365 Days of writing, 2026 – 174

Day 174 – Writing Exercise

I saw the motion to be quiet, but it was neither the time nor the place.

…

In a company where promotions came slowly and were hard earned, the ‘lecture’ from the head of Human Resources was the highlight.

The company was built on tradition. Its executives were quiet, unassuming men who took the time to consider all aspects before making decisions.

Being brash and openly enthusiastic at Executive meetings was frowned upon. There was an agenda, required reading (sometimes a lot of pages), and matters were dealt with calmly and dispassionately.

From the purchasing of stationery to a multi-million-dollar overhaul of the production line.

Or as it happened, the decision to close the doors and make every one of the three thousand employees, nationwide, and particularly in my town, redundant.

A situation that would be utterly devastating.

…

As I walked out of the head of HR’s office, my first question was, “Why me?” There were at least two far more viable candidates in terms of age and experience ahead of me.

It was a question I candidly tossed out at the morning tea table where half a dozen of us want-to-be managers sat lamenting our lack of opportunity.

“Why me?”

Lorraine, perhaps the brightest of us, said, “They’re looking for a sacrificial lamb,” with the sort of candour that was scary as well as plausible.

Walter, the sort of person who could be in plain sight but completely invisible, laughed, but it was not a pleasant or amiable one.

It was like Frankenstein’s monster had sat in his seat and had been watching us all like prey.

“Nothing like a beheading at sunrise.”

Perpetually nervous Larry shrank back in his seat. Experience told him bad news was coming. He asked, softly, “What do you know that we don’t?”

Larry looked at Bill. Bill shrugged. “They called off critical repairs to the machine shop. Without those repairs, we’re on borrowed time.”

It had been a topic of conversation for the last four weeks. Delays, funding approvals being revised, rumoured order cancellations, and a shipment lost in transit due to an unfortunate accident.

Information that was known only to us six and, of course, management. They had not informed anyone of the situation, the consequences of which were far-reaching.

People knew something was wrong. Production lines were being systematically closed for a day, sometimes two, under the guise of maintenance.

That excuse had been disposed of by Jaime when she had inadvertently walked into one of the shut-down areas and found it in complete darkness, with no activity, repairs or otherwise.

And all the while, the General Manager was down at City Hall waxing lyrical to the Mayor about how the company was working hand in hand with the County to keep things going, and the future was bright.

Jaime’s mother’s friend had a travel agency, and she just happened to mention that bookings overseas were up a few hundred per cent, and that things must be great at the company because the management and Directors were all off overseas in the next month.

Not all at the same time, so it didn’t look suspicious. In fact, it might not be, just our imaginations working overtime.

‘So, what do we do?”

Bill shifted in his chair. He was the more senior and the one to be promoted. He hadn’t seemed upset when it was me instead, two years his junior.

“You’re in management now, Harry, you have to keep your ears and eyes wide open. You’ll know if anything is off. People who try to hide something always have a tell. A nervous twitch, a tendency to silence, short, sharp answers, and defensive when answering pertinent questions. There’s a meeting tomorrow.”

“They have to invite me.”

Something I learned about junior management, it was by invitation only, and I went to one soon after the appointment, the only one where I was introduced to ‘the team’. It was the only one so far.

“They will.”

It was all he said, and I think I knew why. It was prep before the walls fell in on me

….

The board room was also the managerial meeting room, a large room on the top floor adjacent to the Executive dining room.

It was where management held informal meetings and drinks after hours, a perk of the office they held. There was another for the managers, the next level down.

I was not, as junior management, privy to either.

Except today.

Bill was right. It was time to prime the fall guy, and they were going to dazzle me with the whole charade so I’d be distracted.

It was the spiel Bill gave me an hour ago. He seemed very knowledgeable about managerial practices. Jaime had managed to get some figures together, raw stock, production figures, per item costs, current wages, coatings versus profits, which were not good, and some estimates of various aspects of the production line that were shut down or limited.

Where she got them was anyone’s guess, but she was an accounting genius, and maybe they were he own assessments based on what was left lying around. I didn’t ask, and she didn’t volunteer. I just had to shred them after reading them.

I climbed the stairs slowly and then outside, Mrs Gatly, the Executive Secretary, was outside, expecting me.

I had met her the day I was promoted, and she had taken me through management procedures. She was very serious and ensured I was aware of the obligations of office. The most important. What I heard stayed in the room.

Confidentiality was everything.

I could understand that. She reminded me when she ushered me into the room. My position was at the end of the table. I was to speak when spoken to, and I was not to offer opinions, only facts.

I was not mingling before the meeting.

So, I went in, got a few glances from people I knew but rarely spoke to, and waited for the rest. None seemed inclined to talk to me.

I sat there for fifteen minutes while the others arrived, all having a convivial chat like nothing was wrong; in fact, some were comparing holiday destinations until the meeting started.

The General Manager sat at the other end of the table, and the twelve other managers sat down in order of importance. My manager was number three.

He opened the proceedings with, “I trust it is all good news and full steam ahead.” He looked around the table with the ease of a man who was fully in charge. He did glance at me, but only briefly. I’m not sure he wanted me there.

My manager spoke first. It started hesitantly, “We have just received the reports from Sanderson Engineering about the plant, and they say that we will be able to delay the maintenance cycle for another year, perhaps two if we don’t push too hard. Good news.”

