The Significance of Small Gestures
By Vaughn Roycroft | February 20, 2017 |
“Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another will help lighten the burdens of the world. Anything. You have no idea what the simplest word, the tiniest generosity can set in motion.”—Clarissa Pinkola Estes, from her essay, We Were Made For These Times (quoted throughout the post.)
Do you remember why you started writing? I know—that’s a loaded question, right? A simpler question might be: Was there a specific event or book or story that first prompted you to put pen to paper?
Or perhaps there was a person, as there was for me.
Finding Mr. Raymond
Anyone who’s ever read my bio (all three of you) knows that my writing journey began when my sixth grade teacher assigned me to read The Hobbit. My wife, who had heard the story of Mr. Raymond and the start of my love of reading and fantasy often over the years, recently asked me if I had ever thanked him. I sheepishly admitted that I hadn’t. Indeed, I never saw or spoke to him again after leaving my elementary school on the last day in his classroom.
My wife, being her naturally gracious self, made it her mission to find him so that I could properly thank him. Turns out that Mr. Raymond only taught that one year, his first after graduating from a local university. From there he went on to enter the Peace Corps, graduate from law school, become a partner at a law firm, and raise a family. She found him listed as the Associate Director of a Jesuit Retreat in a nearby metropolitan area.
Wow—full life, eh? No small wonder I never bumped into him again.
To Sir, With Love
With his permission, and your indulgence, allow me to share a slightly abridged version our recent correspondence.
Hello Mr. Raymond,
After an extensive internet search (read: “virtual stalking,” sorry), I’m fairly sure you were my sixth grade teacher at Burke Elementary in 1973. I’m not sure if you’ll remember me, but I wanted you to know that I’ll never forget you, and that you inspired me in a special way. A way that’s changed my life. Allow me to explain.
It seems to me it was a large class, and as I recall, our group behavior really challenged you as a first year teacher (sorry for any part I played in that). But you definitely had a reputation as “the cool teacher.” I think, as a way of dealing with the challenge, you instituted a “divide and conquer” strategy for your reading lessons. A handful of us were put into an advanced reading group. You gave us each a copy of Tolkien’s The Hobbit, and let us read on our own. I quickly became utterly enthralled—totally immersed in a beguiling new world.
After I swiftly finished the book, you gave me a gift that kept on giving: a boxed set of The Lord of the Rings paperbacks. I now realize this was no small thing, for a first-year teacher, right out of college, to open his wallet and his heart in such a way for one of his students. During our discussions of LoTR, you 
mentioned that Tolkien had based Middle Earth on a version of Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire (that the lost glory of Gondor represented the fallen Rome). I became an ardent fan. So much so that when Tolkien passed, I was determined that I would become the writer that carried the world of Tolkien forward.
Fast forward thirty-plus years. After a successful run in the lumber wholesale business, my wife and I moved to our summer cottage, seeking to live simpler and more meaningful lives. For me, that meant getting back to writing. In hindsight it’s no surprise, but the epic fantasy world I built on the page is set against the fall of Rome, and features the Germanic tribe of the Goths (the inspiration for the Riders of Rohan, in the recesses of my mind).
I recently finished a rewrite of a manuscript that feels as close to ready for publication as anything I’ve written thus far. Whether that’s true or not, it feels like a summit has been reached, and I’m in a position to pause and enjoy the view.
I’ve long credited you with my love of reading epics, and hence, my coming to what I consider my true calling, and my life’s work. I think of that gift you so generously gave, and it makes me want to pass it along to other young people, so I routinely apportion a large part of our charitable giving to youth literacy. I intend to do more as my writing career progresses.
All I can say is, thank you. From the bottom of my Hobbit-loving heart.
Sincerely,
Vaughn
The very next day I received his reply.
