Free Cabin Fever by Janet Sanders Page A

eating his breakfast.
    At last, after what seemed an eternity, he sighed and turned away from the screen.
    “You hate it,” Sarah said, more of a statement than a question.
    “No, I don’t hate it.”
    “But you don’t like it.” She was starting to feel a little angry and defensive, which embarrassed her. She was a confident and successful woman. She had founded her own startup and built it into a thriving business. She would not be intimidated by this small-town newsman and his opinion of her writing skills. Still, the little girl inside of her steeled herself against the criticism that she expected to land any moment like a slap against her cheek.
    “Actually I do like it. It’s not what I asked for, though.”
    “What do you mean? You said to write a story about a lost dog. This is a story about a lost dog.”
    “This is a story about a lonely old woman who has already lost her husband, and now she’s lost the last remaining thing that kept a piece of him in her life. It’s a tear-jerker.”
    “It will get people to look for that dog.”
    “Oh, they will definitely look for the dog. And they will not see the dog because their eyes will be swimming with sentimental tears.”
    Sarah snorted. “Do you want me to re-write it?”
    “No, it’s fine the way it is. Sentimental women will probably cut it out and save it for when they need a really good cry. But next time, when I ask for a story, don’t dress it up. Don’t try to make it something that it isn’t. Just give me the story.”
    Sarah nodded. It was good advice. She knew that a part of her had turned up its nose at the idea of a lost dog story; she was too proud to write about something that didn’t seem to matter. But, then, what gave her the right to decide whether the story mattered or not? To Winnie the story mattered a very great deal. She decided that it would be a good exercise in humility to set her expectations to the side and just do what Duane asked. “So there will be another story, then?”
    “If you want. Do you want?”
    “Sure. This was fun. Well, not fun exactly – it really is a sad story, and I’m not made of stone. I felt bad for Winnie, and that made it hard to write. But it was nice to get out of my comfort zone and do something a little different. And it got me out of the house, which has been a challenge lately. What else have you got?”
    Duane leaned back in his chair and contemplated her, as if he was reading the tea leaves at the bottom of a cup. Finally he reached some decision and spoke. “There’s an ex-pro football player in town. By the standards of Tall Pines, that makes him a major celebrity, and some people are pretty excited about it. Do you feel up to an interview?”
    Sarah shrugged. What she knew about football would fit into a very small pamphlet, with lots of room left over for illustrations. “Sure. Why not? Who is he?”
    “The name’s Brad Johannsen. He’s staying with his father John, who’s been living here for a few years now. I’ve got the address here somewhere, don’t let me forget to give it to you before you leave.”
    “And what are you looking for this time?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “You told me not to dress up a story and turn it into something that it’s not. So what is this story?”
    “It’s a celebrity interview. A puff piece. People around here watch football, and the guys who play in the pros are kind of like gods. So now we have a god, or at least an ex-god, walking amongst us. Our readers want to know what he’s like. What he thinks about the town - as long as he thinks good things. We don’t want to hear the bad stuff. What it was like to play in the NFL? If he ever met anyone famous, who were they? That sort of thing. The stuff that sells papers.”
    Sarah looked around the near-empty room and carefully phrased her question so as not to give offense. “It looks like maybe selling papers is something you could really use right now.”
    “Right now? Nah,”