"If students are not learning the way you teach, you have to adjust and teach the way they learn."
Vignette
Pronunciation: /vinˈyet/
Definition: A vignette is a snapshot of a memorable time in your life, a character, a mood, setting, idea or object. You do not write about the events that led up to or after—just a picture of that moment or thing.
Idea! Imagine a photo. What you see in it is all you know..not what happened before it, not what will happen after it..just what you see. THAT is a vignette.
When writing a vignette, be very descriptive. To do that, use Literary Devices and other tools from the Writer's Toolbox.
Hint: If you intend to use your vignette in a larger story, it will usually serve as your climax. As you develop as a writer, you can weave it anywhere in your story.
Definition: A vignette is a snapshot of a memorable time in your life, a character, a mood, setting, idea or object. You do not write about the events that led up to or after—just a picture of that moment or thing.
Idea! Imagine a photo. What you see in it is all you know..not what happened before it, not what will happen after it..just what you see. THAT is a vignette.
When writing a vignette, be very descriptive. To do that, use Literary Devices and other tools from the Writer's Toolbox.
Hint: If you intend to use your vignette in a larger story, it will usually serve as your climax. As you develop as a writer, you can weave it anywhere in your story.
Outline
The outline for a vignette is very simple:
Where the "scene" (or moment) started: Not before it started but at the exact moment it starts. This is also called the setting.
Critical Description: Describe the moment, character, setting, idea, mood or object in perfect detail. Use dialog, metaphors, analogies, oxymorons...all the literary devices you can fit with literary finesse in your short piece.
Final Moment: This is the conclusion of your vignette.
Impact of the Scene: This part serves as a loose idea of a theme if you have to write it on a plot chart.
Where the "scene" (or moment) started: Not before it started but at the exact moment it starts. This is also called the setting.
Critical Description: Describe the moment, character, setting, idea, mood or object in perfect detail. Use dialog, metaphors, analogies, oxymorons...all the literary devices you can fit with literary finesse in your short piece.
Final Moment: This is the conclusion of your vignette.
Impact of the Scene: This part serves as a loose idea of a theme if you have to write it on a plot chart.
Example
This vignette describes a hospital room. Used with permission.
The air felt cold, impersonal—icky, sick. The bed, imposingly enormous, was the epicenter of pain, hope, fear and loss. It held her body and gradient pinkish, pink, crimson, then bloody red sheets.
Blood was the main event. It leaked, smeared, stained, soaked and dripped all over the room: on the floor, on the wall, on the bed, on the still body in the bed.
Then there was that annoying sound. The long beeps, the short beeps—all from the TV-like monitors: small, square, oval—were a syncopated melody of death. They pierced, the intercom alerted, the lights flashed. Code red. Code blue. White. They all sang in harmony. They echoed because there was no softness to soak up the sound. No rugs, no wall hangings, not even a picture of a Supernatural Energy that was supposed to conjure peace. Just so many wires. They snaked down the walls, across the floor, over and through the bed, across it, underneath it. So…many...wires.
The standard white, ceramic tiled floor was morgue-cold and painted red with smears of blood, dried snot and other body and medicinal fluids. The popcorn puffed walls were so rough they pinched and scraped. They were dingy from years of neglect, weakened from fists of anger and strained from despair. The sole chair was small, but sturdy, and its padded, blue cushion had stains on it from body fluids, snacks, tears.
Blood was the main event. It leaked, smeared, stained, soaked and dripped all over the room: on the floor, on the wall, on the bed, on the still body in the bed.
Then there was that annoying sound. The long beeps, the short beeps—all from the TV-like monitors: small, square, oval—were a syncopated melody of death. They pierced, the intercom alerted, the lights flashed. Code red. Code blue. White. They all sang in harmony. They echoed because there was no softness to soak up the sound. No rugs, no wall hangings, not even a picture of a Supernatural Energy that was supposed to conjure peace. Just so many wires. They snaked down the walls, across the floor, over and through the bed, across it, underneath it. So…many...wires.
The standard white, ceramic tiled floor was morgue-cold and painted red with smears of blood, dried snot and other body and medicinal fluids. The popcorn puffed walls were so rough they pinched and scraped. They were dingy from years of neglect, weakened from fists of anger and strained from despair. The sole chair was small, but sturdy, and its padded, blue cushion had stains on it from body fluids, snacks, tears.