Dear Vaughn,
I am overwhelmed by your email. I saw it yesterday afternoon and shared it with my wife (while I was in tears) last evening. She was also overwhelmed. It is unlike any other Christmas gift (or gift of any kind) that I’ve ever received. Words can’t express the joy, and humility, I feel. I will cherish your email letter the rest of my life. More importantly, I will cherish our friendship (newly established after 43 years !!) no matter the physical distance between us.
As a person of faith, I believe that God’s given us gifts to use, and asked that we treat each other with kindness, generosity and respect. Your effort to find me so that you could personally thank me for acts that occurred 43 years ago, and your passion and perseverance in honing your writing skills is clear evidence of your use of your God-given gifts and your kindness, your generosity and your respect for me. Thank you.
My wife and I have not infrequently reminded each other, and sometimes our now-adult children, that we never know the impact we have on those we encounter each day, even those we meet just for a moment. Your email letter drives home that reality, in spades.
A woman in our office shared with me yesterday afternoon that her husband, about your age, keeps a dog-eared copy of The Hobbit near their bed, and reads it often. . . . It’s been years for me, but I’m going to pick it up again and re-enter the adventure.
Vaughn, I’m very happy for the success you and your wife have had in life. It’s a great delight that you have supported charities for youth literacy. I’m excited and anxious to hear about the future of your story. Please keep me apprised as things develop.
Sincerely,
Steve (a.k.a. Mr. Raymond)
An Accumulation of Acts
“It is not given to us to know which acts, or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.”–Clarissa Pinkola Estes
It feels wonderful to establish this reconnection. But, for me, it feels bigger than a simple heart-warming moment. To his point, the story of Mr. Raymond demonstrates the potential effects of the little things—small acts of gratitude and kindness. But it also demonstrates scale.
“What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing.”—C.P.E.
When I say scale, I’m referring to what Estes’ terms an “accumulation of acts.” Think of it. Mr. Raymond’s kindness to a geeky 12 year old back in 1972 led to you and others reading this essay today. And if, having been inspired by Mr. Raymond’s gift, my words end up touching even a small number of readers, and some percentage of them is inspired to their own gesture of gratitude or kindness, well, that is an accumulating scale, don’t you think?
Showing Our Souls
“One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire.”—C.P.E.
Now let’s bring the power of storytelling into the equation. I’ve explored the issue before, most recently in an essay here at WU, but I’ve come to believe in the ability of storytelling to powerfully commune with, and thereby inspire and even persuade, our fellow human beings.
We storytellers wield a mighty power to move people. We became storytellers because of our empathy—our intense desire not just to explore how others see and feel things, but to convey those outlooks and emotions to even more folks. Or, in Estes’ words, to stand up and show our souls. When you think about it, we storytellers are built to achieve scale.
Shining the Light—Backward and Forward
“To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these – to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it.”—C.P.E.
As writers we understand that we only improve by writing. In other words, through practice. But we are not simply practicing at assembling sentences and paragraphs. We are practicing at displaying the lanterns of our souls. Exposing our souls’ light takes fierceness and courage. Through practice we become fiercer, braver.
Shining for others takes empathy. Through practicing gratitude and kindness, we become more empathetic. And thereby better storytellers.
What better way to practice gratitude than to reach back, to thank those whose actions tipped us toward enduring good? And what better way to practice kindness than to offer those same sorts of gifts to readers and future storytellers?
So yes—we are built to achieve scale. And I believe that together we can achieve critical mass.
Are you with me, WU? Let’s light some fires.
Is there someone who helped to inspire you to embark on your writing journey? Have you ever told them? How do you pay it forward? How’s the lantern of your soul shining in these shadowy times?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
What a beautiful and inspiring post, Vaughn! You (and Mr. Raymond) are so right that we don’t know what effect some small action of ours may have. To give just one example, I was humbled to learn that 20 minutes with my young cousin under the hood of her father’s new car, explaining how the engine worked, led her to a career as an aircraft mechanic.
