#precisely two weeks from now i will be receiving my bachelor's degree and i am thinking about

[eyemarked]

i know it’s been a WHILE since i posted on this blog but i have in fact thought about tma every single day for the past year. how y’all doing

[stuckwith-harry]

hey you, i only followed you recently and I really like your hinny fanfics and your poetry. Would you mind telling me about your process when you write? I really wanna learn how to write properly and you seem to take your craft so seriously. How do you built a story, how often do you edit, how much time do you spent on your work, what do you try to go for,...? Thanks xxx

Anon, this is the coolest ask I’ve EVER received, and I’m hanging it on my wall next to all the colour-coded flashcards with poems on them. This is going to be LONG, and by no means exhaustive - I’m gonna jump around and ramble a bit and if there’s anything specific you wanna hear more about, please ask! I fucking love talking about writing!

I’m gonna put most of this under a cut, but before we dive in: yes, I tAkE mY wRiTiNg sErIoUsLy in the sense that I’d like to publish some original bodies of work in my life and to have physical copies of them exist on a bookshelf that’s not my own. I don’t need it to pay the bills, but if you googled my full name I’d like for, like, a poetry collection to show up and not, I don’t know, the two poems I got published in a regional newspaper when I was eight.

(And please let the record show that they’re fine poems for a primary schooler. The cringe years came way after that, kids.)

So, even having some ambitions in the industry, the reality is that I’m a 19-year-old kid with a keyboard and a dodgy internet connection who discovered fanfiction when she was twelve and got hooked for life. We’re going to retire the idea of “writing properly” for now, because writing is supposed to be fun and I haven’t actually gotten accepted into that Creative Writing Bachelor’s degree I so desperately want to do. YET. Don’t let the fancy writing blog (@jessicagluch) fool you into thinking I know what the heck I’m doing. But, okay, with that out of the way, let’s get into what I’m personally doing right now, yeah?

Fanfiction

You asked about process, and the truth is, I don’t … really have one. For the Muggle/FWB AU called “Let Me love” I just published, I actually wrote a pretty detailed outline that I then filled in, which was fun, but it’s not a habit exactly. I’d written a lot of assorted scenes and pieces of dialogue for that one, too, so I had a lot of material and just had to put all the scraps and pieces in order and stitch it all together. After the brainstorming, word-vomity part of writing Let Me love, my #1 task was figuring out where everything went, and making sure it’s all there.

As soon as I’d written a full first draft, no gaps, and the anatomy of the whole thing had somewhat clicked into place, I moved away from it for a while. Wrote something else. Came back maybe a week or two later, polished up the prose a bit very late at night.

Figure out when your creative hours are, if you can pinpoint it at all. Mine are precisely “I was supposed to be asleep two hours ago and I’ve got an important thing tomorrow” o’ clock. Sigh.

Just - leave it alone for a bit, come back with fresh eyes. I love writing Let Me love - I’m working on part 2 right now - but after you’ve fucked around with the same sentence fifty times, you get sick of it. And I did. At some point you have to decide to put down the pen and let it be.

Especially because fanfiction isn’t something you’re writing for a publisher - hopefully, you’re writing it mostly for you - no one is holding a gun to your head to get rid of every last adverb or stuff like that. I can do what I want, MOM. I am allowed to make the thing I’m writing as tropey and campy as I want and hold up a big old middle finger to the rules, if that’s what I want to do.

Fanfiction, to me, is this grand, batshit writing playground. That’s why I fell for it in the first place - it’s inherently self-indulgent and hedonistic and that you can write everything EXACTLY as you please is the primary purpose it serves as a genre. So go wild.

(Process-wise, the one thing I do very consistently is making moodboards and playlists. I like having some inspiration material to swim around in, which helps me figure out what the story looks and feels and sounds like in my head. 

Every fic has a soundtrack. SOUNDTRACKS ARE IMPORTANT, PEOPLE.