The Financial Manager added, “That will release funds for the update to employee wages and benefits that were promised two years ago. They have been patient.”

The General Manager beamed, “Of course.”

The Shipping Manager was next, the man responsible for internal and external shipping via the fleet. One of the important aspects of the business was having our delivery venues being seen everywhere, advertising, the marketing department said money couldn’t buy.

A fleet of aging vehicles we couldn’t afford but persisted with. The new owners tried to get rid of them, but a petition from within and from a hundred thousand customers scotched it.

Maintaining that fleet was one of the deadweights slowly sinking the business. The same could be said for both Executive and Management perks.

“Delivery times are improving, and we are almost back to normal after a few problems with the vehicles and drivers. Plans are in the advanced stage to begin the vehicle renewal program. We are considering an offer from Argosy Fleet Management.”

Again, the General Manager beamed. “Excellent.”

If all of this was to be believed, the ship wasn’t sinking.

Except….

Argosy Fleet Management was owned by the General Manager’s brother-in-law, a little-known fact to any of those sitting in that room. I’d discovered it quite by chance when I had been researching Fleet replacement options.

Ideally, we should just use someone like FedEx. I found that would cut a considerable amount from the cost structure, but it would make quite a few redundant.

Other reports were equally upbeat, though those who delivered them were hesitant and nervous, as if they had to learn their lines from a script. Four of them used the same turn of phrase.

That told me I was there to hear what they wanted me to hear and pass it on, because none of what they said had any confidentiality about it.

At the end, my manager came down to say a few words and ushered me out. None of the others left. The real meeting was about to start.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

…

The thing is, I took Mrs Gatly seriously and didn’t tell anyone what I heard, just the shadow team, and not in the office.

We went to a diner management, and the executives wouldn’t be caught dead in, knowing that whatever I said would not be heard by the wrong people. Few people took us seriously anyway, even when we gathered at the local bar.

Lorraine started with, “So, how did they treat their sacrificial lamb, Sam?”

As if they were going to spell it out, with chuckles all round.

“Business as usual. The GM has a habit of saying good, well done, excellent, and business as usual. If anyone were to listen in, they would assume that everything is going according yo plan.

“Just we don’t know what plan they’re working on,” Lorraine said.

The waitress with the name tag, Dora, deposited and trauma of drinks and handed them out exactly as ordered. The ladies in the company cafeteria got it right.

“Did they sit you in purgatory?” Bill had predicted I would be isolated and land away from the main group. He called the seat at the end of the table purgatory.

He was right.

“Yes. No one looked at me, no one came over to greet me, welcome me, most didn’t acknowledge I was there. My boss came over at the end and tossed me out. No one else left.”

Harry muttered, “Of course. That’s when the real business is discussed. They’re probably hoping you’ll pass on the good news.”

“Is there any good news?” Lorraine asked.

“Some engineering consultants reckon the plant can go two more years before heavy maintenance.”

“Bought and paid for,” Harry said. “When it does break down, they have a fallback.”

“The money saved is supposedly being channelled to deferred employee raises.”

“Read money being channelled to the directors and management retirement funds,” Harry had a different answer for each talking point.

“They’re going ahead with the upgrading of the delivery trucks.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. On the surface, it seems they are doing everything they said they would, but the numbers don’t add up.” Jaime had been listening and waiting.

The food arrived. Lorraine said it was time to forget about work and talk about other things. She was going to join the growing trend at the company, and planned to take an overseas holiday.

…

There are many interesting facts about living in a company town.

Not only did the town depend upon the company for its survival, but it was the major employer, where the sons, the fathers and the fathers before them worked in some capacity over the years.

I was fourth generation. My father always told me that if I looked after the company, the company would look after me.

I believed him. I ignored a growing trend of people my age deciding there was a bigger world out there and went to more distant colleges and the bigger cities for better opportunities.

Maybe they had seen that figurative writing on the wall.

Another interesting fact was that in a town like ours, everyone knew everyone else. Families were united over time, and those relationships carried from outside work into work, where a close friendship was beneficial on the job.

Especially down in the so-called engine room, that group of lower-level workers who were the ones who made it all work, despite management’s attempts to interfere.

The managers didn’t make the machinery hum; it was a dedicated group of men and women who did not have that all-important engineering degree, just the 30-odd years of service and experience.

They never bought advanc3nent just the satisfaction of another day on the job, all problems fixed and ready for the next day. They knew the current state of the machinery and whether or not it needed an overhaul. Not engineering outside engineering reviews and ‘planned’ maintenance.

They were the people I had nurtured on my way up, and worked with, supported, and spent the long nights and agonising days with, something the upper management never did, nor asked for their input.

The people who actually knew the truth.

And, over the next month, the people I spent most time with. I needed to know if the plant was going to die, whether the reality of deferring the heavy maintenance was going to be the death of the company.

And if the General Manager had the right attitude, he should have too.

He didn’t.

Apparently, he had no time for the ‘wrenchmen’, what he called the indigent factory hands.

Louis Bayer was sixty-seven years old, always in oil-stained overalls, a wrench in his back pocket and hands with ingrained grease stains. Like his crew, varying from 57 down to the new lads just replacing their fathers at 25, they were the operating manuals for the machinery.

