Assignment #1 THE ACT OF STORY STATEMENT
With humor and a child's growing wisdom, this is a young girl’s story about finding herself within her eroding family. While the world is in chaos around her she watches each member cope in their own way while their home crumbles around them. She begins to realize survival means loneliness as she accepts her individuality and hangs on to the hope for a better tomorrow.
Assignment #2 THE ANTAGONIST OR ANTAGONIST FORCE
My childhood family pretended we were what all families were; happy. But under the picket fence facade lay a brutal truth. My gracious and kind school principal dad would also refuse to let a black worker in the house ‘for safety’ or refer to the orchard laborers as ‘spics’. His frustrated housewife was never recognized for her intelligence and was left feeling irrelevant. Her unpredictable behavior towards my siblings and I would swing from being over protective to overly unkind. My perfectionist sister learned to stay in her lane. She knew what our parents wanted and made sure to do it, even when it wasn’t what she really wanted. Disappointing them was not an option. My brother was the epitome of trying hard. His desire to be everything and more of what my sister was, radiated out of everything he ever did, yet, he never achieved. My little brother was spoiled and provided distraction. Even as a little boy, he played his part, which gave mom someone to worry about and take care of, her only solace in the later part of the 70’s in my ‘perfect’ and crumbling childhood home.
Assignment #3 BREAKOUT TITLE
Home Grown
Time of Chaos
Nuclear Family
Assignment #4 TWO COMPARABLES
Let’s Pretend This Never Happened (a Mostly True Memoir) and Furiously Happy by Jenny Larson
This author uses a sense of humor to deflect pain or hurt in the stories that she lived through and to soften the blow to her family as well. This is the approach I am utilizing as well.
A Christmas Story
This author also uses humor to tell a memoir and to soften some of the elements of his youth.
Assignment #5 HOOK LINE
The 70’s era influenced what I perceived as truth, and how my family grew and imploded. The white middle class myth of happiness and success was slowly pulled away like the revelation of Oz. Much as the music of that era, my life was a story unfolding and reflecting back the changes around me.
(Protagonist Hook; Jody; tiny, freckled, observant, naughty, fights for underdogs, doesn’t want high expectations, escapes family turmoil on bike, watcher as family erodes and has to learn how to find herself in the aftermath.
Core Wound; Never really accepted for who she was and the strengths she carried, she battled understanding herself in the light of what her family tried convincing her she was.
Antagonist; my family, potential was only seen as belonging to the males in the family as I came to realize it was a devaluation of females in general in my father and brothers minds.
‘Agon’; Fighting to be who I am while simultaneously wanting to avoid conflict, my brother abusing me and not being believed, questioning/understanding sexuality, wanting loved but feeling unwanted and abandoned.
Setting; Each chapter will be a year starting in 1965, up to 1979. This will encompass my childhood and end with the year that my mother moved with me and my little brother out of my hometown to begin anew in her childhood town. (2nd book or 2nd part of this book is the 80’s). Each year will include the influences of pop culture, news events and music. Each year will also show the slow progression of my awakening (as I matured) to the inequities around me and how much I stood apart from much of my family’s thinking. (Book 2 - the 80’s would show even more of this as I enter adulthood and self responsibility. Book 3 - 90’s to now would be how my decisions impacted my life and several very serious life events that spotlighted how my early journey prepared me for what I was going to need to do.))
Assignment #6 CONDITIONS FOR INNER CONFLICT AND SECONDARY CONFLICT
The primary conflict is between the protagonist (myself) as a child and my belief that my family is everything that they pretend to be. The truth that emerges shows all the imperfections and brutal truths about my family. The conflict gradually materialized as I matured. I gained insight and understanding of the people around me as well as the motives of their actions and the impact it will have on me.
The secondary conflict is between me and my older brother who sexually abused me for several years, while also verbally and emotionally abusing me. Once I told my mom, it stopped although she did not believe me. The events of those years were added to the list of family events that were molding my thinking and beliefs. My self worth was demolished and the healing took decades.
Assignment #7 SETTING
My Town (Setting the Stage)
Our evergreen tree rose above the power lines and stretched for the sky as it stood sentry in front of our home, 2 stories of concrete bricks capped with a green tin roof. A neatly trimmed hedge braced the front yard opposite of the pine tree, filled with kid created paths and nests to play in. Large square pillars dignified the warm and welcoming large front porch that decoratively announced each season. The cement steps bridging the patio and the sidewalk that brought neighbors and friends to our front door. Our home was a perfect square, a child’s drawing with windows on each side of the door and a pitched roof with a chimney. The image of perfection.
