Susan Glaspell Journal

August 9, 1916


A deep, dreamless sleep. My head was heavy when I woke, my stomach a touch queazy. Some tea has helped settle me a bit. It is passed mid-morning already. Jig is gone. Outside my window, the Sea is still calm, although grey and foggy. Again it has matched my mood, or perhaps I have matched it's.

I am of a joyful mind, of course. The play was deemed a success by all. For my part, it went by in a blur. I was focused on my roll, completely involved in each moment. I was almost blank inside, except for small glimmer that things were going well.

Afterwards, relief. And then happiness. Jig had of course prepared another party. There was food and laughter; handshakes and hugs. There were drinks, and then more drinks. And then a final round at the Atlantic House (8). I laughed when Jig wondered aloud where his other cigar had gone. He asked me what I thought was so funny. The moon had set by the time we left for home, and the fog was creeping in.

But today I am contemplative. I feel I owe Margaret Hossack some final reflections. She has been on my mind much lately. I realized last night that Margaret is not represented by Minnie in Trifles. Margaret is represented by the poor, strangled bird. She was trapped in her home, caged by fear. Her cries for help were ignored. In the end, it was a tragedy for all. But maybe there is some small good that can come of it. Just as the dead bird served as a source of power and justice for the women in Trifles, Margaret has served as an inspiration for me. Will my play fix all the injustices suffered by women? Will it change the World? No, the World does not change that way, usually. It changes by small increments, the gradual changing of hearts. Perhaps Trifles will be part of the change.   

There were many friends in attendance, from New York, Boston and other places. I will relate the reaction of one particular person last night. I was surprised to see Mrs. Burrel, the grouch from the produce market, in attendance. She had a queer look in her eye as she approached me. Was it a tear? I smiled, and was surpised when she returned one! She wrapped her arms around me in a great hug. I was still with shock. She said only two words: "Thank you".

I have a quote from Frederic Douglas memorized: "If there is no struggle, there is no progress". It is my hope that Margaret's struggle is part of our progress.