I went down into the power generation plant where he was supervising the overhaul of one of three spare diesel generators. We could power the whole town in an emergency.

He saw me coming and jumped up out of the pit. Truth be told, he was fitter than I was.

He’d called me, concerned.

“The boss has that Mulligan character snooping around.”

Mulligan was one of the engineers who did the assessment that led to holding over the maintenance. His job was done.

“Did he give you a reason?”

“GM wanted a follow-up review. Thing is, he’s been poking in places he shouldn’t. My guess, they’re going to sabotage the plant.”

“How?”

“There’s a vulnerability. No one knows about it, and you can’t tell it’s there, not unless you were born in this building. Someone told him, because he was caught in the very place.”

“Can you stop it?”

“Not if no one is here.”

“Can it be fixed?”

“Not before it causes just enough damage, so the bosses can call it.”

There was something she wasn’t telling me. I knew the plant needed nursing, and the crew would keep it going. But I hadn’t heard about any vulnerabilities. Not serious vulnerabilities

“We need security then?”

He laughed. “We need a miracle. Just thought you’d like to know.”

He went back to the pit.

I watched the machinery that had held together longer than my father or I had been alive. It wasn’t going to break down; they were going to break it.

…

In a perfect world, I would have asked Jaime out for coffee, more than likely in the company cafeteria, a place that had been the background for a great many romantic relationships and marriages

More than the pier at the park, in a more romantic setting for asking the girl of your dreams to marry you.

Jaime had many bottles and then men asking her for dates. Some she went on, many she didn’t and was still single.

I figured she was not interested in daylight, a guy from work. It was bad enough, she once said jokingly, that you would see him all day, but then all night too.

So when we were together, I just had to set those feelings aside and wonder what might have been.

Sitting opposite my desk, the door closed, we were able to speak of confidential matters.

Not that I was price to them, and not that it was earth-shattering, or perhaps I was underpaying the value of it.

“The General Manager just filed his vacation requirements. 6 weeks starting next Monday. Oddly enough, there are six directors and top-level managers taking various periods of vacation.”

“Hardly a revelation for the time of year.”

It was the pre-annual meeting period where everyone else stayed at work to produce the reports for the directors to mull over.

“Timing, given what we know about the current state of things.”

“You think he doesn’t want to be here if they decide to close the plant?”

“Or it crashes, and they have to.”

I had told her about my meeting with Bayer when I ran into her at the cafe. She was sitting alone at the back, reading a book and sipping a large black coffee. It was a romance novel, which I thought out of character.

“Whereupon I would be asked for answers.”

“Since your boss is also running away. The sacrificial lamb.”

“Want to go on a vacation with me?”

She gave me a sideways look. “Tempting as that offer sounds, we can’t. No one involved with the reporting can have time off, unless they are dead. I was told that was the only excuse.”

She didn’t say no, so I decided to push my luck. “Does that mean when this is over you might?”

“Die?”

“Go on vacation with me?”

The look she gave me said she would prefer to be an alien abductee. Or not.

“It’s taken you six years. You’re lucky I’m a very patient woman. Ask me again when this nonsense is done with. Now, you have to go see Eleanor.”

Six years ago, we were in high school together. I had wanted to ask her to the prom, but didn’t have the courage. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

…

Eleanor was the hotshot reporter who was that kind of person who could get under your skin. She was persistent and annoying.

It was what made her a good reporter. She ran the school paper, and after graduation, got a job at the newspaper, combining college with reporting.

Recently, she was added to the local TV station reporting on news from our town and the surrounding area. She was also vitally interested in our company and the persistent rumours that it was in financial distress.

We had a brief thing after graduation, but the fact that I was not important enough broke us up. I’d always suspected her relationships were based on breaking stories or advancing her career.

I was never going to do either.

But..

Now I had a story, but it was a matter of how I sold it, because it would not do to have her and her crew knocking down the door

Her involvement was purely to throw a cat amongst the pigeons, something she could do just by turning up.

Jaime and I had talked about it. How to light a hundred-foot slow-burning fuse so that we could be a hundred miles away when the bomb went off.

I was thinking about that when Eleanor took the stool next to me at the bar.

The bartender was waiting for her order.

“He’s paying for your best champagne.”

I did say, when I called her, the drinks were on me. It might have been a little brash.

“Don’t make me regret this. I’ve got people to hang out to dry.”

“Do you ever look for good news?”

I glanced sideways and took a breath. That girl never got less stunning, perhaps the reason she was so successful.

“Frankly, no. Who wants good news, really? People thrive on disaster and mayhem. In this town, it’s the company. They’re up to something. You work for the company. Are you here to tell me what it is?”

“How do you know anything is wrong?”

“You’re here. That tone of yours. You were always a lousy poker player, Sam. Why am I here?”

“To put the wind up management, specifically the General Manager. He’s going away on Monday. I’d like you to harass him at the airport.”

“With what?”

“Put two and two together. I’m sure you’ve been watching the company. The share price is dropping, the earnings are lacklustre, we’ve suffered shipping problems, and maintenance has been deferred.”

“Cash flow problems?”

“Not if six executives can afford long overseas vacations, just before the Annual General Meeting. Including a GM who should be here guiding the ship through the storm.”

“Rats deserting a possible sinking ship.”