For my writing, the person to whom I owe the most is Ruth, a close friend during my high school years. We would spend hours before school, during breaks, and in marathon weekend sessions taking turns telling each other new installments of our current saga: two geeky girls in a quiet corner spinning epic adventures starring us (of course) in various guises. In those hours I learned to create stories on the fly, pace them to sustain interest, and trust my author’s voice.
Upon graduation, I lost touch with Ruth. You’re right! I should look for her and thank her.
Very cool about your cousin, Barbara. I was once happy just to hear that a nephew had fallen in love with a band I’d recommended (Sigur Rós, from Iceland). The band made a movie when my nephew was in high school, and I bought him a copy. He loved it, and he recently graduated from film school, and works for a production company. I’m not sure I can take any credit for his awesomeness, but I know that film came along at a good time for him. Another little thing.
I hope you seek out Ruth. I’m glad you’re inspired. Thanks for a great lead-off comment!
Vaughn, this is such a heart warming post. Your reaching out to Mr. Raymond and his response really demonsrate the need for each of us to thank our mentors and let them know their guidance has impacted us. My fellow journalism graduates used to drop in on a journalism professor we admired after the homecoming football game each year. Though he was a stoic and a dispassionate journalist, we could tell he was touched. He would answer the door and say, “What a surprise,” while he already had snacks and beverages laid out on the coffee table for us. We should never forget those who shaped us and made us who we are.
That’s a cool story about your professor–thanks for sharing it. I’ll bet that meant the world to him. I suspected this might become a love-fest for teachers. They deserve our admiration and so much more. Thanks for joining the love-fest, Chris!
Vaughn,
Thank you for this beautiful post. I take it as a timely reminder to not only feel gratitude but also to express it.
LK
I’m delighted to be the reminder. Thanks for letting me know, LK!
My eyes were opened to writing by an English poet and essayist, Hugo Williams, from whom I was taking a poetry writing class. I have thanked him.
I also thanked my dying father. Such acts were, I think, as meaningful to me as to those who believed in me and shaped my life.
For a writer thankfulness is not just a healthy human practice, it is the essence of being open-hearted. Which in turn is the animating spirit behind the creation of stories.
We cannot write authentic tales unless we ourselves are authentic: open, thankful, aware, listening and generous of spirit.
Like your post. Thanks, Vaughn. And BTW, thank your wife on our behalf, too. A good woman. What would we do without them?
Terrific additions to the conversation, Benjamin!
I sometimes regret having left a few things unsaid with my dad. And they’re mostly to do with unexpressed gratitude. I sometimes find I’m sad that he never read my stories, or knew how much of him is in there–how much he inspired me. But then I remind myself that he does know. After all, he taught me that love never dies, which is one of the recurring themes of my work.
Passing along the thanks to my wife. You’re right–we’d be lost without them. Thanks, as always, for your insight!
I smile through my tears, Vaughn. I remember you speaking of Mr. Raymond and imagine the delight in his receipt of your email. I agree, small gestures often are the largest gifts. I love your photo of the tatty, well-worn trilogy.
I came late to the writing party after an experience in school the opposite of yours. Encouraged by a friend in 2008, she graciously read and reread my tentative words offering support and constructive criticism. When she died, I found myself unable to write. Essays found here, the supportive Facebook group, and subsequent sub-groups, continue to spur me on, even when my pace is glacial.
Thanks for sharing Mr. Raymond, he sounds a man filled with stories, and the Clarissa Pinkola Estes quotes. May your beacon burn bright.
Now you’ve gone and gotten me all misty, Brin. Thank you for sharing your friend with us. I’m very grateful for her, too. And I’m so glad you found your way back to your writing. The world needs your stories, my friend. Shine on!
Vaughn, thanks for sharing this memory with us. All children should have a teacher like Mr. Raymond. The story of your search for your grade six teacher reminded me to thank the people who have made a difference in my life, too.
And kudos for supporting children’s literacy. It is one of the most effective ways to make the world a better place.
