Re: Vignette 20 by (Anonymous)

When I was a child, my dad did not care to read my writing because he said it held no weight. My mom read everything I wrote and told me I had talent. When my dad passed away I was helping my mother by clearing out the attic and found old books with my father’s handwriting. Pages and pages of stories written and re-written, some crossed out with heavy disappointment, others were smeared by what seemed to be tear drops, all carried the tune of “not good enough”. As I continued to clear a path, I found a book my mother had written. It was published by a small company outside of Boston and it was filled with stories of hope, love and happiness. When I asked her about it she replied, “that was nothing, but you are everything”. I would like to believe what my mom said, but my dad was usually right. I continue to write for no one, as though my writing holds no weight.

Based on Vignette 20