A character introduction

Here is some writing about one of the lead characters in my novel, Artemis Faro. Artemis is a middle aged reporter at a local newspaper in a small midwestern town. She enjoys reporting and talking to the many contacts she has developed to write stories. She likes the pressure of a deadline. She lives with her dog, Bounder, and all seems to be going along fine when news that her small paper has been bought up by a large conglomerate, bent on bleeding the paper of its assets, then when there's nothing left to take, declaring bankruptcy. She'd read about these actions by hedge fund operators, distant, shady personages whose only call was money, not caring what detritus they left in their wake, the shattered lives and communities, the lost jobs and isolation people were forced into when they lost the simple thread of local news and event the held them so tenuously together. Not at the Chronicle, she was sure, having discussed this possibility with the owner, Thomas Llewellyn, patriarch of a long line of newspapermen, who had reassured her so. Never say never of course, and the newspaper was bought and her job erased. Suddenly adrift, despite all her connections, her purpose was gone and she rethought her thinking about staying here in this town long enough to retire. So with reluctance wrapped up in fear and expectation and topped with hope, she took her dog, got in her Subaru and headed west.

See what you think. ---------

The news of the demise of the newspaper came swiftly, coolly. Artemis Faro stood perfectly still, purse and camera dangling on her shoulder, staring at the letter left on her desk, not even in an envelope, just open for all to see the announcement that her services were no longer needed. It’s nothing she did, the letter insisted, just that paying reporters is now a thing of the past at the Fremont Chronicle, which was no longer the Fremont Chronicle either, but a subsidiary of the regional Global Dominion Media. Artemis gripped her one pen and one pad, replaced them in her bag, turned and strode through the door she came in, not looking back. Not at the editor who only last week assured her that the paper would never succumb to the tactics of the large corporations to buy small newspapers, sell off their assets, kick out the staff and eventually close their doors, nor did she look at any of the few employees who were also here at this early hour, slowly packing up their desks. Outside in the early midwest spring morning, still chilly, she finally slowed down and breathed in slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. I knew it, she thought, no one talks like they’re never going to do something unless they were in fact already doing it. Just like I told him that I’d never leave the paper, when in fact her bags were half-packed. They’d been half-packed for two years as she pondered whether to stay or go. She had hoped to make the decision herself in her own time, but Global Dominion stepped in and did it for her, just like they took this paper and the dozens before it, squeezing out what little money they had, and tossing its people out like so much collateral flotsam.

She let her terrier, Bounder, out once she got home; at least she hadn’t signed the option to buy’ clause when she rented it 2 years ago. She’d been in apartments all her adult life, and this was a house, but she couldn’t quite commit to the idea of plunking down permanently. So at least that was a saving grace. It was nice having a little yard and all but a house purchase? Still, the bags were half-packed and now she stared at them, wondering why she had been living this way for so long. She considered the other decision, the one about staying. Now, without a job, that one was kind of made for her already, too. She would have to make all those calls again, turn off the utilities, close her accounts. Say goodbye to Marshall, her one friend in the neighborhood. He was always a little too worried about her she thought, and kept him, like this house, like her life, at arms’ length at all times. Now life and those half-packed bags were staring her in the face. "I don’t know,” she said aloud to his imagined question about where she will go. Of course she had to tell him something, but the rest of her answer was only a quiet “just not here.”

Artemis had worked at the Chronicle about eight years, after a dozen years freelance. She knew her way around a newsroom, she knew all the locals at the town hall, the police station, the churches and homeless shelters. She had loved that part of the job, the talk, the randomness of peoples’ thoughts, and of her own: there always seemed to be a grand purpose to it all. A pattern she couldn’t quite make out, but she loved the puzzle of how sometimes the pieces seemed to fit together, but later, knew they didn’t quite because a different piece was the right one and landing upon that piece, finding it and changing it out, created another step to completion of the whole picture was so gratifying.

Like when she almost married Garrett right after college, and he was so beautiful and they were so young and she was so lost, not knowing where to go next after the stable structure of school and her academic achievements melted away. But those pieces weren’t quite right, she felt it in her bones, a fuzziness in her chest that whispered this isn’t love, this is something else, maybe fear, maybe anxiety, maybe worry that this was too much, too soon and maybe there was more of life to be lived. She broke it off without much explanation, a lame ‘not now, not yet’ kind of excuse that irritated them both. She sieved through her memory of those days trying to recall just what it was that made her hesitate, but everything drained away, leaving nothing. Including him. Not a year later he married a different classmate and now by her count they had 3 kids and live in a fine, big house two towns away.
"I think you should move away,” is actually what Marshall said when she saw him the next morning as she was walking Bounder and told him about the letter.
“So it’s not really a pink slip, more like a flashing neon sign,” he added.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Artemis, you’re not happy here. It’s obvious,” Marshall said.
“What makes you say that?”
"It’s obvious,” he remarked and looked at her with that smile he always had, like he was the Cheshire Cat, like he had some secret inside line to the meaning of the world.
“You're kidding aren’t you? You’re not really stumped are you?”
“Marshall, if it’s so obvious, why am I the last to know?”
“Think about it. Then finish packing your bags; they’ve been half-done for years. It’s time to finish what you started,” he added.

This kind of talk made Artemis feel foolish, like she was some kid who couldn’t see her own choices before her. Here she was a grown woman and now suddenly blushing like a girl in front of her neighbor.
“I'll think about it,” she stammered. “I have to do some research. Come on Bounder. Uh, thanks, Marshall.”

It was less than two weeks later, her car full and her belongings in storage, when she and Bonder climbed into the Subaru and pointed it west. A good idea or not, she was bound to go and without a goodby to anyone but Marshall, turned and began her journey.

Your thoughts and responses welcome! Hope to hear from you!

Rebecca