Jamie
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Posts posted by Jamie
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This replaces my last post as I needed to make a few changes.
Nothing like starting this assignment and stopping several times to re-write! Better late than never!
1st assignment:
Story Statement
Note: I have it narrowed down to two: One that is more direct and the other more literary:
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Glorious Gardner sets out to uncover the secrets stamped across her family tree and her small western town, and in doing so must find the courage to outgrow the ‘ordinary’ life around her and claim the glory she was named for.
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Burdened by grief, secrets, and a mother who can barely speak of the past, Glorious Gardner uses her pen and notebook to uncover the truths her prairie town hides. She must decide whether she will live small and “ordinary,” or finally step into the promise of her own name.
2nd assignment:
The Antagonist
This book does not have one central antagonist/villain. it has several interlocking forces pushing against Gloria and causing friction.
a) The Town as Antagonist: Chippewa Creek
Chippewa Creek is both beloved and hostile. It acts like a major character and also an antagonist
On one hand, it’s slow, predictable, “plain-as-prairie” and comforting: Creekside Cafe, Front Street, the grain elevators, the Harvest Hay Day, Agnes’s cozy house by the creek. Gloria feels at home there, on the prairie and with the town surroundings.
On the other hand, the town is plagued with:
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Blabbermouths and backstabbers (Marlene Gladwell, Mrs. Handswell, Mrs. Foster, Mrs. Castil, and the “Ladies’ Auxiliary of Malfunctioned Mouths”)
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Cruel gossip that follows her family, especially her mother and her dead brother Frankie
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Silence and Cowardice mixed in with pain and dark history
The town’s collective behavior reinforces the lie that her family is “damaged,” that she’s foolish for wanting more, and that some truths are too messy to say out loud. Chippewa Creek keeps trying to shove her into the “ordinary” box.
b) Human Antagonists (the town’s busybodies)
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Mikey Olsen acts as the schoolyard tormentor who sneers about Frankie’s death and lies about her grandmother being a murderer. He represents the cruel, childish side of the town’s judgment.
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Mrs. Handswell is the teacher who publicly belittles Gloria’s family tree (“never planted in that rich of soil”), weaponizes authority, and makes Gloria feel small and unworthy.
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Marlene “MOO-lene” Gladwell. She is the church and community gossip who belittles Gloria’s mother and snipes from the sidelines.
None of them are cartoonish villains or monsters; they’re ordinary people acting out of their own pettiness and fear and creating the worst wounds.
c) The Mother’s Wounds and Illness
Emmalayne (Mama) is not a villain, but the consequences of her trauma and mental illness function as so.
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Orphanage abuse
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A father who killed someone
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A mother who died by suicide on the tracks
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Electroshock treatments and “nervous tension” after Gloria’s birth
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Medication, depression, emotional distance
Gloria desperately wants her mother’s love and approval, but Mama is often cold, agitated, or absent, locked in her own pain. That emotional unavailability is a constant opposing force. Gloria keeps trying to “earn” her mother’s love by being good, useful, “glorious,” and by fixing the family story.
d) The Time Frame (era) and Social Stigma
The 1950s setting also acts as an antagonist:
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Mental health is whispered about in shame.
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Orphanage abuse goes unspoken.
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Being part Nez Perce, part Irish, part Norwegian in a white prairie town is frowned upon.
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Women are expected to be neat, quiet, dutiful, and not take up public space with their grief or ambitions.
Gloria is trying to become a journalist, ask questions, and speak openly in a world that keeps telling her “don’t dig” and “don’t make a fuss.”
Assignment #3:
Breakout Title
Primary Title
JUST GLORIOUS
My reasons for wanting this title: my heart and theme are tied to JUST GLORIOUS.
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“Just” is a double edge:
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The town and even Gloria herself think she’s “just” an ordinary girl.
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By the end, “just” shifts toward justice and “simply, fully Glorious.”
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“Glorious” is her given name and the theme: she doesn’t feel worthy of it at first. The story is about growing into that name.
Alternate titles:
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Something Kind of Glorious
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The Ordinary Girl from Chippewa Creek
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Family Matters in Chippewa Creek
4. Once Upon a Prairie
Assignment 34:
Genre and Comparables
Genre
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Young YA Historical Coming-of-Age/Crossover/Upper Middle Grade
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1950s rural American setting with strong family drama, grief, faith questions, and small-town politics.
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Has crossover potential for adult readers who like book club historicals with heart and nostalgia.
Tone & Approach
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Third-person with a warm, slightly old-fashioned narration. (like a storyteller or narrator for a play)
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Mix of humor, heart, and emotional pain.
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Includes Gloria’s journal entries, which give us her writer’s voice.
Comps
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THE WEDNESDAY WARS – Gary D. Schmidt * Newberry Honor
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The Wednesday Wars is a 2007 young adult historical fiction novel written by Gary D. Schmidt, the author of Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy. The novel is set in suburban Long Island during the 1967–68 school year. The Vietnam War is an important backdrop for the novel. *Similar age and voice
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WOLF HOLLOW – Lauren Wolk
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The main plot of the novel Wolf Hollow is about Annabelle, a young girl in 1940s Pennsylvania, who must navigate a complex situation involving a cruel new girl named Betty and a reclusive war veteran named Toby. Betty's bullying escalates, and she falsely accuses Toby of a crime after she disappears. Annabelle finds herself in the middle, trying to protect Toby from the suspicion of the townspeople and ultimately seeking the truth about Betty's disappearance
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THE WAR THAT SAVED MY LIFE – Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
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The War That Saved My Life is a historical fiction novel about a ten-year-old girl named Ada who has a clubfoot and is abused by her mother in London during World War II. She escapes to the countryside with her little brother, Jamie, to be evacuated from the Blitz, where they are placed with a woman named Susan Smith. The book follows Ada as she learns to overcome her past, finds a new sense of family with Susan, and begins to heal from her physical and emotional wounds
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Stylistically Literary/Character-driven but external plot development that is engaging: fistfights, a fantastical snowman, school/teacher trouble, a national contest, appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show.