Our home was one of many on our side of the street that lined a gully. Each facing away as if to protect a secret. Being at the west edge of our town each end of the street curved and dropped off into orchard and farmland. This would become my bike route, my small world, nestled in a sleepy little family community at the base of the Grand Mesa, in Cedaredge, Colorado.
The road leading north through Cedaredge climbed Grand Mesa and dropped back down again, ending at interstate 70, leading to all places heard of but never seen during my childhood. The road that leads south from Cedaredge would wind its way through more farmland and sleepy little towns, leaving you with the option of going to Hotchkiss, Delta or Grand Junction. Each of those leading to even more agriculture-based communities throughout the Western Slope. An area rich in Native American culture and history, Spanish influences, gold mining and early ranching and farming families. People who learned to make what they could of the area and often left it richer than it was before. Richer in experience, opportunity and memory.
Hugged by mountain terrain, orchards and tree covered slopes, my little hometown seemed like the center of the universe. Main Street in Cedaredge is lined with businesses that still hold residue of my childhood. oThe post office has broken bricks on one side from my first day driving. A local pizza place has gum under one or more of the tables from Friday night pizza with friends. I always wonder if there is any mark left on the sidewalk, where I dropped the jar that held my tonsils, which I was so proud of. In my mind, the jar is frozen in time halfway to the sidewalk and my mother’s alarmed face frozen in a scream ‘NO!!’. I had begged her and my doctor to keep them, they were mine after all...
The small-town grocery store kept groceries on a monthly tab allowing me to provide my own lunches on long biking days. Yet my personal favorite place to visit was the Dime Store, where you could buy a candy bar for yourself and three of your friends for a dollar. Lawn mowing money could be spent cautiously on long awaited matchbox cars or tiny meticulously created glass animals. Long summer days were spent on bikes exploring with friends, letting the setting sun remind us of when to go home. Neighbors knew you by name, and kids knew which neighbor would give you cookies and which ones would run you off.
In the ‘70’s, I never realized there was any other way to live. (Cue; John Denver's Country Roads)
…and a white picket fence.
My[JT2] family, the George’s, included two parents, two boys and two girls. A perfect mid-century family. My dad, Marlin, was an intelligent and handsome man. His black nappy hair lined his head but left the top shiny. He never let his hair be long enough to get a solid curl, and the little waves it attempted to achieve were Brylcreemed smooth. He had an engaging smile that endeared him to many. Dad adored his family and did everything he could think of to keep us, specifically mom, happy and occupied. He supported his stay-at-home wife and kids as a school principal in the local public school system. He was well educated, a community leader as well as involved in a local Methodist Church. He made sure we all had quality time as a family, taking short vacations or just going camping. Ensuring that we all pursued things that he believed interested us. He had strong opinions, and until I was an adult, I didn’t realize how biased his opinions could be. I always felt a strong connection to him and wondered at times if my siblings felt left out. The reality I was to discover was that he found me humorous, a side note to his sons whom he had put all his faith in.
At barely 5’ 4“, my mom, Patty, was a pretty, small town cowgirl. Impoverished as a child and raised on a ranch, she understood work was what you did and did daily. There was never an excuse to be idle. Very little was too much for her, and she was willing to try anything at least once. Dark brown wavy hair circled her face. Soft brown eyes glistened with a smile that slid to one side in an effort to hide her mischievousness. She loved being around people, and people tended to love being around her. We couldn’t go anywhere without her finding a good conversation to be had. Our friends all loved coming to our house, the house to be at, often leaving me to wonder just who my friends came over to see. She smoked heavily all the while pretending she didn’t. I still see her driving the old red truck, with a cigarette dangling off her lip while she informs me, “It’s just one. I’m not really smoking anymore, so, your dad doesn’t need to know.” It was glorious to be a part of something that I thought was just between us. She always had a project, as she went through phases of refinishing treasures found in the dump, making doll clothes or gardening. She could work harder than most anyone I ever knew. Our home was always clean, home-made dinner on the table and the yard trimmed and blooming. By all superficial appearances she lived as the perfect stereotypical housewife of the midcentury.
