe he had one already.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Maybe the glasses were new and weren’t sitting right.

Then he looked at Jacob. “I’m sure you’ve been compiling a list of everything you believe should be in the estate. Did you think to also compile a list of the sums of money you borrowed from your father?”

“Borrow?” Jacobs’s expression changed. “We did nothing of the sort. He gave us…”

He stopped abruptly when he heard, rather than watched, a thick folder land on the desk with a thud, perhaps more for effect than emphasis.

“Every time your father loaned each of you money, you had to sign a document to say that at the end of a specific period, you would either repay the loan in full or start paying the interest. I daresay you didn’t read the fine print or look at or listen to anything but simply thought your father would never expect anything in return. So, back to my original question, did you compile a list of all your borrowings?”

“Of course we didn’t. Are you stupid? The man is dead. There’s no one to pay it back to.” John had the logic all worked out.

“Well, there’s the thing. It became repayable when he died. It’s stated very clearly in the documents, very legal documents, I might add. But just for the sake of clarity, the aggregate sums borrowed by each child are: Jacob, 18 million, John, 9 million, Jesse, 6 million, Julian, 4 million, Judy, 15 million, Jessica, 7 million, Jennifer, zero, and Al, zero. That’s close to 60 million pounds. Where do you think that lot came from?”

The siblings were looking at each other, but mostly at Jacob and Judy. I thought I heard a muttered, “What the hell did you do with 18 million, Jacob?” If they asked me if would tell them. Gambling.

“The old man was loaded. Inherited wealth, he said.”

“I’m sure he said a lot of things to which you chose not to hear. Giving you all you asked for over the years cost a lot, so much so, he was forced to sell all of the properties, including, in the end, the manor house. There wasn’t much in the rest, the paintings of forebears were worthless, the furniture and fittings were all very old but not worth a fortune old. The manor house has been given to the new owner, who was gracious enough to allow your parents to remain in it rent-free until they decided to move on. It was always going to revert back to him. So, scratch any property off your list of assets.”

“Cash, shares, bonds?” The confidence in the tone before had gone as the realisation of what had happen sunk on.

It wouldn’t be long before the others turned on Jacob and Judy, even though all of them together caused the problem.

“You know the answer to that question, Jacob,” I said

He turned to me. I could feel the hostility. “How come you didn’t get anything. Bet he knew you weren’t one of us and was never going to give you a penny.”

Jennifer rounded on him. “Like me, he didn’t seek to burden your father because staying home and looking after him, we knew exactly what the financial situation was. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Jacob jumped to his feet. “If that’s all?”

“There is the matter of repayment of the loans.”

Jacob laughed. “Good luck with that old man.” Then he left. The others quickly followed him out the door.

Blanding sighed. “Well, that went better than I thought it would.”

Were you serious about the loans?” I asked.

“Your father was. We could take them all to court, but they don’t have anything, so it would be a meaningless exercise. But at least they have no more opportunity to get anything more. They have to make their own way now. But, now for the rest of the will.”

“I thought all that was left was the three thousand odd pounds,” Jennifer said.

“After the sales of a few bonds, we found in the bottom drawer of your father’s desk. No, that’s what your father left you two. He was very glad you stayed to help. Both of them were. It was always his intention to leave the manor house to you, and the proceeds from the sale of a half dozen paintings that used to hang in the Paris apartment, about 40 million pounds. He set up trust funds for the two of you, so you have somewhere to live, and enough to keep you going.”

“And if the others find out?”

“They can contest it, even get a slice of the proceeds, but the estate has first lien on the money in repayment of their debts, and the proceeds would barely cover the repayments. No. There’s no point, and no legal firm would take the case. Now go and enjoy it.”

He put two sets of keys to the manor house on the table; the same two we’d given him when we arrived.

We shook his hand, and he left the room. I may have been mistaken, but I think he had a smile on his face. Jennifer was looking down the street, and I joined her. Both of us saw the six other siblings exit onto the street, just as the heavens opened and dumped a heavy shower of rain on them.

“I think,” Jennifer said, “Mum and dad just got the last laugh.”

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Second Story 13

More about my second novel

…

Yesterday, there was a moment where I went back over the plot, and whilst that exercise was a success in a way, it also got me thinking, and like always, I couldn’t sleep, thinking about how the timeline was working, but the narrative wasn’t.

Yes, I made the fatal mistake of considering editing in the middle of a writing marathon.

What brought this self-destructive mood on? A movie. No relevance at all to my story, but it was a study in interactions between disparate people, which is what I have going on between John and Zoe.

It works in the first story because they are thrown together and everything is new and crazy.

In the second, the premise is that the novelty of the thing they had is wearing off.

Zoe needs to keep occupied and doing something other than all she’s ever known, which is not exactly on her to-do list.

Of course, that’s all put on hold because she is now a target because of the death of Alistair, and it’s a problem she has to take care of. Alone.

I realise now there needs to be some discussion around this, and the way the story starts does not set the scene.

Similarly, there should be more definition of the relationship as it stands, or not as the case may be, and reasons why John decides to go after her, if only to get the truth, because he believes she is using the people seeking revenge as an excuse to keep him at arm’s length.

And, from her perspective, it’s not so much that she doesn’t want to be with him; it’s because she doesn’t want him to end up dead, given the sort of people she was up against. Not being able to articulate her feelings, as it’s not something she really knew how to do, there’s bound to be some confusion.

Inevitably, he is going to find her, and when they do, the reasons why they are together are clear, but there are still many reasons why he shouldn’t be there. Her life is not the sort of life he would want, by choice, and it’s not going to improve, so where is this thing going to take them?

I haven’t thought it through, so I’m going to take some time out to sort it out. I’m 47,000 odd words into the narrative, so I have a day, two at the most, to review, and perhaps rewrite to get the missing perspective I’m looking for