Assignment #5:
Core Wound and Primary Conflict
Core Wound
Gloria’s core wound has 3 development stages:
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The death of her brother Frankie. It's a grief no one will talk about directly, clouded by guilt and rumor, leaving her feeling like love can vanish without warning.
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Her mother’s emotional absence and trauma. Gloria was literally left without her mother for the first months of life, and then grew up with a parent who is hollowed out, medicated, and guarded.
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The town’s judgment of her family gossip about her grandparents, her mother’s past, and Frankie’s death never leaves her. The people who should hold her up (teachers, neighbors) often undermine her.
Deep down, Gloria fears that she is not truly “Glorious” at all; she is ordinary at best, defective at worst, and doomed to repeat the cycle of hurt.
Primary Conflict
Gloria’s primary conflict is this:
Gloria struggles to live up to her name, Glorious. It becomes more difficult as she uncovers painful family and town secrets, forcing her to choose between protecting the people she loves or telling the truth that could finally reveal her own path to purpose.
How:
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She discovers the trunk with her mother’s painful history, the tragedy of her grandparents, and the real story of Mama’s hospitalization.
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She wants to make sense of it all and turn it into something meaningful, not just shame.
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At the same time, she is building a public voice as a journalist:
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Snowman article /local fame
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National essay contest/Ed Sullivan Show
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Those two tracks collide: the more visible she becomes, the more risky it feels to reveal the messy truth behind the “Gardner” name.
If she fails this conflict, she’ll either:
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Retreat into silence like older generations, or
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Blow up relationships (especially with her mother) in the pursuit of truth.
Assignment #6:
Other Matters of Conflict: Two more Levels
A. Internal Conflict
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Loyalty vs. Honesty:
She loves Mama and her town, but she also sees their hypocrisy and cruelty. She doesn’t want to betray them in her essay, but she also can’t live with lies or silence anymore.
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Faith vs. Disillusionment:
She believes in God, in love, and in “keeping no record of wrongs,” but she’s literally keeping notebooks full of people’s offenses and her own hurt. She wrestles with what forgiveness actually means.
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Grief vs. Forward Motion:
Frankie is fading in her dreams. She is terrified of forgetting him, but also scared that if she keeps holding on too tightly, she could end up like Mamma. Learning about her family history is cathartic but also opens doors that may let old skeletons out.
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Ordinary vs. Glorious:
She’s torn between wanting to stay safely unnoticed and wanting to live up to the big name on her birth certificate. Fame on Ed Sullivan/Future outside of Chippewa Creek: both exciting and overwhelming.
B. External / Relational Conflicts
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With Mama:
Mama keeps secrets, shuts down, and sometimes lashes out. Gloria wants answers about the past. She wants to help Mama heal, but doesn’t know how without reopening wounds.
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With Peggy (her sister):
Peggy is older, prettier, and more worldly. Sometimes an ally, sometimes a rival. * (school bully/secrets in trunk) They bicker over boys, over Mama, over who gets to be the “grown-up” in situations.
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With Agnes:
Gloria temporarily feels betrayed when she realizes Agnes knew more about her family and didn’t tell her. She accuses Agnes of having “secret trees” and “secret lives,” forcing a conversation about boundaries, privacy, and what friendship really means.
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With Town Kids / Authority:
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Fistfight with Mikey Olsen on the snowy playground.
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Being singled out and humiliated by Mrs. Handswell.
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Navigating Jack Day’s interest and Sarah’s feelings without turning her life into one more gossip bonfire.
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Situational / Plot Conflicts:
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The family tree assignment that forces shrouded history into the light.
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The national essay contest and trip to New York.
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The live interview on Ed Sullivan, where she has to think on her feet, protect the people she loves and win the hearts of people back home in Chippewa Creek but representing them in the best way possible.
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I tried to keep the conflicts layered to help the story move along…in the home, school, town and national television stage.
Assignment 7:
The Incredible Importance of Setting:
The setting I chose is not filler or background. I purposely created the mood, theme, and Era because it shapes her choices and experiences.
Chippewa Creek (Primary Setting, Antagonist, and Home)
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A “small, stagnant town, surrounded by practical, plain-as-prairie people.”
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The prairie itself - rolling, unending, with parched coulees and indigo horizons - mirrors Gloria’s inner life: wide open, lonely, beautiful, and full of buried things (like secrets in the coulees).
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Front Street: (a bygone time)
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Creekside Cafe (gossip central, hamburgers, and enemy du jour Marlene).
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General store with its window splashes, cluttered merchandise and worn wooden floors where Gloria eavesdrops on women talking about the new principal.
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Grain elevators, the prairie skyscrapers, train depots, and tracks
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Agnes’s House by the Creek:
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Cozy, clean, full of memories, and a big picture window where she looks out at the goings-on at the church.
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The tree where her husband is "secretly" buried in the yard.
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A place of wisdom, hand-me-down stories, and goodies, but also hidden sorrow.
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Gloria’s Basement Room:
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The frosted window, single sunbeam, and shelf of old books.
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Utilitarian space made to give a young girl a retreat from the on going soap opera upstairs. * a special place created by Papa.
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The place where she writes in her notebooks and dreams big dreams in a low-ceilinged, humble space.
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The Snowman, “Mr. Frosty Fletcher”:
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A physical symbol of how something simple can unite the town and bring out its best, and how fame can show up in the least expected ways.
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The town gives Gloria both her core problem (gossip, secrets, stifling expectations) and her raw material (voices, stories, characters, conflict) for becoming a writer. It’s simultaneously the thing holding her down and the thing giving her insight and" hard-earned wisdom".
New York City / Ed Sullivan Theater
New York is the opposite pole of the prairie:
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Noise instead of silence.