In our small family my siblings and I each held a very specific place and purpose. Our personalities were molded and rooted into the place we inherited by birth order. Edy Lynn, my sister and the oldest, was almost 6 feet tall with seamless olive skin and a sheet of long straight hair as dark and shimmery as the deepest sea. Her gentle nature displayed itself gracefully on her beautiful face with a warm smile and kind brown eyes. People could not help but love her any more than they could avoid noticing her. I idolized her yet was destined to live under her shadow. She dreamt of entering a modeling career after high school, which was quite exotic to my mind. She was a cheerleader, a student council member and in the secretive Rainbow Girls. That mystical arm of my mom’s sorority, which itself was an extension of the Masons. Once a week she would leave the house in an elaborate floor-length dress, with a little leather apron tied to her wrist spotted with pins she had earned, attached to it. She looked so important. I believed her to be my parents’ dream child. She was never called to the principal's office for anything other than an award. A leader, respected by teachers, neighbors and friends, she was admired by our entire little community. She earned class valedictorian. Edy was who I longed to be, yet I owned no ladder tall enough to reach that star. I loved her greatly then and even more now.
My older brother, Jim, was over 6’, but his insecurities kept him small. His soft brown eyes peered through pop bottle lens glasses and sat below a thick mop of wavy, unruly light brown hair. Tall and lanky, and hard to miss, especially since he looked enough like dad that people immediately knew who he was. His small circle of friends was quite different from my sister’s. He struggled with school loudly and defensively. His unrelenting stubborn streak led to many nights of him arguing with dad. My ears missed very little in my hiding spot at the top of the stairs. What my sister and I refer to as the ‘George’ mentality was on full display during these arguments. Neither could admit they were wrong, too loud, had a poor choice of words or anything else. It was a testosterone and family chemistry driven battle to exhaustion. There were never any winners, only casualties.
Despite all the fights my dad and brother seemed to truly love each other. They shared a love of sports and Jim tried hard to be a notable athlete. He committed himself to whichever sport he tried and earned respect through his effort and commitment.
Jim and I never really got along, as we competed for what little parental attention was left after my littlest brother was born. That strife between us would develop into actions unforgivable as well isolating. Between my sister and my youngest brother, not much was left for the two in the middle. He and I were in competition for all the good things in our home. We were the most alike in many ways, not that either of us would have ever acknowledged it. We both found ways to be heard, Jim through his stubbornness and me through my antics. School and extracurricular activities were difficult for us. He at least made an effort and put in time to be noted. I did not.
My younger brother Tom, who ended up being taller than me, was not as tall as my other siblings. As a little boy he tended to be dressed in overalls or plaid which often accented his roundness. When first meeting him, though, it would be his sharp blue eyes, one with a sliver of rust striking through it, that people would comment on. Everyone noticed and coddled this plump and quiet little George boy, especially since he was pretty - sweet most of the time. He had a Campbell soup kid appearance and a crooked smile that won people over. As my mom’s last attempt to save the marriage, he was adored by all our family, friends and neighbors and never lacked for babysitters. Not one to involve himself with sports, he was a quiet, thinking kid. Consequently, he remained round throughout his elementary years. Vehicles eventually took his interest, and he spent countless hours sitting on a dirt pile with his Tonka trucks moving dirt and making truck noises. Bathing him seemed futile, for as soon as his bath was done, he would be back in the middle of a dirt pile pushing around a truck.
I was third in line, last in size and worst in temperament. As my uncle used to say, I looked like I had gotten a ‘suntan through a screen door’. Literally none of my skin was left unmarred by freckles. My disruptive hair attempted to be curly, mixing shades of brown, blond and sometimes red through it. My most appealing quality was that I looked younger than I was, a turtle shell of protection for me in my teens, it helped me avoid trouble. I was very observant and learned as I watched my oldest siblings interact with each other and my parents. These observations were to be what defined me and my approach in life. I gleaned small pieces of information from their actions and built upon it to create a wall of safety from things I feared the most; disappointing my parents or letting someone down.
I saw how proud they were of my amazing sister. I loved her as much as anyone did. I saw how hard my brother tried to be appreciated and how little I perceived he was. It helped me understand that trying wasn’t worth it unless it worked and in that there was no guarantee. I set no high expectations and never gave anyone the idea I could achieve. The thought of trying and failing was too much. I became quiet, but naughty. I found that doing the exact opposite of what my elder siblings were doing gave me freedoms that I enjoyed.