Hey Rita, I’m right with you on getting kids reading being central to making the world a better place. We donate to several literacy charities, but one of my favorites is Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Our donations go to actual books that go to actual kids in my community on a monthly basis. Each year they send me a printout of how many kids received how many books. It’s a tangible result that feels wonderful.
Thanks for weighing in!
Damn you, Vaughn, I haven’t even had my coffee, and I read this, and now I’m sniffling, and I think something is in my eyes, because they’re both watering.
You know what inspires me everyday? Friends. Like you. Most especially you. Thank you for being here. Blessed be the journey.
No fair! You guys are determined to keep me misty today. Back atcha, B–you inspire me every single day. I’m very grateful. Thanks for being such a vital part of my journey, my friend. Onward!
Your post is inspiring on so many levels, Vaughn. How awesome that you let Mr. Raymond know how his generosity has rippled through the universe. What a gift to give someone! I had a 7th grade English teacher who had my back as I was struggling to find my footing in school. Years later I let him know that because of him, I’d continued to write and paint. Years later, I was given that gift back when a young friend told me that I’d inspired her career choice. So thank you for the reminder that even an offhand remark or small-seeming gesture can have an enormous impact. That we, as story-tellers, have the ability to frame these gestures and put them out into the world in front of many eyes is an awesome and wonderful responsibility. So thanks for standing on deck and showing us your soul today. CPE’s “soul on deck” put me in mind of Galadriel’s gift to Sam Gamgee. A light for the dark places, indeed!
Ah, Galadriel’s light–such a perfect analogy. I’m grateful to your 7th grade teacher, too. Your additions to the conversation here always shine. Thanks, as always, Susan. Here’s to our awesome and wonderful responsibility!
This is very beautiful — thank you for telling this story! My urge to write started in third grade, but by sixth grade I won an essay contest for the city. It helped me get a scholarship with a private school that also fostered my writing urge. I’ve been able to contact many of those teachers as a grown up, but I often feel my writing is the same voice I listened to back then. Thank you for reminding me!
Wow – writing really has been a gift to you, hasn’t it, Becky? That’s so cool! I love that you find constancy in that voice. I’m delighted to provide the reminder. Great seeing you here (in addition to your steady, valuable contribution to the FB group page)!
Like Bernadette, I too found there seemed to be something in my eyes while I read your lovely post. I realize I am so lucky to have had so many Mr. Raymonds of my own, some of whom I’ve been able to thank, others whom I might still seek out with a note of gratitude. Way back when I wrote poetry, I made little books of my poems for my grandmothers as Christmas gifts, and years later, when we were sorting through their things after they passed away, we found those books of preadolescent poems saved with other treasured possessions. Here’s a flash of the soul beacons to all those who support, encourage and inspire us — whether they know it or not — and a promise to thank as many of those folks as we can! Bravo, Vaughn!
Very cool story about your poems being treasured gifts for both of your grandmothers – thanks for sharing it. I often buoyed by the soul beacons in this group, but never more so than today. Y’all are filling my heart right up. :-) Thanks, Kate!
We all have our teachers–who aren’t always teachers–opening those doors for us. What a lovely story and most excellent post! Thank you.
Excellent point, they’re not always teachers. Thank you, Kelly!
Such a wonderful post, Vaughn. Thank you for sharing. I had three English teachers who were fully supportive of my writing ventures, and fortunately, I’m still in touch with all three. One even came to my book signing! Such a neat moment. :)
How cool that one came to your signing! And how nice that you stayed in touch with all three. That’s a gift to all four of you. Thanks for sharing, Melissa!
I love this post, Vaughn. Like you and others, I’ve certainly been helped by the kindnesses of others, particularly when it comes to writing.
But I recently met a woman whose story of how a small gesture made a difference is the best I’ve ever heard. Her name is Shen Chefalo, and she lives here in the mitten like you and I. She spent years in the foster care system, and not surprisingly, she felt like a throwaway child, with no future.