Her champagne arrived, and the bartender poured two glasses. A salute and a drink.

I shrugged. “Someone has the answers. You just need to find the right questions.”

“Monday?”

“I’m sure someone down at the travel agency will help you with your travel requirements. Ask for Anna.”

She smiled. “A question for you. When are you going to ask Jamie on a date?”

…

That old saying, ‘I love it when a plan comes together’, is rarely applicable in any circumstances.

Plans made are always fraught with danger.

We didn’t have a plan as such; just a group of like-minded people with suspicious minds making conjecture out of a series of seemingly unrelated events.

The drip selling of blocks of shares in the company is a trend that no one would see if they weren’t looking for it.

A number of realty opportunities that, if you didn’t look closer at the ownership, you would simply dismiss as the market working as it should.

The carefully worded press releases from a company going through what anyone, and particularly the General Manager, would call business as usual.

Reports to the staff advising certain decisions to be ratified at the Annual General Meeting, such as wage increases, fleet upgrades and distribution streamlining, and the delay to scheduled maintenance to allow for all of the above.

No one knew about the cask flow problems that were caused by the loss of a shipment that insurance was refusing to pay, or the large bonuses being paid to the board and executive members for ‘a job well done’ and particularly that to the General Manager.

Or the fact that in an oddly screwed-up piece of paper that landed on my desk, when smoothed out was the draft resignation letter of the General Manager, one week after his departure on vacation.

It was clear that he was not coming back.

Sunday night, the day before our General Manager departed for what he called a well-earned rest before the AGM, the group of suspicious minds had gathered in the power plant building, all ready for the night shift. Curiously and unknown to most, the Sheriff in plain clothes was watching proceedings.

He had heard a rumour, one that sounded awfully like a criminal act was about to be perpetrated.

Louis Bayer and I were standing on a makeshift stage, looking out over a sea of faces, about a hundred in all, there because we suspected that the plant would be sabotaged.

We just didn’t know where.

Louis deployed the troops with one instruction. Whoever they were, they were not to leave the site, and they were to use any and all means necessary.

This place was their livelihood. Despite management, they were going to do whatever it took to save it. Or di the best they could.

There were other problems, but the plant and its machinery were not going to be the cause of the company’s demise.

It was like the troops were going to war.

…

Thus, it was 10 am on Monday.

The executives filed into the board room for the meeting, the Assistant General Manager in charge, and me, taking my manager’s place at the right end of the table.

I was there to take responsibility for anything that might happen while my manager was away.

A message had appeared on my phone from Eleanor telling me she had the General Manager in her sights, with a camera crew and a live cross waiting.

Another followed to say my manager had just appeared.

Five minutes past ten, the warning siren went off in the production line five building. It signified a problem. It could go either of two ways. Problem identified and resolved, or evacuation.

No one in the boardroom seemed agitated. The AG Manager simply asked me to find out what was going on.

I called Louis

“It’s done.”

I looked up at him. “Investigation underway. We’ll know soon enough.”

I looked around at the faces. Three of them looked nervous, the others, not so much. I wondered if they had met before to work on their strategy. The three who were nervous were the last three to offload their stick holdings.

I paced nervously. From the windows overlooking the outside picnic area used by the employees to eat their lunches and just rest, I could see the Number Five building. It seemed like nothing was happening.

Until smoke started billowing, and the siren changed to evacuation, and people started filing out. A very orderly and unpanicked evacuation.

I pressed send on my phone.

It rang. I answered. “You know the drill.”

“Thanks.”

I looked at the executives. “Catastrophic breakdown. The maintenance crew are being deployed.”

“It wasn’t supposed to break down. We had a team of experts go over the whole plant.”

“Initial report is that it was in an entirely unexpected area, one we’ve never had a problem with, and was never expected to fail. It happens.”

“Then I guess we’d better start working on a plane. I assume it means everything has to be shut down.”

“Given it’s the one place that we just didn’t need to fail, and the hardest and most complex to repair, yes.”

“Then give the order.”

Just then, Mrs Gatly came running into the room and flicked on the TV. It was the news, with Eleanor blocking the General Manager, asking, “Do you realise that a serious act of sabotage has been perpetrated at the plant?”

“No. What are you talking about? My flight has been called, and we need to get to the gate.”

“Are you running away from the problems? Did you cause the problems? How do you explain a letter of resignation dated one week from today?”

“What?”

Caught like a deer in headlights. And suddenly flanked by two deputies. We just caught sight of my manager being held by more deputies.

Cut to the sheriff outside his office, saying, “We currently have two suspects under arrest for the attempted sabotage of the number five plant room at the Bentham factory site.”

There was also a ruckus outside the boardroom, followed by the Sheriff. What was on the TV was pre-recorded, because the two suspects had been quietly handed over soon after they were apprehended, so they could not damage the plant.

Louis had correctly assumed what they would go for. There was nothing else that could do the necessary damage, and it was the most vulnerable point in the machinery chain.

Mrs Gatly had a file in her hand, and she gave it to the Sheriff. “It’s all in there.”

She glared at the executives. “Shame on the lot of you.” To me, she nodded and left the room.

“Sit down, the lot of you. It’s going to be a long morning.” The Sheriff wasn’t a happy man.

Outside, I heard a roar. People cheering.

My phone rang.