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Skyscrapers instead of buttes.
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Anonymous crowds instead of everyone knowing your business.
The scenes in New York, the dead chickens going down into the sidewalk, the doorman, and the Ed Sullivan green room creates a sharp contrast to her small-town identity. She realizes:
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The world is much bigger than Chippewa Creek.
Her story, rooted in that little town, still matters on a big stage.
The Ed Sullivan Theater is like the ultimate Front Street:
Everyone’s watching, everyone’s talking, but this time she controls the microphone. -
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JUST GLORIOUS is a YA, historical coming-of-age novel with significant adult crossover and strong cinematic promise. Though it functions as a complete standalone, it is envisioned as the first book in a potential multi-novel series tracing Glorious Gardner’s journey from ordinary to extraordinary.
Hook: Glorious Gardner has carried her name like a burden, too bright and too hopeful for a girl raised in a prairie town where secrets fester, gossip is gospel, and her family’s shrouded past sits on the tip of everyone’s tongue. When a school essay forces her to confront the rumors surrounding her brother Frankie’s death and her family’s troubled past, she begins to unearth the truth the adults in her life have long kept buried. With her journal as witness and her words as courage, Glorious writes the essay that propels her into the national spotlight. But fame only sharpens the questions she’s tried to outrun: Who is her family, really? Who is she? And can an ordinary girl grow into a name that promises something far more than ordinary, something glorious?
Here is an excerpt from Chapter One of Just Glorious
Ordinarily, no one would take the time and effort to tell the story of an ordinary girl growing up in a small, stagnant town, surrounded by practical, plain-as-prairie people. But every once in a while, the westerly winds would whip through Chippewa Creek and blow away the dust of time, exposing the most ordinary of lives as something extraordinarily unusual, something kind of glorious.
Some people come into your life as a blessing, some as a lesson. No one, including Gloria, was entirely sure what her role was. Looking from the outside in, it would seem that wisdom found her willing, even in her youthful folly. Her wisdom was observational; she paid close attention to what people did or didn’t do. She listened to their words and turned her ear towards the tone of their voices, allowing these common interactions to form her conclusions. She faithfully made a record of these encounters in one of the many notebooks of reflections and verdicts that were born from her own partialities.
Gloria had spent her entire life in a small town. The rolling, unending prairie littered with tangled, parched coulee riverbeds and the rowdy waters of Chippewa Creek was her native habitat. Her innocence, slightly marred, provided a proficiency in the unwritten rules of small-town living. Just shy of fifteen years old, she already had plenty of practice in navigating the swell of stormy secrets and tumbleweed tales that strung across the prairie.
Most city folk don’t understand small-town living. City dwellers live with the rumble of energy, automobiles dodging, people dashing about, the fast walkers, and even faster talkers. Small towns are known to lumber along like the slow Missouri River rolls. Every day in Chippewa Creek was, well, every day same. The town folk were predictable, hard-working, dependable, normal, church-goin' sinners. About town, there were functional families, broken families, and secrets well kept. Circumstances would suggest that in Glorious Gardner’s corner of Chippewa Creek, there were many moments of chaos, confusion, and heartache that flooded her soul, while unexpectedly reaping her a clever eye and a gritty soul that would help guide her sensibilities, for the most part.
Chippewa Creek was an old prairie schooner town. A long time ago, the town just sort of happened. After a long line of covered wagons, on their way to the Pacific Northwest, by accident… and a little luck, found their way off the well-worn trail, made camp, and stayed for a while. The small town built its way up from campfires and baked beans into a rowdy western trading post, finally settling down as a peaceful prairie town.
In 1956, Chippewa Creek had a total of 1514 official residents. There was an old saying about small towns and small minds. This wasn’t so much the case in Chippewa Creek. The residents were an amalgam of sunflowers, tumbleweed, and tares. Sometimes it was hard to see anything but the beauty that flourished in her small world, and other times the tumbleweed tore about while the tares took root like a bindweed, choking out the otherwise good intentions. The seasons were well pronounced on the prairie. Summers were dry and hot. The young’uns spent their mornings as cheap day labor and their afternoons peddling up and down the gravel roads, then cooling off in the creek. The town spent its days in constant preparation for the winter. Farmers tended to crops, while housewives replenished depleted root cellars with freshly canned vegetables from the garden. Toward the close of summer, harvest implements colored the patchwork prairie with rows of freshly cut grain. Trucks moved the golden cargo from fence to fence, distributing the tiny threshing of wheat and barley to prairie skyscrapers that dotted the high-line road. Fall usually arrived early in that corner of the country, and with it a non-stop harvest festival. School was delayed until the fall finale. The Broken Bow County Harvest Hay Day Fair would bring sun-kissed country folk in from miles around. The Ladies Auxiliary would host the town parade. The fall events were the talk of the town, and talk was cheap in such a peaceable place. Gossip, however, was a highly traded commodity.
The long, heavy winters would eventually linger into spring, but before the warm westerly winds melted the snow, the thick winter chill hovered over the brown prairie, socking everyone in, keeping them close to home. Everyone and everything seemed to slow down a bit, except for the constant neighborly chit-chat, eyebrow-raising gossip, and pot stirring from some of Chippewa Creek’s finest provocateurs.
“Alright, class, your assignment for winter break is to research your family tree. Before you leave today, take a hand-drawn family tree. I made a carbon copy for each of you. You will notice that there are lines for both your mother’s side, or maternal relatives, and your father’s side, or paternal relatives. You can go back three generations on the tree. Take special note of old photographs, baptismal records, or family letters. This assignment will be tied to an exciting opportunity for you, so please do your best. Some of you may find you have family crests or tartans. You may even find out that you are royalty, imagine that!”