But then a high school teacher told Shen that she was special, and that she was smart enough to go to college. Until then, she hadn’t considered college–she assumed it was for other kids, not for castoffs like her. A second teacher paid the fee for her to apply to your alma mater. She got her degree, and years later, she wrote a memoir (Garbage Bag Suitcase) about her time in the foster care system. She now speaks nationwide about the system and the myriad ways we can help the children who are in it, including taking the time to tell them things like, “You are special. And you are smart enough to go to college.”
Future writers, aircraft mechanics, film producers, foster care activists–all of these produced by the seemingly small gifts of books, time and encouraging words.
There is all this fretting on social media about what we can possibly do to make things better–and I do understand it. Marches and protests and letters to representatives all have their place, certainly. A few weeks ago, a social justice lawyer told me he believes there is no political act more powerful than aiding the empowerment of a single young person. I think he would agree your post and the comments make a fine Exhibit A.
You have lifted spirits and infused a sense of gratitude and purpose today, Vaughn. Thank you.
What an awesome comment! Thanks so much for sharing Shen’s story, Julie. (Must go and check on Garage Bag Suitcase!) And thanks for sharing the social justice lawyer’s advice. Such a generous and powerful addition to the conversation from my fellow Michigander. I’m grateful, and humbled to have inspired. Enjoy this (very odd) February weather!
Great post, Vaughn.
My high school English teacher, Mrs. Rowan was the one who inspired me to write. I did track her down and called to thank her.
Although, I still, have some trouble with, comma placement,,, :)
First LOL of the day. Thanks for adding the perfect punctuation, James! ;-)
Thank you. A friend of mine (also inspired, I think, by LOtR) just wondered out loud (well, in a Facebook post) if she should go on writing, given the fact that her books get almost no response. She’s an excellent writer, and I think she knows it, but if all her work and love are disappearing into the void, would she be making better use of her life to direct her energies toward something concrete — something that would make a real, visible difference? I’ll admit that the same question often occurs to me. Totally by coincidence, I read her post only a few minutes before reading yours. I will send your story here to her.
See how the ripples roll, Mary? Now we’re building scale, aren’t we? I’m absolutely sure that your friend’s writing skills and storytelling came to a person or persons at the exact point they were needed. The world needs storytellers, now more than ever! Thanks for sharing, and for your kindness.
Thank you for sharing this. It’s raining outside this morning, but your blog brought sunshine.
I’m honored to have provided a bit of light. Thanks, Patricia!
Mrs. Faye Simpson was my muse – harder that nails as a teacher and compassionate as a person. After about 40 years I came across her comments and encouragement to write – ten years later some publishing success and more in the pipeline [hopefully] thanks to her comments on the top of a composition dripping in red – good story, now work on your skill as a writer . . .
Talk about a delayed Godsend! So cool, Joe. Thanks for sharing Mrs. Simpson with us. Onward!
Vaughn, there’s the beating of a warm heart behind every word in this stirring post. (Though we have to credit your wife for her part in keeping the blood circulating.) I had a high school English teacher, Mrs. Brown, whom I never thanked for her “Lightbulb on!” experiences in her class.
She had a wonderful sense of creativity and play, inviting us to pull from our imaginations when it came to storytelling. I remember so well her laughing when one of my inspired classmates—a self-professed Marxist, of all things—strung kite-string around us and our desks for his writing assignment. But Mrs. Brown found a way to turn his mini-protest into a great discussion on creativity.
I carried away a good deal from that class (as well as my high school geekness, which can’t be washed off). You’ve inspired me to see if I can find Mrs. Brown, though that was long years ago. And thanks for the letter—I’ll just change a name or two.
Big-hearted post, Vaughn—thanks.
