Louise Plummer

When I walked into creative writing class at BYU and the teacher told us to call her Louise, I knew instantly that I'd like her.   

When Louise opened her mouth and started charming us with her stories and warm laugh, I knew instantly that I'd love her.  And I did.

I loved the way she wrote.  I loved the stories she told.  I loved the kind way she listened to our writing and the feedback she gave.  I would have marched into battle if she'd asked me to.

If I'd taken all my classes as seriously as I did the three writing classes I took from Louise, I would have been a stellar student.  BYU probably would have retired my student ID number.  They would have named a building after me.  (Or I would have gotten better grades.  I'm sure one of those three things would have happened.)

Because I worked hard in those classes.  When we got an assignment, I'd immediately start to craft my writing in my head while I walked home.  I'd do my writing assignments first and then revisit them several times.

(I didn't buy all the textbooks for some of my other classes because I'd think, "Who am I kidding?  I'm not going to read that.")

I not only loved Louise but I loved my fellow writing classmates.  I wished for the courage to leave the big hair bows and lesson plans of the McKay building and its education majors and permanently take up residence in the JKHB. (Jesse Knight Humanities Building although it's no longer called that.  I'm old.)  As much as I loved teaching, writing made my heart skip.

But like now, it was scary.  So like now, I stayed with education.

Years ago, Louise was a speaker at Women's Conference at BYU.  Marianne and I staked out seats in the Smith Fieldhouse (which is a sacrifice if you consider the stair climbing involved).  I was delighted to listen to Louise then Marianne said, "Let's go talk to her."  I was transformed back into a shy ten year old and Marianne transformed into my big sister (it was an easy jump for her to make).  She dragged me to the stage and I stammered out a "Hi, do you remember me?"

She did.  Because she's Louise.  She asked me if I was still writing.

I said no. And I felt terrible about it.

It was vastly different than my ten year high school reunion when my smarmy drama teacher said, in his overdone way, "Thelma!  Tell me you're still acting."

I actually cared what Louise thought and my smarmy high school drama teacher was...well, smarmy.  (Although Olivia enjoys the story and occasionally inquires whether I'm still acting.)

Marianne (being the big sister) bailed out her suddenly shy ten year old sister and said, "She writes really great emails, every day."  (My sisters have my back.  Always.)

Louise smiled and said that was good and that she understood about Life.  At the time I had young children and little time for much other than emails.

Later my mom said, "Did you tell her that you've sold stories to the Friend magazine?"  No, I hadn't and that seemed kind of pathetic anyway.  I wanted to be a Writer!  But I wasn't.  I was a frantic mother/homeschooler/mediocre housekeeper and that took all of my time.  

But I Remember.  I know what it felt like to bask in Louise's class.  I remember Louise.

I don't even remember how it came up but the other day Adam asked me if Louise had a blog.   I did a google search and voilà!  I found Louise's blog.  It's delightful.

So I've been thinking more about Lousie.  She told us the kinds of encouraging things that all writing teachers tell their students but I've hung onto them.  I can quote to Adam the accolades she wrote on a few of my papers (and I do from time to time just in case he forgot what she wrote).

Who can account for the kind of influence Louise was in my life?

Maybe that's why I chose education after all.  (I'll tell myself that anyway.)