“Generally, I hate Mondays, but I’ll make an exception for today. The fire truck brought cakes, so don’t wait too long.”

I turned back to the executives. “Problem solved. The plant will be back online in half an hour.”

“Are you telling me you orchestrated this whole charade?” The AG manager said.

“No. We caught the two saboteurs you sent in to wreck the production line. They confessed. You were expecting a disaster, so we gave you one. Why you wanted one, well, that’s for the authorities to find out.”

“This factory is done, now or in a year, there’s nowhere in this current market it can be economic.”

“Not for those seeking to make themselves rich, no. But for ordinary people who simply want a comfortable life, it can be done. But there’s no point talking about that with you. You don’t think you’re ordinary people, but then you’ll have time in prison to wonder how that happened.”

And as I left, I wondered briefly about that comfortable life I thought I had. Perhaps when I saw Jaime, it would all become clear.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 173

Day 173 – The unrelenting thriller

…

Grab ’Em by the Throat: How to Write an Unrelenting Thriller

Legendary director Billy Wilder, the man behind Double Indemnity and Sunset Boulevard, had a simple, brutal piece of advice for storytellers: “Grab ’em by the throat and never let ’em go.”

In the world of thrillers, this isn’t just a stylistic choice—it is a functional necessity. If the reader stops to breathe, they might realise they’re holding a book. If they catch their breath, they might put it down to do the dishes or check their phone.

To create a truly unrelenting thriller, you have to treat your narrative like a chokehold. Here is how you master the grip.

1. The Hook isn’t a Suggestion—It’s a Siege

Most writers open with a scene-setter, a bit of atmosphere, or a slow burn. In an unrelenting thriller, that is a death sentence for your pacing.

Do not start with the protagonist waking up. Start with the moment their world shatters. Start with the body in the trunk, the phone call that shouldn’t be happening, or the gun pointed at their chest. The “throat-grabbing” begins on the very first page. If you spend three chapters building up to the inciting incident, you’ve already lost the reader’s adrenaline.

2. High Stakes, Higher Costs

An unrelenting thriller requires constant pressure. But pressure is meaningless if the protagonist has nothing to lose.

To keep the reader breathless, every decision your protagonist makes must cost them something. If they escape one trap, they should lose a vital tool, a piece of information, or a loved one in the process. Never let a victory be a clean one. By constantly stripping away their defences, you make the reader feel the desperation you’re trying to convey.

3. Kill the “Lull”

In screenwriting, we often talk about “beats.” In a thriller, these beats should feel like a rhythmic thumping—a heartbeat that never slows down.

If you find yourself writing a scene where two characters sit down for a long conversation to “explain the plot,” rewrite it. Move the scene to a moving vehicle. Put them in a building that’s burning down. The setting should always be working against the characters. If the scene is about information, make the delivery of that information dangerous.

4. The Principle of “Worst Case Scenario”

Whenever your protagonist thinks they’ve found a solution, present them with an even more terrifying problem.

This is the “never let ’em go” part of the Wilder philosophy. An unrelenting thriller is a series of escalating complications. Think of a staircase: every time the hero reaches a landing, they realise the stairs ahead are crumbling. Don’t give them a moment to process the last trauma before throwing the next one at them.

5. Short Sentences, Sharp Prose

The way you write affects the way the reader breathes. When you want the pace to accelerate, shorten your sentences. Use punchy, active verbs. Eliminate the modifiers that slow down the eye.

The long, winding, reflective sentence acts as a meditative pause, allowing the reader to lean back in their chair.
But this? This hits.

Use white space. Give the reader paragraphs that look like jagged shards of glass. It forces the reader’s eyes to move faster down the page, subconsciously mimicking the frantic pace of the plot.

6. The Psychological Clamp

Finally, remember that the most intense thrillers are internal. The reader needs to be gripped not just by the external danger, but by the protagonist’s psyche. We need to feel their sweat, their racing heart, and their irrational fear. Connect the reader’s nerves directly to the protagonist’s nervous system.

When your character is terrified, the reader should be checking the locks on their own doors.

The Takeaway

Billy Wilder knew that audiences are fickle. They want to be entertained, but more importantly, they want to be possessed by a story.

To write an unrelenting thriller, you must be a ruthless architect of tension. Stop being polite to your characters. Stop saving them. Keep the pressure on, keep the stakes rising, and keep your hands locked firmly around the reader’s attention span.

Don’t let go until the final period.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 173

Day 173 – The unrelenting thriller

…

Grab ’Em by the Throat: How to Write an Unrelenting Thriller

To create a truly unrelenting thriller, you have to treat your narrative like a chokehold. Here is how you master the grip.

1. The Hook isn’t a Suggestion—It’s a Siege

Most writers open with a scene-setter, a bit of atmosphere, or a slow burn. In an unrelenting thriller, that is a death sentence for your pacing.

2. High Stakes, Higher Costs

An unrelenting thriller requires constant pressure. But pressure is meaningless if the protagonist has nothing to lose.

3. Kill the “Lull”

In screenwriting, we often talk about “beats.” In a thriller, these beats should feel like a rhythmic thumping—a heartbeat that never slows down.

4. The Principle of “Worst Case Scenario”

Whenever your protagonist thinks they’ve found a solution, present them with an even more terrifying problem.