Tom – Sounds like Mrs. Brown had a real talent for untangling creative repression. It’s funny you should mention recalling her laughter. I recall Mr. Raymond laughing with us often, too. It was such a refreshing change from a few of the more prim and stern teachers I’d had in grades prior. He seemed much more like one of us than like a member of our parents’ generation, which was also very inspiring.
Fingers crossed in your search for Mrs. Brown! Please keep me posted. Thanks for sharing her with us, and for your usual generous helping of your own warm heartedness.
“… my high school geekness, which can’t be washed off…”
With my 68th birthday just a couple months away, these words hit home. So true! It sometimes seems I’ve spent the last 50 years trying to get over the first 18.
I always enjoy your comments, Tom.
Me too, CK! Thanks for chiming in.
Sounds like Mrs. Brown had a real talent for untangling creative repression. It’s funny you should mention recalling her laughter. I recall Mr. Raymond laughing with us often, too. It was such a refreshing change from a few of the more prim and stern teachers I’d had in grades prior. He seemed much more like one of us than like a member of our parents’ generation, which was also very inspiring.
Fingers crossed in your search for Mrs. Brown! Please keep me posted. Thanks for sharing her with us, and for your usual generous helping of your own warm heartedness.
Vaughn, what beautiful letters. Thank you for sharing these. I’ve been blessed my whole life with wonderful mentors. For writing though, the credit goes first and foremost to those who’ve gone from this world — AJ Cronin, Lloyd C. Douglas, Ayn Rand, Victor Hugo, CS Lewis, GK Chesterton, Flannery O’Connor to name a few. I list them in the order I discovered them starting at the age of 12. Because they taught me what good writing is, I pray for them and ask them to pray for me.
I do wish my teachers were more encouraging as a child. Mostly i got punished for making things up :)
Excellent point about the writers who inspire us along the way, who seem to reach us in the very moment we need them. There’s always something remarkably serendipitous about that. Or is there? ;-)
Thanks, Vijaya. Sorry you got punished for it, but I’m very glad you stuck to making things up!
Vaughn,
Thank you for this beautiful and moving tribute. After reading your wonderful exchange of letters, I reflected, a bit teary-eyed, that the one person I should thank for my love of reading and the thrill I get of trying to convey emotion on the page is probably no longer living.
So I’d like to honor Mrs. McMahon, my 6th grade English teacher, who changed my life with a few scrawled words of praise on a descriptive assignment. Suddenly I saw myself as someone who could move another person with my imagination, and share the joy and awe I saw in the world with others.
Your story is a poignant reminder to walk gently in this world and treat others with kindness–you never know when you are changing the course of someone else’s life.
Thank you for sharing…
What a lovely tribute to Mrs. McMahon, Christine. She’s a blessing to all of us today, as you’ve certainly moved me. I’m delighted and honored that it resonated for you. Thanks so much for shining your soul light by sharing her with us. Shine on!
Thank you so much for the beautifully written post and the inspiring quotes by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Many of us look back in gratitude and think fleetingly about searching for a long-lost mentor or inspiree, but you actually did it — AND you got an answer.
My children make fun of me for watching the cheesy Christmas movie It’s A Wonderful Life, but the Christmas message is actually extraneous for me. What really counts is the message that we can touch people in magical ways that are completely unknown to us and make a difference in one life and perhaps hundreds of lives. That’s what you did today.
Thanks again and keep writing….
Lorraine
Gosh, thanks, Lorraine. I never get sick of It’s a Wonderful Life, either. When the whole town files in at the end… gets me every darn time.
Let’s keep paying it forward and backward. We’ll make the world better one small gesture at a time. Onward!
I love your articles, Vaughn. First the “turbulent times” piece, and now this.
I can’t say that I can pinpoint my love of reading or a writing epiphany to any one teacher, since I was doing both before I even entered 1st grade. But a number of my writing / English teachers over the years have urged me to keep writing. Yet the single most important writing-related teacher in my life is one of my college professors. He taught both literature and writing (the latter being an incredible Therapeutic Uses of Writing course – I still have the essays I wrote back then and don’t want to part with them), and was my academic advisor. So we spent a great deal of time together then. And the day before graduation, when I won my class’s awards for English and poetry, he told me, “You need to get your writing published!”