Like, Let Me love is all coloured lights and night-time London and texts left on read. It’s neon signs and wearing somebody else’s t-shirt, messy bedsheets and hangover breakfasts and quarter-life crises.

This is the Pinterest board.)

What I pay most attention to is the stuff that gives the text depth beyond the surface. I look for metaphors - and I personally prefer the ones that carry through the whole thing, ideas we explore throughout the story and revisit at the end. I look for themes that hold a story together beyond the plot. I look for subtext and imagery and I want symbolism, goddamnit. 

(That’s the poet kicking in.)

And of course, I’m a product of my generation, so I love referencing other bodies of work and subverting tropes and stuff like that. Hey kids, intertextuality is fun!

(Like, do you see what I did there? See how the phrase “hey kids x is fun” in itself is a reference to something? See??? I’m a fucking genius.)

I think we need some examples. Allow me to toot my own horn for a minute.

In the Halloween 2018 oneshot I wrote, which is about Harry grappling with the anniversary of his parents’ death when he’s a little older, he visits the graveyard with Ginny and Lily Luna. Ginny comments that “it’s freezing”, to which Harry responds with the titular, “you’re warm”. And yes, it’s October, it’s probably cold. They’re keeping each other warm. And yes, it’s maybe about comfort in harsh situations in general, a more metaphorical warmth, if you will. I get it. 

But when you remember this exchange is taking place on a graveyard, you might start to wonder about warm, living bodies as opposed to cold, deceased ones. And then you think about how this whole story is about the living remembering - in a sense, living with - the dead. And how it’s about death as a part of Harry’s life. And you can probably guess by now that all my literature teachers fucking adored me.

(But he’s also choosing a side here, maybe. But I’m merely the author, you don’t have to listen to me at all. My words beyond the words don’t mean shit unless you decide they do and even then you’re going to find yourself knees-deep in a debate around authorial intent in record-time. In the age of “Nagini was a cursed human woman all along”, I’m not sure I want that.)

I also reference other pieces of work a lot. Often poems, and even more frequently, songs. The songs in Let Me love are VERY IMPORTANT and I can’t show you the full playlist right now because SPOILERS. But the chapters are split into sub-sections via song lyrics. Those are part of the playlist. There’s also a lot of referencing songs in general because Harry is a big music fan in this one, but that’s just indulgence on my part. If I want to make a 21st century Harry a Mitski stan, then I will. And I did!

(AND Let Me love has a Friends reference. For funsies, but also, for much more than funsies.)

“I love you / please do not use it” was inspired by a poem by Savannah Brown called “organs”. (It’s linked in the author’s notes at the beginning.)

“It’s two sugars, right?” borrows and/or references a ton of lines and phrases from T. S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men. Most noticeably:

Sublety isn’t my middle name, exactly. (The forget-me-not-blue sky in The Bride On The Train, anyone?)

In short: I like when my fanfictions are worth rereading. I like when you can come out the second read having found a little more than you did the first. I like when you can wander around a little, and, like a treasure hunter, make some strange new discoveries.

Lastly: of course, writing from your own experience helps. Spy on your own life. Collect all the ways in makes you feel, like a thief, write it down, memorise it, put it in the story. Reuse! Recycle! ✊🏻

I fortunately don’t relate to Harry’s childhood trauma, but the feeling at the beginning of “We’ll figure it out” - which is a story set shortly after him and Ginny find out she’s pregnant and he’s struggling to connect with everybody else’s simple bliss, because he’s terrified, and he’s terrified of admitting he’s terrified - that was real. That “wait a minute, this moment is amazing. I’m supposed to be the happiest person on the planet right now. Why am I not feeling it? What is this emptiness? Am I not happy right now? Why am I having doubts? I’m not supposed to have any doubts! What the fuck is wrong with me?”, that was lifted from a specific experience.

Side note, I’m really proud of that one.

Okay, poetry! 

Where there is even less rules and more fucking around ensues!