Gloria raised her hand. “Yes, Gloria?” “Mrs.Handswell, how will I know if I am related to royalty?” Mrs.Handswell’s eyebrows marched up, smacking her forehead. “Gloria, you have no worry of that. I am certain your family tree was never planted in that rich of soil!” Another hand darted up. “Yes, Henry?” “What if we have weird relatives, or crooks or thieves in our family, or plain boring people?” Asquawkyvoice butted in, “You should ask Gloria; she got ‘em all!” The young boy looked around for an accomplice in his taunting. “Mikey, keep your opinions to yourself, even if they have validity. Please include only proper memories of your family. No need to dig up old bones.” She quickly pointed a stern finger at Mikey.
Gloria figured her family had no royal claims; she merely wanted to discuss the possibility of something exciting, something encouraging. She was keenly aware Mrs.Handswellwas round about insulting her. She was often the target of her teacher’s discourteous nature. Gloria pulled out her small leather journal from her desk and wrote down Mrs.Handswell’sinsult, word for word, right under a quote from Benjamin Franklin she had read in Harper’s Bazaar. “Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing.” She doodled Mike Olsen’s face with crossed eyes and a dunce hat. Her little leather journal was pushing volume 4. Each volume was full of things she noticed or read, and sayings she gave ear to that struck her heart and sensibilities.
“Remember to complete your assignments; they will be due two weeks after we reassemble back at school. Don’t forget your books, hats, jackets, and overshoes. DO NOT leave any food; we don’t need a science experiment to come back to. Thank you for all the gifts, have a great Christmas. ”
The 3 O’clock sun slumbered on top of High Timber Butte, waiting for the frosty December day to end. Winter break was officially on. Chippewa Creek was buzzing with holiday energy. The school playground was littered with red-cheeked youths, mittens, and flying snowballs. The high school kids were gathered around the parking lot, exchanging gossip and holiday plans. No one was interested in the warmth of home or the after-school chores that awaited them; they had left their cleverness and competence back inside the halls of the cold brick institution. It was time to gather and indulge in youthful distractions.
Gloria loitered around the swings, spotting her older sister Peggy gathered with a few girlfriends. The stylish set milled about, batting their eyes and teasing the senior boys with their aloofness. She avoided her sister’s domain, knowing she would only be ignored. It was hard being a 14-year-old underclassman; it had been hard since 13. Adults did not see them as notable; the upperclassmen were annoyed with them, or anyone, for that matter, and at 14, they were much too mature to hang out with the childish 11 or 12-year-olds. Gloria moved in and out through clusters of unmannerly kids. “Hey Gloria, guess what I heard?” Mike Olsen popped her in the back with a snowball. “Knock it off, you big ape!” she snapped, feeling the sting through her oversized jacket. “I heard they found an old man’s scalp out at your grandma’s place. They are planning to arrest her for murder! You can write about that in your assignment!” Gloria’s eyes struggled to set sight on Mikey. Her face contorted in anger, mashing her eyelids into the tops of her cheeks. “You leave my grandma alone, you big dumb ape! Leave my family alone!” “What ya gonna do, get Frankie to come beat me up? Oh yeah, almost forgot, he can’t!” Mikey tilted his head back, his limp tongue slid out the side of his lips, and his eyes rolled slowly into their sockets. Gloria’s face unfolded. Her schoolbooks slapped the ground, sliding away on the hard-packed snow. Her arms started swinging. A right hook met up with his slimy, red, bulbous nose, followed immediately by a left hook to his chin. One-two, and down he went, his eyes still firmly rolled back in his head. A sticky red river trickled from his nose, down his chin, staining the white snow.
“She killed him! Gloria killed him!” A redheaded third grader cried while a girl in a green checkered coat ran towards the school entrance. A few kids cheered; everyone else hovered over him and waited, staring at the crimson snow. “GET UP! GET UP!” Gloria stood over him, partly ordering him back to “life” and partly ordering him back to battle. His eyes fluttered. He wiped his chin, grazing his nose. “You broke my nose! A girl broke my nose!” He blubbered. The girl in the green coat ran up with Mr. Stanford, while Mrs.Handswellscooted on the slick snow, close behind. “See, child, there is no one dead here, just some unfortunate fella with a bloody nose.” Mr. Stanford reassured the onlookers. “Explain yourself, Miss Gardner!” Mrs. Handswelldemanded as she yanked her shoulders. “She broke my nose!” Mikey wailed. Mr. Stanford investigated. “Your nose is not broken, son, only your pride. Now let’s get you in the bathroom and clean up your face.” “Not until I get to the bottom of this and Gloria apologizes to him!” Mrs. Hansdwell barked. “I will never, ever apologize to him! He is the worst ever. He made fun of Frankie being dead and said my grandma murdered someone.” Gloria’s eyes filled with salty tears. A chorus of knitted heads bobbed up and down in unison. “He did, I heard it!” one small voice came from the back. Mrs. Handswell released her grip and jabbed her finger at Mikey. “What did I tell you? Use a little discretion. Not everything you think needs to be said out loud! Gloria, if you don’t apologize, I will call your parents to the school now!” A tall, slender body in a lavender coat pushed through the small children. She stuck her hand out towards Gloria. “Come on, Gloria, we are going home, you don’t need to apologize. I overheard the whole thing. She might be my sister, but it’s obvious she was defending herself. As for you, Mikey Big-Nose Olsen, maybe it’s true that not everything you think needs to be said because maybe everything you think is wrong and full of stinkin'lies.” She glanced back at Mrs.Handswell. “I’m telling my parents what he said and what you did not say! I know what you are really saying about my family. You and Mikey's mom are two peas in a pod. My dad is right; you both are members of the Chippewa Creek Ladies’ Auxiliary of Malfunctioned Mouths!” Peggy’s nostrils flared as she tightly gripped Gloria’s hand during her tirade. “Pick up your books, Gloria, let’s go!” Sara Peters and a few others had already started gathering her books. Mrs.Handswellsnorted and snarled about, yanking Mikey to his feet. The crowd stood frozen with fear but discreetly pleased. They were all enamored by Gloria’s right/left knockout combo and Peggy’s audacity, but most of all, they were secretly happy thatMikeyOlsen looked like a deranged Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. This gave everyone so much to talk about during the holiday break.
