Vignettes

Growing up I had many interests, activities, and hobbies. Of which reading was at the top of the list. However, I never had an interest in writing, until I was forced to take a creative writing class to fill my schedule in high school. I knew walking in that first day that I did not want to take the class, I knew I was going to fail because I had no interest in the subject and I just would not do the homework. I knew all of these things before I even enter the classroom, what I did not know, was that I had met my match in stubbornness in Mr. Foria, that he would not allow me to fail his class, and what I did not know the mast was that he would help me discover a passion for writing I never knew I had, all through the simple task of writing a vignette.

Sitting in my room, staring at a blank sheet of paper, wondering what on Earth I had to write about. Mr. Foria had given us yet another vignette. I had yet to do any of them. Every day he would come by my desk and remind me that the time was closing to get them all in. I just couldn't bring myself to write. I had absolutely nothing to write about. This was the third vignette we had been assigned in my creative writing class, each on associated to one of the six senses, the first was aural, the second was olfactory, and this one was all about kinesthetic movement. It was midnight and I still had no idea what to write. As I sat I thought about what Mr. Foria had said today in class.

"A vignette is a snapshot, not a short story not a complete scene, but a snapshot of a moment." I keep asking myself what the heck this meant. I felt bad for not trying harder on these assignments. I know Mr. Foria was doing all he could to encourage me to complete these assignments. I went to bed that night still stressing over the assignment that I still couldn't complete.

The next Monday, I woke up with a fresh attitude towards the vignettes. I was determined to complete them. I had three periods until Creative Writing and this was my last day to turn them in. I wrote furiously trying to complete all four of the assigned vignettes. I was just completing the final sentence on my fourth vignette as Mr. Foria came around to collect them. Over the next 4 weeks, he continued to assign vignettes of various topics. Then finally as the semester came to a close Mr. Foria handed back out graded vignettes, stapled together like a booklet.

Sitting at my desk, I watch as Mr. Foria walks around the classroom handing back our vignettes. I actually spent a lot of time doing these assignments. I was finding that each sensory vignette that was assigned became easier and easier to write. I was getting more and more excited with each assignment, but today was the day that he was handing them all back with his feedback and grades. It was the last day of the semester, so this was the last time we would see him. He slowly made his way towards my group of desks, I was so nervous and excited to see what he had written about them. He handed a stack of papers to Sophia, 2 desks down on my left, next a stack to Beto sitting beside me. Then he handed a stack to Rachel on my right and continued moving down the line of students.

I stared down at my hands on my desk, confused. Why hadn't he given me my papers? Did I remember to turn them all in? As I pondered all of these questions racing through my head, the bell rang, and my classmates raced towards the door anxious to leave. I stood and gathered my things, heading slowly for the door.

"Breanna, can I speak with you a moment?" Mr. Foria called out to me. I turned and slowly nodded my head. I walked towards him hesitantly. Maybe he just didn't want to embarrass me in front of everyone by giving me bad feedback in front of them. My palms start to sweat, I had been so eager to hear what he had to say, I was so excited, I never for a second thought he might have reason to criticize my writing. As I thought more about it, I realized maybe he did, this was the first time I had ever attempted to write creatively and I thought they were good, but maybe I not the best judge of my own works. Mr. Foria gestured to the chair in front of his desk, I sat, quickly. He sat in his own chair, studying me for a moment, before starting to rifle through a pile of paper on his desk.

"I wanted to have a quick chat with you before you leave my class forever." Mr. Foria held up a small stack of papers, I instantly recognized my own chicken scratch scrawling across the pages. He hands me the stack before continuing, "I am truly impressed. I think you have a very clear talent in writing." My heart falters. What did he say? I look over my vignettes, they are covered in notes from Mr. Foria. Some phrases pop out at me. Great metaphor! Excellent play on words! I can feel your emotion here! Wow, I can literally smell the wind!

"Breanna, have you ever considered writing as a real future?" He looks at me questioningly. I laugh, shaking my head no. Of course, I haven't... writing is not a real career.

"No, I don't really think that I have the kind of talent that would be needed to be successful at writing." He looks at me for a moment, before opening the bottom left drawer of his desk. He reaches inside and pulls out a book, written on the front in bold letters is Writer's Market 2010.

"I got this for you. It s full of tips for writing, publishing company addresses and information on the types of writing they are looking for. You have a true talent, and if you apply yourself I think you can go far." I take the book from Mr. Foria, turning it in my hands. "Think about it." He holds out his hand. I grasp it shaking his hand firmly.

"Um... Thank you sir, I will." I stand and walk out of the room, still in awe that someone I only knew for such a short time would have such faith in a skill I was not even sure I truly possessed.

This experience made me realize I had a passion for writing that I had never realized before. Mr. Foria made me really look at what I wanted to do with that skill. I spent a couple of years taking writing workshops and really getting into writing, hoping to one day become an author. However, now I mostly just write for myself. Mr. Foria inspired me to write because I was good at it and I obviously enjoyed it. For a long time, he would read a lot of my work, and still is an inspiration to the writing I do today. I hope one day to be able to publish a work so that I may dedicate it to him, for being a motivator and always my inspiration.