5. Short Sentences, Sharp Prose

The way you write affects the way the reader breathes. When you want the pace to accelerate, shorten your sentences. Use punchy, active verbs. Eliminate the modifiers that slow down the eye.

The long, winding, reflective sentence acts as a meditative pause, allowing the reader to lean back in their chair.
But this? This hits.

Use white space. Give the reader paragraphs that look like jagged shards of glass. It forces the reader’s eyes to move faster down the page, subconsciously mimicking the frantic pace of the plot.

6. The Psychological Clamp

When your character is terrified, the reader should be checking the locks on their own doors.

The Takeaway

Billy Wilder knew that audiences are fickle. They want to be entertained, but more importantly, they want to be possessed by a story.

Don’t let go until the final period.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 171/172

Days 171 and 172 – Writing Exercise

Nighttime under the trees in that part of the forest was as dark as …..

…

The most interesting fact about the forest was that if you took all the necessary precautions, you would be safe.

One precaution: never travel alone.

Another precaution, take the weapon you are more comfortable with.

And another, don’t go on foot, take a horse.

These basic tenets were drilled into us from an early age because, as beautiful and wondrous the forest was, it was still a dangerous place.

There were more than tenets that were applicable, like if your stay was going to be longer, or if you might not get back home in time, involving food and water.

That, of course, was mostly taken care of by learning forest craft, the recognition of dangerous versus harmless animals, which could be used for food. Recognising the trees and plants, those that could be eaten, those used for healing, and those to be left alone.

It was basic education for boys, and recently, when our king remarried after the first queen had died suddenly, it was extended to girls.

The new Queen had made it abundantly clear that girls would be afforded a number of privileges that boys were given.

These included skills such as swordmanship, using a bow and arrow, riding a horse, which only a few had access to, and participating in some less demanding tournament games.

But they could not become knights.

The King had been reluctant to introduce such measures, and wasn’t particularly in favour of it. Nor were the older citizens who had lived a different life and didn’t see the need for change.

That reluctance flowed down to the noblemen, the people who oversaw the King’s business in the provinces, so those changes were slow, if at all, to be implemented.

As for the boys themselves, they did not believe that girls were as strong or as smart as they were, and completely ignored any girls who tried to join their ranks.

I had no desire to be in the King’s army, nor did I know any girls who wanted to be either. It seemed to me they just wanted to have the idea they could challenge us, not take over, but I couldn’t convince my friends.

Perhaps they just wanted something to grumble about.

…

In our household, there was my sister Elizabeth, who had no intention of doing any boy’s work, and who was what most would call a fair maiden, my brother John, who had joined the King’s army, and me, James, old enough to get a position working as a gamekeeper’s assistant, as well as other duties, in the the King’s service.

We maintained the deer herds, the pheasants and other birds, the lakes for fishing and ducks, and a host of other animals. It also involved crops, all for the King’s table, and the castle marketplace for the people to buy.

Working in concert with the army, we kept the King’s domain free from trespassers from within and from other kingdoms. Poachers were a regular problem.

We also maintained the King’s smaller castles scattered about the kingdom, just in case he wanted a change of scenery, or he was having a hunt with the nobles, or royals from other kingdoms.

The next trek, to the other side of the mountain, was soon, and he was taking the whole family. No one wanted the job if they could avoid it because there was nowhere to hide. I volunteered. That part of the kingdom was the most picturesque.

And I knew that Rosalie, the maiden I had struck up a friendship with, was going with Princess Margaret as her handmaid, a huge promotion, and not undeserved. She worked hard and understood that nothing came easy.

I was fully aware of why no one else wanted to travel with the Royal party; the King was a good and fair man, but his Queen and her children did not treat the servants with any respect.

Out on parade the were model citizens; in private, they treated everyone with contempt. I guess that was one of the privileges of being a royal, but to me, it seemed things would go better if they treated the people, especially those who worked for them, with a little respect.

I had learned to just shut them out, do as I was told, no matter how incomprehensible it was, and never engage with them, unless they spoke to me first. Silence, I learned, was the only thing they understood.

…

John was home for a few days helping out his parents. My father was a blacksmith and had hoped John would follow him. It was good, honest work, but hard. John thought being in the Army was better.

After all, there had been no battles forever, and it was not like war would be declared any time soon. Father thought he was lazy, and they argued from time to time.

My father had no such ambitions for me and was glad I joined the gamekeepers, perhaps thinking there would be some meat for dinner on occasion. I got a rabbit or two from time to time, but that was about it.

I was not going to take a pheasant or a duck. My job was more important. Aside from the fact that the King treated people who worked for him and were caught thieving very harshly. I’d seen the result of one or two who thought they could get away with it.

With the King going away, John had deliberately kept a low profile to avoid being conscripted into guard duty and travelling with the royal party.

Being in the advance party, I would be going a few days ahead of the Royal departure to help get everything ready.

My job would be to help stock the food store.

“So, have you told fair Rosalie that you’re going?”

He had caught us stealing a moment and now liked to tease me about how she was too good for her parents, and I would never allow the match.

Mother thought I had an excellent chance. She worked in the castle kitchen as one of the cooks and had frequent contact with all the upstairs servants. She liked Rosalie and was surprised that she didn’t take any of the princesses’ nonsense.

She was likely the only one.