Peggy pulled Gloria down past the other onlookers, Sara Peters put her arm around Gloria’s opposite shoulder, and they marched towards the sidewalk, to the street.
Safely out of sight, Peggy stopped and turned to her sister. “You will not tell Mama and Papa what happened. They do not need to be upset because of these dumb motor mouths.” She pulled together Gloria’s jacket and zipped it up past her chin. “I’ll take your books home, stay away from the school, stay with Sara. Remember, don’t give them any reason to say anything else about you…about us!” “Thanks, Peggy, thanks for being so nice.” Gloria’s limp red lips tightened as the saline trickled down from her eyes. “Of course, Gloria, that’s what big sisters are for!”
Gloria snuggled into her coat. It was red and black buffalo plaid. The wool had been sufficiently worn to a warm, fuzzy layer. It was a few sizes too big, but that only lent to more coziness. The coat had belonged to Frankie; she could still smell the lingering scent of horses, hay, and his aftershave. She really missed Frankie.
Algonkian Pre-event Narrative Enhancement Guide - Opening Hook
in Algonkian Writer Conferences - Events, FAQ, Contracts
Posted
12/8 This post contains my revised/edited version of Chapter One. The first draft is located in an older post: The edits were made to adhere to a stronger POV with only a soft literary omniscient voice.
JUST GLORIOUS is a YA, historical coming-of-age novel with significant adult crossover and strong cinematic promise. Though it functions as a complete standalone, it is envisioned as the first book in a potential multi-novel series tracing Glorious Gardner’s journey from ordinary to extraordinary.
Hook: Glorious Gardner has carried her name like a burden, too bright and too hopeful for a girl raised in a prairie town where secrets fester, gossip is gospel, and her family’s shrouded past sits on the tip of everyone’s tongue. When a school essay forces her to confront the rumors surrounding her brother Frankie’s death and her family’s troubled past, she begins to unearth the truth the adults in her life have long kept buried. With her journal as witness and her words as courage, Glorious writes the essay that propels her into the national spotlight. But fame only sharpens the questions she’s tried to outrun: Who is her family, really? Who is she? And can an ordinary girl grow into a name that promises something far more than ordinary, something glorious?
(revised) Chapter One: Once Upon a Prairie
Gloria often wondered if anyone would bother telling the story of an ordinary girl, like her, growing up in a small, stagnant town, surrounded by practical, plain-as-prairie people. But every once in a while, she would let her heart wander like the westerly winds that whipped through Chippewa Creek, blowing away the dust of time, exposing the most ordinary of lives as something extraordinarily unusual, something kind of glorious.
Agnes liked to say that some people come into your life as a blessing, some as a lesson. Gloria wasn’t entirely sure what her role was in anyone’s story, including her own. But wisdom found her willing, even in her youthful folly. It was observational wisdom, the kind she gathered by paying close attention to what people did or didn’t do. She listened to their words, turned her ear towards the tone of their voices, and let those everyday interactions shape her conclusions. Faithfully, she made a record of them in one of the many notebooks of reflections and verdicts born from her own partialities.
She had spent her entire life in a small town. The rolling, unending prairie littered with tangled, parched coulee riverbeds and the rowdy waters of Chippewa Creek was her native habitat. At just shy of fifteen, her innocence, slightly marred, had already taught her the unwritten rules of small-town living. She had plenty of practice navigating the swell of stormy secrets and tumbleweed tales that strung across the prairie.
Gloria figured that most city folk couldn’t understand small-town living. When she visited Cities like Ponderosa Springs, she felt overwhelmed by the city dwellers, as Papa called them. The city rumbled with energy, automobiles dodging, people dashing about with fast walkers, and even faster talkers. But small towns like hers lumbered along, like the slow roll of the Missouri River. Every day in Chippewa Creek was, well, every day same. The town folk were predictable, hard-working, dependable, normal, church-goin’ sinners. About town, there were functional families, broken families, and secrets well kept. In Gloria’s corner of it all, chaos, confusion, and heartache flooded her soul more often than she liked. She couldn’t yet grasp how deeply those moments were settling under her skin, but she felt them starting to guide her sensibilities, sharpen her clever eye, and spit-shine her gritty soul—for the most part
Chippewa Creek was an old prairie schooner town. Gloria loved her town, and she knew all the stories: A long time ago, the town just sort of happened. After a long line of covered wagons, on their way to the Pacific Northwest, by accident… and a little luck, found their way off the well-worn trail, made camp, and stayed for a while. The small town built its way up from campfires and baked beans into a rowdy western trading post, finally settling down as a peaceful prairie town.
By 1956, it claimed 1,514 official residents. Gloria once overheard Grandma Gardner say something about small towns and small minds, but she thought Grandma was too harsh about the place she called home. “Ipné·kes, my little bird, It’s not for me, that place is a field gone wild. Perhaps you can find a few sunflowers, but it’s mostly tangled with tumbleweeds and tares.” Grandma would insist. Depending on the day, Gloria would agree with her critique. Sometimes she only saw the beauty that flourished in her small world; other times she rambled around like a tumbleweed, on her worst days, the tares tangled around her like bindweed.
Gloria especially loved Chippewa Creek near the end of summer. Some of her best memories were helping Papa, Frankie, and Grandma during harvest. Her favorite moments were found rumbling along the patchwork prairie with Papa, cutting rows of grain in Grandpa’s old International Harvester. They would move the golden cargo from fence post to fence post, finally dumping the tiny threshing of wheat and barley at Papa’s Co-Op. “I’m the landlord of the county’s tallest prairie skyscraper!” Papa would tease.