I read and promptly lost a quote recently about how explaining a song sort of defeats the purpose. (I’ll link it here if I ever find it again.) In some ways, poems and songs work really similarly, and I think it applies here as well: if you could really explain the whole poem in one sentence, or a few sentences, if you could accurately and concisely summarise exactly how it feels, then you wouldn’t really need the poem. My favourite poems (or songs) tend to be the ones that outline a really specific emotion via a few powerful images, but I couldn’t precisely tell you what the emotion is. Like, I know exactly what this thing is saying, I know this exact feeling, I GET-GET it, but don’t ask me to explain the thing, just READ the THING, and you’ll KNOW.

Mitski does this really well. Like, I couldn’t explain to you what Last Words Of A Shooting Star makes me feel, but it does. I can tell you that “I am relieved that I left my room tidy, they’ll think of me kindly when they come for my things” cuts through me like a hot blade but I can’t pinpoint exactly why and I don’t want to. All I know is she Gets It, and that I want her writing chops, goddamnit.

Or, like, look at Laura Gilpin’s Two-Headed Calf. Yeah, I’ve read that poem a hundred times and thought a lot about all the themes it’s presenting me with. But I have zero desire to explain those themes to you, because I’d kind of be robbing it of its magic. I don’t want to tell you what it’s about. I want you to read it and I want to simply sit with the knowledge that we know, we Get It, that “twice as many stars as usual” kicked you in the shins, emotionally speaking, as much as it did me.

Few words, max impact, is key.

In Mary Oliver’s words, we want something inexplicable made plain, not unlike a suddenly harmonic passage in an otherwise difficult and sometimes dissonantsymphony - even if it is only for the moment of hearing it.

I’m realising right now that leading with these shining examples and then following them up with my own thing is nerve-wracking. But I like to think that I accomplished something like that with a little poem I wrote called Basements.

It’s is based on the prompt “back to nature” and follows that, uhm, somewhat loosely, a little subverted. I think it’s about impermanence and nostalgia and the fact that the places we lived in continue to exist even when our lives in them don’t anymore. It’s about that and a lot of other things. Maybe. The truth is, I don’t want to explain it to you: I just want you to read it, and then I hope that it made you feel something, and I’m going to trust that you Get It. Maybe you don’t get the same things I did, but that’s great. I’d love nothing more.

Before it was all those things, it was a poem about my life. The neighbourhood with the yellow house across the graveyard that I spent nine mostly happy years in. (The house, not the graveyard.) Every single thing in there is true: my sister really bust her lip and we both cried; wild lilac really grew there; we did spend most of our summers catching tadpoles, and yes, that neighbourhood was a construction site from the first day we lived there to the very last.

And I really sat in the driver’s seat of the family car about a year ago and watched it from afar. I didn’t come up with that - it’s my life. I only went on a scavenger hunt through my own memories, through the places and records and mementos of my life, and arranged a few specific anecdotes in a way that would give them meaning.

It’s kind of what I’m proudest of when it comes to my poetry - that I get to just live my life and see the metaphor and the meaning and symbolism as I’m experiencing it. I sat in the car and I thought, huh, that’s definitely making me Feel A Thing right now, that I’m sitting in the driver’s seat looking at this place I haven’t really been to in years, my childhood home, where I don’t live anymore. That I drove here myself.

I think that, when done right, specific makes universal. If you arrange a kaleidoscope of memories in just the right way, what it’s making you feel will speak for itself, and you won’t have to explain it. Most people who’ve read “basements” probably didn’t spend countless summers playing in literal holes, originally dug out for basements that were never built because no one wanted to move there. Holes that then grew full of weeds and wild lilac and felt like miniature jungles right outside our parents’ houses. It was perfect, it was specifically mine, but the feeling behind it is universal, I think.

