Dear Judith
I gather you are feeling rather sore about the whole thing – perhaps a signed copy will go some way to alleviating that. Might be worth a fortune one day!
What I will say is that having the initial idea and coming up with one or two characters is a tiny fraction of what it takes to write a bestselling novel; there’s an awful lot of hard work involved. I know that you thought of that line they always quote – but it’s only so poignant and wise because of the rest of the excellent novel I’d built up around it.
I understand there’s some envy on your part, over the money. Money isn’t everything, you know. Personally, I regard family as being far more valuable. What would you do with it anyway? You’ve always claimed the most fulfilled life is the simple life – in fact, that’s the premise of the whole bloody book!
You’ve never shown any inclination for writing, so no matter how many ‘brilliant ideas’ you may have, what’s the use if you keep them shut away in that brain of yours? Unless you want to pass them on to your beloved sister?! Sorry, that was in poor taste.
Well, anyway, I’m tired of mother constantly asking when we’re going to stop feuding. I’m sick of having this on my mind – really sick of it. I think you’re very silly holding a grudge when it’s me that’s put in all the hours and dealt with the pressures of sudden fame (and there are plenty, believe me, it’s not all glamorous Sunday supplement interviews – how would you have managed, you who barely utters a word when you’re with your own family!).
The implication that I’ve somehow stolen your thunder or swiped a glittering literary career from under your nose makes me want to laugh, it really does. But I’m going to put the ball in your court now. Despite the fact that it is all my own writing and you didn’t lift a finger, I have decided to acknowledge that the concept, the plot and one or two of the major characters and quotes are yours and I should have credited them. There.
You can do what you like with this letter now. I can imagine you folding it up and tucking it inside the book, hiding it away on a dusty shelf, dying happy with secret smugness that I’ve conceded to you for the first and, I might add, only time. Or perhaps you’ll choose to claim what you think is yours and show it to the press and my publishers. Fancy swapping places, do you, my darling sister? The fame, the glory, the riches…?
I look forward to hearing your decision…