But like all good things Gloria had come to know, the crisp autumn air was only a brief reprieve, right before winter’s thick chill would arrive and sock everyone in. It slowed her down, it slowed everyone and everything down, except for the constant neighborly chit-chat, and pot stirring by some of Chippewa Creek’s finest provocateurs. But just like grandma, she knew talk was cheap, but eyebrow-raising gossip was a highly traded commodity.
“Alright, class, your assignment for winter break is to research your family tree. Before you leave today, take a hand-drawn family tree. I made a carbon copy for each of you. You will notice that there are lines for both your mother’s side, or maternal relatives, and your father’s side, or paternal relatives. You can go back three generations on the tree. Take special note of old photographs, baptismal records, or family letters. This assignment will be tied to an exciting opportunity for you, so please do your best. Some of you may find you have family crests or tartans. You may even find out that you are royalty, imagine that!”
Gloria raised her hand. “Yes, Gloria?” “Mrs. Handswell, how will I know if I am related to royalty?” Mrs. Handswell’s eyebrows marched up, smacking her forehead. “Gloria, you have no worry of that. I am certain your family tree was never planted in that rich of soil!” A hand darted up from the back. “Yes, Henry?” “What if we have weird relatives, or crooks or thieves in our family, or plain boring people?” A squawky voice cut across the room, “You should ask Gloria; she got ‘em all!” Mikey taunted, then darted his eyes around, looking for an accomplice. “Mikey, keep your opinions to yourself, even if they have validity. Please include only proper memories of your family. No need to dig up old bones.” She quickly pointed a stern finger at Mikey.
Gloria didn’t truly expect royal blood; she just wanted to discuss the possibility of something exciting, something encouraging. She knew a roundabout insult when she heard one. Mrs. Handswell always had a way of turning lessons into little jabs, especially when Gloria was involved. She was often the target of her teacher’s discourteous nature. She pulled out her small leather journal from her desk and wrote down Mrs. Handswell’s insult, word for word, right under a quote from Benjamin Franklin she had read in Harper’s Bazaar. “Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing.” She doodled Mike Olsen’s face with crossed eyes and a dunce hat. Her little leather journal was pushing volume 4 now. Each one was crammed with things she noticed or read, and little sayings that struck her sensibilities.
“Remember to complete your assignments; they will be due two weeks after we reassemble back at school. Don’t forget your books, hats, jackets, and overshoes. DO NOT leave any food; we don’t need a science experiment to come back to. Thank you for all the gifts, have a great Christmas. ”
The 3 O’clock sun slumbered on top of High Timber Butte, waiting for the frosty December day to end. Winter break was officially on. Chippewa Creek was buzzing with holiday energy. The school playground was littered with red-cheeked youths, mittens, and flying snowballs. The high school kids were gathered around the parking lot, exchanging gossip and holiday plans. Gloria thought about going home, but the truth was she didn’t want warmth or chores any more than it seemed the rest of them did. She left whatever cleverness and competence she had between the rows of lockers and the cold brick hallways. Right now, she wanted to linger a little while longer and not think too hard about anything at all.
Gloria loitered around the swings, spotting her older sister Peggy gathered with a few girlfriends. The stylish set milled about, batting their eyes and teasing the senior boys with their aloofness. She avoided her sister’s domain, knowing she would only be ignored. It was hard being a 14-year-old underclassman; it had been hard since 13. Adults did not see them as notable; the upperclassmen acted annoyed with them, or anyone, for that matter, and at 14, she felt much too mature to hang out with childish 11 and 12-year-olds. Gloria moved in and out through clusters of unmannerly kids. “Hey Gloria, guess what I heard?” Mikey Olsen popped her in the back with a snowball. “Knock it off, you big ape!” She snapped, feeling the sting through her oversized jacket. “I heard they found an old man’s scalp out at your grandma’s place. They are planning to arrest her for murder! You can write about that in your assignment!” Gloria’s eyes struggled to set sight on Mikey. Her face contorted in anger, mashing her eyelids into the tops of her cheeks. “You leave my grandma alone, you big dumb ape! Leave my family alone!” “What ya gonna do, get Frankie to come beat me up? Oh yeah, almost forgot, he can’t!” Mikey tilted his head back, his limp tongue slid out the side of his lips, and his eyes rolled slowly into their sockets. Gloria’s face unfolded. Her schoolbooks slapped the ground, sliding away on the hard-packed snow. Her arms started swinging. A right hook met up with his slimy, red, bulbous nose, followed immediately by a left hook to his chin. One-two, and down he went, his eyes still firmly rolled back in his head. A sticky red river trickled from his nose, down his chin, staining the white snow.