Most of the servants avoided the Princess and often refused to work with her, despite the punishment. It was better than being berated by her simply because she was in a bad mood.

“She was not all that interested, because she doesn’t expect we will have much time to be together. I’ll be out in the forest and fields, and she will be inside tending her mistress.”

He shook his head. “You are going to have to make your feelings known. Besides, it’s not a woman’s place to be working long after coming of age.”

“I can’t see why she can’t do that and be married and a mother “

“You try telling that to the Princess. Or the King. You’d be better off chasing after a farming girl. They don’t aspire to be something they’re not.”

She had treated him with deference, as befitting a lady’s personal handmaid, inheriting some of the family aloofness, and it annoyed him. He had said she was no better than us, putting on airs and graces, but I disagreed.

“Perhaps I will.”

“And perhaps they’ll throw you in the dungeons for being impertinent. Mind your tongue around them. I don’t want to plead to get you out of jail. Now, be off with you, or you’ll be late.”

I grabbed the sack I had my travelling gear in and said my usual goodbyes and headed towards the castle on my horse. I was lucky to get one of the best in the stable. He wasn’t the biggest, but he was strong and had a good nature.

I was going to treat this like an adventure rather than a chore.

…

The carriages and drays were lined up outside the rear entrance to the castle, the carriages taking the servants and the drays, everything the Royals would need for their stay.

All were just about packed and ready to go. I hitched my horse with the others and went over to the head gamekeepers who were organising their drays.

The whole courtyard was organised chaos.

Just as I approached him, a Royal Carriage was slowly picking a path through the crowd, going to the front of the wagons.

“What’s with the Royal Carriage? It’s a bit late for repairs,” I said.

“Good news.” He said it in a way that I knew it was anything but good news.

“The Princess has decided to go with the advance party. We are supposed to be leaving in an hour, that’s not going to happen.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep out of the Sergeant-at-Arms ‘ way. He has to completely rearrange the guard and is on the warpath.”

He was my brother’s immediate superior and was a hard man to please. He was about keeping his men alert and well-trained with physical exercise and war games. He would call those not up to the mark, and John had just avoided being thrown out, a disgrace his father would not take lightly.

Eldest sons always had greater expectations on their shoulders.

I could hear the Sergeant up ahead getting his troops into the front and rear platoons.

I went up the stairs into the foyer, where there were cases, boxes and trunks everywhere and about 20 servants, almost running hither and thither.

Rosalie was nowhere to be seen, which I took to mean she was getting ready to accompany her mistress, probably with very little time to organise.

As I turned to leave, she came down the staircase from the princess’s quarters, in a fluster. I hadn’t seen her in anything other than completely calm.

“James,” she said, loud enough for me to hear.

I turned. “Rosalie. I hear you’re coming with us.”

She came over, breathless from rushing about. “Last minute. Everything’s a little chaotic. I’m supposed to be riding with her. She’s not going to start out in the carriage. She might ask you to ride with us, to tell her about the lands. I don’t know why she would want to know. Just be aware. I have to go.”

So much for staying out of the way of the Sergeant at Arms.

…

Instead of starting out at first light, it was the middle of the morning. Luckily, the cold weather was on its way out, and the warmer, sunny days were about to grace the Kingdom.

It was that part of the year when it was not too cold and not too hot, when everything was about to grow again after the winter.

All around, there were new buds on the trees, and flowers started to come out, releasing their fragrances. Animals were coming out of hibernation and could be heard foraging for food.

Leaving this late meant we would have to break the journey in the forest, a consideration that would not have mattered except now the Princess was coming with us, provision had to be made for her overnight comfort.

The rest of us would be sleeping out in the open, not a problem for the gamekeepers; we were used to sleeping tough, but the servants at least had soft beds to sleep on. It was going to be an interesting evening.

The procession had formed up, the soldiers at the front ready, the princess’s carriage next, five carriages for the servants, the gamekeepers, and those who wished to ride on a horse, then fifteen drays with everything else, followed by the rear soldiers.

Everything was ready to go when there was sudden movement at the first carriage, then the Sergeant and the princess came down the procession and stopped where the gamekeepers were waiting.

“James,” the Sergeant’s voice carried an element of annoyance.

I moved out of my position, in the middle row, to stand in front of him. “Sir.”

“Up the front. The Princess would like your presence beside her.”

Nothing was said. He turned and rode off. I joined the Princess and followed him.

“There are more qualified gamekeepers who can attend to your requirements, your majesty.”

She looked sideways at me. “I know, but you are the one I requested.”

This, of course, was going to make my life hell. Riley, the head gamekeeper, was the one who should be up there with her, not me.

We returned to her position in the procession, in front of the carriage. Rosalie was there on her horse, sitting confidently. It was a surprise to discover she was a very good horsewoman, perhaps cementing her position as the Princess went for a ride most mornings.

I was on one side and Rosalie on the other, with four guardsmen as her personal escort.

The sergeant at the head of the procession gave the order, and we were off.

…

The princess was more interested in the life of her handmaiden and the man she had obviously mentioned in discussions they had, rather than ask me about land and animal matters.

Instead, she asked about my family and what I found so interesting about being a gamekeeper. It whiled away the time as we travelled along the winding road, heading through farm land, forests and Plains, stopping briefly for lunch and resting the horses, then heading towards the mountain pass.