I could make my dad laugh. I could gain appreciation from my mom as she always saw herself as naughty as well. Edy just loved me no matter what. Jim despised me no matter what. Tom was the baby in the family, and solidly played his role by often unknowingly providing distraction when needed. So, all in all, I found my childhood niche.
The small community spotlight tended to shine on our family since my father was a local school principal in a very small town. My older siblings were involved in sports and other community activities, so I often felt as though we were on display. Being third of four and not in sports or other activities kept me mostly inconspicuous. Occasionally someone would spot me at these events, and I would hear them ask in a disbelieving tone, “That’s Edy’s sister?” Their shocked expression poorly hidden.
Yes, I always assured them with a smile. I am.
But the dialogue in my head would continue.
Yes, I am short.
Yes, I have mousy brown out of control hair.
Yes, those are freckles.
Yes, I realize what I am up against.
Believing that the bar was set at a point unattainable, I took the path of least resistance. I wasn’t mean, or stupid, just not willing to always be ‘the other daughter’. Thus began my life of pranks, rule-breaking and a persistent, blatant effort to do the opposite of what Edy or Jim would do. My father, the principal, would have his work cut out.
FIRST 500 WORDS- OPENING SCENE - Introduces protagonist, setting, tone, and a introduces the family dynamic that becomes the antagonist NOTE - These 500 words are taken from the middle of the opening story. I am three years old. As I stood, I began feeling dizzy. It was still dark and hard to see, and my eyes were starting to sting as well. There was a wetness on my face I assumed were tears yet could not remember crying or even having a reason to. I rubbed my eyes and waddled into the kitchen. Mom had her back to me, doing something at the counter I could not quite make out. Fearful of why it was still dark, I tentatively called out, “Mom?” Assuming I was asking for the routine help onto my stool, she turned around and began to reach out to help me. Then she faltered and gasped. “Oh my god!” She exclaimed, going to her knees to look at me better, “What happened?” I looked over my shoulder expecting to see a broken dish or something spilled behind me. Quietly, I shrugged my shoulders as I looked up to where my siblings were eating. I could make out gray shapes that moved but nothing more. She knelt and put a hand on each of my arms. Looking at my face she muttered, “Oh. My. God. Jo Anna.” I had heard her say my name like this before and it usually wasn’t good. I started to cry. She gently picked me up. “Come here, Honey.” She looked intently at me as she held me on her hip and then placed me on the counter. Now my siblings were at the counter too, and my sister was talking to me. “What happened, Jo Jo?” she asked sweetly, I could see the shape of her long hair as it began to slide space away, unsure of what to say or do. Being five can make it hard to know what to say. So, he stood silently looking at me through his thick lenses, I was unable to see his expression to know exactly how he was feeling. I still did not understand what was wrong, just that everyone was looking at me. The fact that something was upsetting to them made me cry even more. As my sister held my hand, mom looked deeply into my eyes, first one then the other. She gently touched the skin all around my eyes and down the cheekbone on the right side. “Does it hurt?” Her expression grim with concern. I just looked at her confused. Did what hurt? I thought as I shrugged my shoulders. She looked intently at me then. “Do you feel anything different about your eye?” I shrugged again feeling as though I might be in trouble for not figuring out the answer she needed. Then whispered, “Why is it so dark?” Her arms enveloped me and gave me a squeeze before she continued to inspect the skin around my eye and cheek. Picking me up off the counter she suggested, “Let’s find a mirror.” My siblings trailed behind us as she kept me on her hip and walked into the bathroom. She pointed to the mirror, “Look, Jo Jo.” As soon as I did, I screamed. I saw a monster. It had a large purple eye with red and blue streaks on its face! Its mouth was wide open as if to bite me too! I was horrified. I buried my head in my mom’s shoulder to get away from the monster in the mirror. “Shhh…Jo Jo. It’s going to be ok.” Mom hugged me. I slowly looked back up at the mirror. Mom continued to rub my back as I did and that is when I realized that in the mirror, she was rubbing the monsters’ back too! Wait a minute… I looked closer. It looked closer. I blinked, one of the monster’s eyes blinked too. I lifted my hand to touch my eye and the monster lifted its hand too. When I touched my right eye, the monster touched the horrible purple bubble that was one of its eyes. I leaned even closer. The monster leaned closer. I stared at the image of the monster and realized that I was the monster! Slowly a smile emerged on the monsters’ face as I felt myself begin to smile too.