“She killed him! Gloria killed him!” A redheaded third grader cried while a girl in a green checkered coat ran towards the school entrance. A few kids cheered; everyone else hovered over him and waited, staring at the crimson snow. “GET UP! GET UP!” Gloria stood over him, partly ordering him back to life and partly ordering him back to the battle. His eyes fluttered. He wiped his chin, grazing his nose. “You broke my nose! A girl broke my nose!” He blubbered. The girl in the green coat ran up with Mr. Stanford, while Mrs. Handswell scooted on the slick snow, close behind. “See, child, there is no one dead here, just some unfortunate fella with a bloody nose.” Mr. Stanford reassured the onlookers. “Explain yourself, Miss Gardner!” Mrs. Handswell demanded as she yanked her shoulders. “She broke my nose!” Mikey wailed. Mr. Stanford investigated. “Your nose is not broken, son, only your pride. Now let’s get you in the bathroom and clean up your face.” “Not until I get to the bottom of this and Gloria apologizes to him!” Mrs. Hansdwell barked. “I will never, ever apologize to him! He is the worst ever. He made fun of Frankie being dead and said my grandma murdered someone.” Gloria’s eyes filled with salty tears. A chorus of knitted heads started bobbing up and down in unison. “He did, I heard it!” one small voice came from the back. Miss Handswell released her and jabbed her finger at Mikey. “What did I tell you? Use a little discretion. Not everything you think needs to be said out loud! Gloria, if you don’t apologize, I will call your parents to the school now!” A tall, slender body in a lavender coat pushed through the small children. She stuck her hand out towards Gloria. “Come on, Gloria, we are going home, you don’t need to apologize. I overheard the whole thing. She might be my sister, but it’s obvious she was defending herself. As for you, Mikey Big-Nose Olsen, maybe it’s true that not everything you think needs to be said because maybe everything you think is wrong and full of stinkin’ lies.” She glanced back at Mrs. Handswell. “I’m telling my parents what he said and what you did not say! I know what you are really saying about my family. You and Mikey’s mom are two peas in a pod. My dad is right; you both are members of the Chippewa Creek Ladies’ Auxiliary of Malfunctioned Mouths!” Peggy’s nostrils flared as she tightly gripped Gloria’s hand during her tirade. “Pick up your books, Gloria, let’s go!” Sara Peters and a few others had already started gathering her books. Mrs. Handswell snarled and fussed, yanking Mikey to his feet. The crowd stood frozen. Some kids stared wide-eyed; others hid their laughter behind their mittens. “Wow, what a punch, she knocked his lights out,” a young boy let slip. “Yeah, but her sister gave the teacher a what-for! And look at Mikey, he looks like a deranged Rudolph the Red-Nosed-Reindeer!” The red-headed third grader added, delighted.
Peggy yanked Gloria down past the other gawkers. Sara Peters draped her arm around Gloria’s shoulder, then turned back just long enough to stick her tongue out at Mikey. The three of them, knotted together, marched towards the street, safely out of sight. Peggy stopped short, her smile loving but her forehead firmly compressed. “You will not tell Mama and Papa what happened. They do not need to be upset because of these dumb motor mouths.” She pulled together Gloria’s jacket and zipped it up past her chin. “I’ll take your books home, stay away from the school, stay with Sara. Remember, don’t give them any reason to say anything else about you…about us!” “Thanks, Peggy, thanks for being so nice.” Gloria’s limp red lips tightened as the saline trickled down from her eyes. “Of course, Gloria, that’s what big sisters are for!”
Gloria snuggled into her coat. It was red and black buffalo plaid. The wool had been sufficiently worn to a warm, fuzzy layer. It was a few sizes too big, but that only lent to more coziness. The coat had belonged to Frankie; she could still smell the lingering scent of horses, hay, and his aftershave. She really missed Frankie.
“I can’t believe Peggy said that to Mrs. Handswell! I want to be brave like that. Wow, it was amazing seeing Mikey’s nose bleed. You’re lucky to have a sister, Gloria.” Gloria eked out a smile. “Sara, if Frankie were here, he would have pummeled Mikey into the ground!” Her feistiness quickly melted away, realizing that if Frankie were here, she would never have needed to punch his lights out. Sara bumped her hip, hoping to knock the smile back onto Gloria’s face. “Hey, Grandma Lettie is coming by train for Christmas this year. Seth and I are picking her up on Friday at Ponderosa Springs Depot. Do you want to ride along? Remember how she took us to Harvey’s diner for cheeseburgers and milkshakes the last time she came to town?”
Grandma Lettie was one of Gloria’s favorite people. Sara’s family was kind, funny, and normal; Grandma Lettie was all of those things, except normal. She lived to be memorable, to make sunshine out of rain and lemons into lemon pie! “Oh sure, you betchya! I can’t wait to see her. I wonder what she will bring you for Christmas? Maybe a new dress from the Paris Toggery or new records for the record player she sent on your birthday?” Gloria had no emotional attachment to Christmas or any celebrations. She was never jealous of what others had. Her friend Agnes once said that it took measurable character to find joy in the mundane, and she understood firsthand that happiness was fleeting, so she took care to be happy for the good fortune of others. “Well, I didn’t really ask for anything.” Sarah fretted while she blew on her cold, mitten-less hands. “I bet she will bring you something too. She thinks you are charming, and she knows all about charm; she was a debutante and went to finishing school!” Gloria shook her head. “Finishing school, what did she have to finish?” “Finishing school is like charm school, where you learn to be interesting, polite, and act like a lady. She learned to be charming and fancy, I guess.” Sara paused. “I wonder if she has royalty in her family tree, and if she does, I could be royalty!” “And I could be best friends with a princess. Princess of the Prairie Sara Peters.” Gloria patted Sarah on the back. “See ya Friday, Prairie Princess!”
Mama was sitting in her sewing chair near the big picture window. Papa’s work shirts lay rumpled across her lap. Mama sat still and quiet, attempting to thread a needle. Peggy was at the kitchen table peeling potatoes for dinner. She raised the knife to her lips and exhaled a very soft shhh, reminding Gloria of her stern warning earlier. “I know.” Gloria mouthed. “Dinner is almost ready; someone needs to set the table.” Peggy urged. Gloria pulled out 3 dishes from the cabinet, placing them around Peggy’s potato mess.
“Mama, I’m going to Ponderosa Springs on Friday to pick up Grandma Lettie at the depot.” “She’s not your grandma. You don’t have a grandma.” Mama’s words labored in a dull tone. “Grandma Gardner is my grandma. I have at least one grandma who is still alive!” Gloria was already growing tired of this conversation. Mama’s mood was up and down, but to Gloria her responses were always predictable, cold, and hard-laced. “Grandma Gardner is a bitter old woman. She is hardly grandmotherly. My mama never had the chance to be a grandma.” She spoke hauntingly. “I know Grandma Gardner is that way, but she still is my grandma. Papa says she is just tired, tired from raising 10 kids. It’s not that she doesn’t love us; she is worn out after Grandpa died and left her to handle the farm. Papa said that it was all she could take; being an outsider, having 10 kids, and then being left all alone. Anyway, she always bakes my favorite strawberry and rhubarb pie when I go out there with Papa, so that is her way of loving me!” Gloria sat on the floor and grabbed the needle and thread from Mama, slipped the thread into the needle’s eye, sorted through the shirts on the floor, choosing his yellow snap shirt to mend.