And I did. Several years later, not only have I had a few poems published, but I’m working on a manuscript – and I still visit that professor once a semester. He’s not only become a writing mentor, but a life mentor. (He’s written a number of self-help books that have helped me through some rough times, too.) And around my 30th birthday, I gave several people thank-you letters to express the impact they’ve had on my life. He was one of the recipients. :)
Thank you for reminding us about the power and necessity of gratitude in our lives.
Hi Sara, Your professor sounds like a remarkable person! You’re blessed to have him in your life, and I’m sure he could say the same of your presence in his. And you beat me to the thank-you letters by twenty years. See how brightly you shine? :-)
I’m delighted and honored to provide a reminder today. Thanks for your kind praise, and for sharing your professor with us. Together, all of these examples given today are glowing like stars in the night sky.
What a great story!
I had a tutor in high school that actually understood my strengths and weaknesses. She made all learning fun, but especially writing. After a bunch of tutors who did the bare minimum for me to pass the grade (I was in special ed but homeschooled, and the school didn’t care about me; there were years that they actually forgot to give me books), she challenged me. I had creative writing assignments. The first time I ever bothered to edit something was because of her. I have no doubt that I wouldn’t be published now if not for her, nor would I be as social as I am. Part of our lessons always ended up with us just talking, and having an adult see the worth in talking to and teaching a really shy, awkward, “smart but unmotivated” teenager made a huge difference in my life.
If I ever get a novel published, I’m dedicating it to her.
I should really find her and thank her.
What a terrific addition to the conversation, Jennifer! It’s about so much more than just inspiring us to write, isn’t it? The story of you and your tutor is a truly moving and inspiring. I very much hope you reach out to her. It’d be great if you kept me posted (no pressure). Thank you for sharing!
Heart-warming indeed, Vaughn. I wish I could remember who turned me into a reader, but I suspect it was myself–I remember my parents saying that I was reading newspapers at age four. We are both, indeed, blessed. Thank you for sharing your story.
And then you became a teacher yourself. :-) Thank you, for a lovely comment, and for giving of yourself for years, Ray!
Oh, Vaughn— Once again, you inspire and nudge us to contemplate our heart’s passion in a deeper way.
Several teachers paved the way for my writing life. The one who most students feared was my favorite— Mr. Koss. He gave me a respect for language and showed me that writing is a noble profession. Last fall I wrote an Ode to Mr. Koss.
Your post makes me want to write Odes to all of the teachers that encouraged me to write, and perhaps, even track them down. Thanks for nudging.
This has been such an uplifting and inspiring outpouring in response to my already heartening experience. I now admire and appreciate Mr. Koss, just because he brought you into my world. I’m thinking you’re right – there are certainly other teachers of mine that deserve Odes, as well. I’m with you, my friend.
Thank you for your wonderful, warm contribution to an awesome conversation, Jocosa!
Great. Inspirational. now there will be a mad Internet hunt for all English/Journalism/Creative Writing instructors who inspired us!
I hope you’re right, Carol. That would be the greatest result of writing I can imagine. Thanks!
This is a deeply touching post. Thank you not only for the reminder to reach back to those who lit the fire for us, but to be present and be kind when we can.
I know that writing the letters and the essay really helped pull me back to the here and now (versus the fuzz of an online connection to shadowy times). Thanks for your kind praise, Barbara!
I love this. So poignant, lovely, and uplifting.
What you did for Mr. Raymond is priceless and beautiful.
You are quite the guy, Vaughn!
Means the world to me, especially coming from quite the gal. :-)
Thank you, Kat!
Sobbing sticky, happy tears! This is exactly what I needed to read today! Thank you for your vulnerability and true words.
