Old Mine, New Purpose: Part 3

    Happy Friday! Below is the final part of Old Mine, New Purpose, and that means the free downloads are available over on my Short Stories page. Or you can click here to go straight to the page :)
    I've been getting a bunch of editing done this week. My goal had started out as paring down the word count on one story, and polishing another to get it ready for blog updates. The attempt at paring down upped the word count by 2000 new words, and the polished one is... too sad for blogging I think?

    The story that needed paring down had a word count too high to be a short story, too short to be a novella, and points where these strange moments reading more like a 'novel' kept creeping in (and not in a good way). Thankfully, there was a thunderclap moment inside my brain. I cleared out the icky novel-ish writing style and the lumberingly slow introduction. After that, I attacked the main body with intent to cut the word count down to a short story length. Except, the read-through with cutting intent turned into a feeling that the main body reads really well now. And fleshing out a few hiccup spots, instead of deleting them, made reading it a much better experience. Lol on me - looks like I have a novelette :D

    The sad story is an idea that made me cry just to think about, so I wrote it down. Yes, it does end with a hopeful tone, but I think I've been over it in detail at least seven times for editing and revising and it still makes me cry to read. It's a tale about grief – which makes sense for being sad, right? – ​and it hits pretty hard in the feels. I love the story, and I want to share it, but I don't know if it's right for blogging.

    It appears that my only solution is to use the novelette for blogging and post up the sad story on Wattpad. Might as well share both, eh? :D   Which means Hybrids will start as blog updates on March 6, 2020. Hope you have a great weekend!

3. This Could Work

        “I used your lawyer,” he announced. She looked over her reading glasses at him with a frown and then went back to reviewing the documents.
        Every expression of interest he’d gotten had a signed promissory contract dedicating the needed remaining funds for the areas they were interested in, if they were selected as the winning bidder, after initial construction was complete. She set the file on the table and picked up the first of three private investment contracts, each with people Dillan had gotten investments from before and giving them small percentages in ownership in return for almost all of the initial funding for completing construction up to the point where the spa and hotel would become involved. Everything was in order. He even had proposals from four marketing firms who were supported as acceptable companies by the hotel and spa owners interested in developing the idea.
        “This is…”
        “I know. It’s hole in the ground and a neat idea and I already paid my half of the inheritance for it without talking to you first. I used my own money and got a loan to make up the difference and it’s a big risk right now. Big as in huge.  But the location, and the potential! I really think that with your contacts and experience, and the agreements that I already have, that –”
        “This could work,” she interrupted to finish.
        “That’s what I think, yes, and –”
        “No, Dill, I mean that I agree with you. This could work,” Terry said. “Doug and I would have to dip into our savings, but not as much as we’ve had to before. You’ve secured most of the funds needed for construction to initiate the big investor contributions. I mean, we’d have to stage the hotel first and use a portion of their initial contribution toward the spa and then the spa’s initial contribution would repay the hotel, but those progress and completion payments from both would… well, it would work.”
        “Don’t forget about the commercial farm. From what I’ve researched, they’ll be operating and providing first stage income that can be invested into the end of initial construction too.”
        “The public gardens would be a final project, typical to landscaping, and will just have to be planned around hotel completion dates. Even with the usual expected problems for construction, we’re not dependent on environmental conditions and can schedule work at summer paces regardless of season.”
        “So that’s a yes?”
        “That’s a ‘I have to talk to Doug’, Dillan.”
        “Yes!” he whispered, pumping a fist.
        “You’re fifty-two years old. Please stop acting like a teenager.”
        He stuck his tongue out at her and then jumped back, laughing, when she faked an attempt to slap it back into his mouth. “I can act however I want because the ten-year returns on this would mean you can pay off both of Julie and Angie’s student debts for them and still replace your dipped-into savings.”
        “Only if it works.”
        “You just said it would,” he said, grinning.
        “I said it could.”
        “Could means would.”
        “Could means might. Come on, you little twerp. Let’s go talk to Doug.” Terry replaced all the contracts and closed the blue folder around them before lifting it to hand to Dillan.
        “You’re inviting me along for the conversation?”
        “I’m inviting you along for dinner. This conversation is best had while we’re eating.”
        “Because Doug needs to be happy to agree and good food will create that?” Dillan asked, his posture suddenly uncertain as his grip tightened on the folder.
        “No,” Terry said, stretching and glancing at her watch. “Because we’ve been down here for almost three hours, I’m getting hungry, and we’ll need to talk to Doug for just as long as you’ve had me down here. Come on and roll up the plans on that table. We’ll need everything I was looking at so we can explain all of this well enough.”
        Dillan beamed a smile at her and – again – nearly skipped to the table she’d sent him to. She couldn’t help but grin at his back. Having an engaging, excitable, and charming little brother could be a pain in the ass. But, she thought, glancing at the plans she was rolling up, he had a pretty good reason here to be excited, engaged, and charming about.
        “I’m glad you like my hole,” he called, smirking, as he finished rolling up the blueprints for the mine. She stepped faster than he expected, bonking him in the head with the roll of plans she had before he could get out of reach.
        “Smart-mouth kid,” she accused him.
        “Bossy old –”
        “Don’t get rude,” she interrupted before he could finish. “I haven’t agreed to anything,” she said, adding a threat to her tone and pointing a finger at him. He grinned wider and collected the flashlights into his pockets before picking up the roll of blueprints.
        “Bet you didn’t think you guys would get to retire, did you?” he asked.
        “Off one of your schemes? I still don’t,” she teased. He froze and stared at her, realizing only after a moment that she was chiding him. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
        He offered his elbow for the walk out. She linked arms with him and listened to him babble about the plans for each room they passed all the way back to the gate. She smiled at the darkness this time when he turned off the lights at the switch box. This could work.