Mama leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and looked down at Gloria, her eyes harshly hovering over her. “You defend that woman to no end. What has she ever done for you, for us? You ought to realize that she does not bake those pies for you. That pie is your father’s favorite, and the only reason he gets it is because he spends so much time out there doing her duties, taking care of her farm. We could have had a farm of our own, but he spends too much time relieving her of her responsibilities. The rest of her brood all moved off, took care of their own, not your father; he split his loyalties long ago. Anyway, she never wanted him to marry me. She thought he was too good for me! Ha! Imagine that. A half-breed farm boy with an Indian mother, too good for me!” Gloria winced back, losing her balance. “Mama, Papa said we are to never say those words! He said it’s cruel and uncouth to say such things!” Mama whipped the shirt out of Gloria’s hands; the needle pierced into Gloria’s palm. “Mama, I’m trying to help you. Why are you so angry?” She bleated. “How come you don’t have anything nice to say about my mother? Why are you so defensive of your father’s family and never talk about mine?” Gloria noticed a tear forming in Mama’s eye. Softly, she put her hand on Mama’s knee. “Mama, you never talk about Grandma Riona Cara. I don’t know anything about her. Every time her name comes up, you get upset and cry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I would love to learn more about her. I bet she would make me my favorite pie if she were still alive.” Gloria stood to hug her, meeting Mama’s harsh shoulder. “I have to do a family tree assignment over Christmas break. Maybe you can tell me more about her. Do you have any pictures or paperwork?” “I have nothing. I don’t even have that many memories of her. After you were born and all the trouble that came, well, my memories have grown fainter. I don’t even know if she is dead; your Grandma Riona Cara is gone somewhere, up and gone for good.” Gloria didn’t know who needed comforting more, her or her mama. This was a new version of the story. The first time she heard Mama suggest that Grandma Riona Cara might still be alive. She quickly changed the subject.
“Can I have dinner at the Creekside Cafe tonight with Agnes and Mr. Benton? Agnes wants me to come along, so that her meeting with Mr. Benton does not look like they are courting and carrying on.” “Will she pay you to go to dinner with her? I think she should, it’s just the same as you taking care of all her issues after school!” Gloria was already on her way to being perturbed by the last few minutes of conversation with Mama. She didn’t want an argument; she just really wanted to leave the house, even if it was to have dinner with Agnes and Mr. Benton. “I don’t know, Mama, maybe. It really isn’t the same, having dinner and helping Agnes in her wheelchair, washing her laundry, and cleaning her house. I don’t want to ask for money just to sit and eat and be their chaperone!” “Chaperon, how ridiculous!” Mama grunted. Gloria also couldn’t imagine that anyone would think Agnes and Ol’ Mr. Benton were carrying on. It was obvious to her that they were just two old lonely people passing the time together. Whatever gossip was whispered, she knew there was nothing lewd or sordid happening, in the least. “I just want to help her. I like all their stories, and Mr. Benton can sing. He always sings Mona Lisa to me. He was in a Barber-Shop quartet when he was young.” Gloria had a heart to help and a warm ear to listen to their stories, but more than that, she just wanted time away from home; away felt better than all the fussing and carrying on she often experienced.
The western sun was clinging to the horizon as Papa drove up the drive. He had come from helping Mrs. Carter install a new wood-burning stove in her house. Papa took on all sorts of odd jobs during the winter, when the grain elevator was in hibernation. He was handy with a hammer and nails and could fix just about any engine around. Frankie said he was a jack of all trades. Gloria once heard Agnes refer to him as a Renaissance man. She liked that version better; it gave him stature in her eyes.
Gloria headed to the back porch, sat down on the rough wooden steps, and pulled out her little leather notebook. She reread the line she copied from Mrs. Handswell. She knew it was true; they weren’t rich or normal. She probably didn’t have a single rich relative, dead or alive. And now, after Mama’s casual confession about Grandma Riona Cara, she doubted all that she knew to be true of her own family. She hunched over to lace up her over-boots. Papa walked in the back door, kicking the snow off his feet. “Where you headed off to, Glorious?” Papa always called her by her given name. When he spoke her name, his usual cadence would lilt slightly as his eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Having dinner with Agnes and Mr. Benton down at the cafe. Papa, when I get back, can you help me find old photographs of Grandma and Grandpa Gardner? I need anything that tells me who they are and who we are all related to?” “I’ll have to think about that. Not sure what I have. What’s this sudden interest in your genealogy?” Papa asked skeptically. “Mrs. Handswell assigned us to research our family tree. We have to fill out this paper tree and turn in any documents, photos, or proof of royalty to her. I already asked Mama. She got upset and said Grandma Riona Cara may not even be dead!” Peggy peeked through the back door, presenting a plate of brownies she had made in Home Economics class. Papa surveyed the bounty and snatched the biggest brownie. “Mm…mm, these smell mighty good, Peggy. You will make a man fat and happy someday!” “Who’s not dead? I didn’t even know someone died!” Peggy’s eyes darted back and forth between Gloria and Papa, while genially helping herself to a brownie. “No one died; I’m just talking about Grandma Riona Cara. Mama said she may not be dead, I don’t know why she would say that!” “Oh, Gloria, you are so gullible. Mama was pulling your leg. Of course, she is dead. I think I went to her funeral when I was little!” Peggy nibbled her brownie. “Not so, pretty Peg. Your grandma died when your mom was a young girl, like 5 or 6. As for you, little miss Glorious, I will see what I can scratch up, but I’m pretty sure no one in this small town has any royal claims. Heck, I’m not even sure our family trees forks!” Papa hooted. Gloria eyeballed Peggy, confused as to why Papa found humor in talk about death, family trees, or forks.