I’m delighted to have provided what you needed today, and humbled by your reaction and your kind praise, Bethany. Thank you!
So many people have inspired me along my writing journey — and now you are one of them. Thanks, Vaughn.
Aw shucks, Beth – I’m honored. Thank you!
Oh, how I loved this entire post, Vaughn. When I was teaching high school English in the 90s, it was my students’ creative writing (and the fact that I did the creative assignments myself) that made me realize how much I needed to write. There was one young woman in particular, Xiaoxiang Li, who really inspired me. I should try to find her … I am friends with many of my former students via FB, but not Xiaoxiang. Not yet!
Thank you so much for sharing the letters and your message. Especially in these tough times, it’s necessary to shine even the tiniest of lights whenever we can.
Bless you!
:)
That’s so cool, Sarah, that the inspiration flows both ways. I hope you connect with Xiaoxiang. Thanks so much for letting me know! Shine on!
I once wrote a blog post about a book that meant so much to me as a teenager and that influenced my own writing. Certain things in my published novel are even little nods to that book. Well, the author of that book must have had google alert set up or something because she found my blog post and commented. We exchanged a few emails, and I was happy beyond happy to have this communication with her and she was happy to learn her book from the 70s was still remembered.
Wow, that’s an awesome story, Marta! I love it. It’s a perfect example of shining forward and back – so rewarding for both of you. Thanks so much for sharing.
It was so good to read this today, even as I wish I’d gotten here when it was first posted. I’m thinking about the teachers–official and otherwise–who were encouraging in my early years. I’ll have to look a few of them up! I moved a lot as a kid, and telling stories to myself was a way to keep my shy self company, so it meant a lot when an adult noticed and was encouraging.
I rather miss mentoring and teaching (if not the chore of college grading), and this post makes me think I should find a way to pay that back and pay it forward again. Hm.
Thank you, also, for the link to the Estes post–I love her work whenever I encounter it. She taps into such a powerful, poetic truth somehow…have you ever heard her speak? I have a few of her recorded pieces (from Sounds True), and she’s an inspiring storyteller to listen to, as well. Magical in the best sense.
Hi Alisha! We didn’t move (not once!), but I remember setting up huge mix-media toy-towns in my bedroom when I was a kid (this is before Lego, so it was Lincoln Logs, an old erector set, plastic army men, various types of toy cars and track-roads, etc.). And I remember disappearing into it particularly when we had company, or my siblings’ friends were over to our house (I’m the youngest). I think these were my earliest attempts at world-building, and my version of telling stories to my shy self. Thanks for reminding me.
I’ve never heard Estes speak, but will definitely look into it. I’d heard of her, of course, but the way this particular essay came to me was spooky-cool. We’d received a Christmas card from a new neighbor (a client of my wife’s) with a quote pulled from it (pretty close to my first pull-quote above). My wife said it sounded like it would go with this essay (then in the planning stages). I agreed and kept it on my desk. The day I heard back from Mr. Raymond, with his permission to use the letters, and had planned on fleshing out this essay, I stumbled across a link to the full essay, and didn’t recognize it. I thought it was another piece, and was very excited about the “soul light” section. I got chills when I picked up the card and saw that the quotes match. Those little moments of serendipity are always thrilling, and are part of what keeps me going as a writer. They help us to know we are *meant* to do this. As you say, magical in the best sense.
I hope you find your means of paying back and forward, but I suspect there are already dozens of little kindness you preform on a routine basis that do just that. Like this kind and thoughtful comment, for example. ;-) Thank you!
I’m reading this in a Panera and I’m in tears. Beautiful and inspiring. Thank you for sharing.
Aw, sorry about the timing, but I’m very glad it moved you, Stacey. Thanks so much for letting me know! And enjoy your coffee and cinnamon crunch bagel (can’t eat/drink and cry at the same time, so I presume you’d order what I would ;-).