Part of the way was alongside the largest lake in the Kingdom, named after the King’s forebears, and stopped briefly so she could see the old summer castle on the far side, now in ruins, and accessible only by boat.

Given what I knew about the Princess, her behaviour and attitude were completely at odds with what I was led to believe. Of course, it was the first time I had been this close or talked to her, or any of them.

We had begun the steady climb up to the pass. Not far from it we would break before it got too dark, so the Royal tent could be raised.

The Princess requested we go hunting to see if she could bring back dinner. I did say that perhaps it was best left to the gamekeepers, but she said she had learned how to use a bow and arrow and shooting arrows into a round target was no incentive to improve or give her satisfaction.

She wanted to hit a moving target.

I went to get the head gamekeeper, and she stopped me. She was tired of getting experts, rather than ordinary people, who treated her with disdain, unlike the Prince, her brother.

She was right; the head gamekeeper wouldn’t chastise her, but he made it clear he didn’t like being dismissed or disrespected.

More trouble with my bosses when we got back home then. The Princess would soon lose interest, and I would be tossed on the scrap heap.

And much to the Sergeant’s dismay, when she told him her request and the conditions, we went hunting. The Princess, I, and two soldiers. If she had her way, the two soldiers would have been omitted. She told them to keep their distance.

I’d been to the resting place recently and familiarised myself with the tracks, some of which looked like they had been used recently, and with the rock pool that was about 10 minutes ride from the main track as part of the annual review.

I was hoping the animals would come to the pool to drink at sunset, making it easy for her.

…

There were facets to the Princess that were, at least from my perspective, surprising.

The first, she had worn the sort of clothing I’d expect her brother would. She had not worn a dress, which was normal for the Royals when travelling.

In them, from almost any angle, she could be mistaken for her brother, except for the long golden hair. For the hunt, she had tucked it up into a plain cap.

The second, she had excellent horsemanship skills, and I guessed it was because she liked to get out of the castle. It was another plus for Rosalie because, as she said, she could ride a horse before she could walk. She always went riding with her mistress, rain, hail, snow or sleeting.

The third is her wanting to be able to use a bow and arrow. By all accounts, meaning tavern talk, she was lazy and indolent, and wandered the castle and grounds looking for fault.

The girl sitting next to me on her horse, just short of the water hole, was anything but that person. Perhaps, in this setting, she was acting differently, but I got the impression that she had relaxed into a different version.

Perhaps getting away from the stifling role she had in court, her duties, perceived or otherwise, she didn’t have to be that person.

“Why are we sitting here?” Impatient and noisy.

“I’m listening,” I whispered.

“For what?” The horse was picking up her impatience and moved.

“Waiting to hear if any animals are nearby. It’s a waiting game where patience and silence will be rewarded.”

A grace sideways told me that wasn’t in her playbook.

She patted the horse’s neck and whispered something in its ear, probably an insult for me.

I motioned her to move with me slowly and prepare to shoot. Hopefully, she would realise that her window of opportunity would be very short.

We were 20 paces from the pool edge with a clear view of the front and side for a few yards. The thicket came almost up to the rocky edge.

Then suddenly, a fawn came out of the thicket, and she shot her arrow. A hit. It went down.

She shrieked in delight. The two cards thought she was in trouble and came racing up to us. The shriek also served to scare everything else nearby away.

“Just in time,” she said to them. “Bring it back to the camp.” Then to me, “Thank you. I will be more patient and quieter next time.”

I was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time. I was also hoping that we didn’t meet the foal’s mother on the way back to camp.

…

Nighttime under the trees in that part of the forest was as dark as the castle cellar without torchlight, though infinitely more scary for those not used to being out in the open.

Tent or no tent.

The guards were grumbling; there were no warm places like there had been back at the castle, and they had to suffer the cold night and the endless sounds around them.

There was little difference between a large deer and a man, though the man might be a lot quieter.

I got to spend the meal time with Rosalie, where we all got to share the venison, appreciating that we had one of the cooks who knew how to prepare the meat, with bread brought from the castle stores.

It was a treat for everyone, most of whom did not get to have meat, except from a large pot. There was also ale for the men on guard duty. I spent time doing a circuit of the camp, through the thicket and part of the forest.

We were carrying torches and making noise as a means of scaring off animals and men if there were any out. It must have worked because we didn’t encounter any on our patrol.

The next morning, after some bread and a short period of exercise to get the men into shape, we packed up and continued.

The Princess, the Sargent said, was impressed with me, so I got to ride with her again. The track over the mountain pass was as incredibly breathtaking as ever, the view going all the way to the castle, surrounded by manicured lawns and gardens and the bordering lake not far away.

It was the most picturesque of all the residences and a fitting place for a quiet stay.

It was also the place for hunting and fishing, and on the way back to camp, the Princess, very excited from the kill, said she was going after a wild boar next, to prove to her brother that she was made of stronger stuff.

I couldn’t see how that could end well. They were very big, very heavy and didn’t die when you wanted them to. I’d seen what they could do in the rampage and was going to have to talk her out of it.

Thank goodness, then her brother, the Prince, was waiting for us when we arrived. She had assumed she was going to be in charge, but her father perhaps had an inkling as to her motives.

We were going to be caught in the middle of a battle between the siblings.