Like, that’s how half of Taylor Swift’s RED works. That’s how most good Taylor Swift songs work. That’s why the bridge in Out of the Woods is so good and why I love New Year’s Day so much and it’s EXACTLY why All Too Well is considered her best song by so many people. Because she zoomed in on the details of her life and let the world take a look. Because “we dance around the kitchen in the refrigerator light” is a line in that song. THAT’s why it MAKES YOU FEEL THE THING.

Back to poems? This:

So we tell them all about the dayWe planned revolutions on my bedroom floor, or how we onceSpent an entire Monday lunch break making life plans over ice creamAnd most of our parties talking politics over beerWe both paid for ourselves.About the days you drive me to school. In your carI am the girl, front-seat passenger of our lives,Who does not need reach for the steering wheel –The road is alright. 

isn’t fiction. These are my memories, carefully selected and re-arranged for Politics at Parties Boy.

I didn’t make up these film stills of a non-romantic relationship that never became anything other than non-romantic because neither party ever made a move. What I did is look at my own life like it’s a piece of fiction. If these memories were a movie, you could pluck them apart and say, see, the screenwriters put this scene here to communicate that.

The truth is, I am the screenwriter and the protagonist and the actress and the director and the camerawoman. I looked at a teenage girl who refused to let her friend buy her a beer at a school party and decided “huh, I guess that tells us everything we need to know” because I was that girl. 

And I did pay for the beer, so we’d never move into “let me buy you a drink” territory. He was already driving me to school.

That’s my best lesson on poetry, really. I look at my life like it’s a piece of fiction and then I make it one. I put personal memories in poems meant to be read by other people, I overinterpret everything that happens to me, am literally constantly thinking about how to work every knock-back and struggle into my narrative arc and look for symbolism in anything from the date, the weather, and the colour of my front door. I watch myself in third person all the time and thus become my own muse. I’m the painter and the painting.

It’s a somewhat narcissistic and masturbatory approach to poetry, but as far as writing about your own life goes, it’s what works for me.

As far as writing about not yourself goes - well, I’m a narcissist and I’m bad at that, but I wrote a poem about the Mars rover Opportunity that shut down this February called Spirit shuts down and Opportunity feels no tremble, no ache. For stuff like that, if you don’t happen to be Struck TM by a lightning bolt of inspiration (which is the exception, not the rule), a good old-fashioned mind-map helps. I just let my robot grief go wild on the page for a bit and what I ended up writing about was death and the human condition and being a teenage girl, maybe.

I really enjoy taking two concepts/ideas and juxtaposing them, watching a theme unfold in the overlap. Like, it’s a poem about a robot AND about being a teenage girl and in between those two lies a poem about the futile attempts to teach a robot human emotion. Maybe.

It’s a poem about how my mum always cries at the airport and about me making my own happiness my priority and it kind of ends up being about my intense guilt of making my parents watch me change and grow and leave.

It’s about the night I wandered through a quiet street in Central London at 1 a.m. and realised that the city of my dreams sleeps like any other place, that people wake up early and make coffee and go to work and have bad days here. That it’s not all dream. It’s some people’s lives. But it’s also about watching another person sleep - the way someone’s face changes when they do.

In the middle lay a poem about finding a friend in a lover. Not the daydream, but my life.

Lastly, I can’t talk about my own poetry without talking about my darling poem 5 disasters. It’s my pride and joy. Like, you could kill me write now and I’d be like, it’s okay, I’ve written the poem I want to be remembered for and it’s this one. I wrote it in less than a day and every time I think about the fact that I wrote

I cravedsomething more violent than death, somethingviolent enough to bea beginningand for my life to be thousands of themI wantednothingto remainexcept the girl that sentthe disastersand survived -may this wasteland bewhere I find her.

… I lose my shit a little bit.

(5 disasters was a rarity in how quickly I wrote it. It often takes me weeks. Sometimes months. There’s poems I’ve been meaning to write for years now and I still haven’t found the words. Take your time.)

5 disasters is a lot of things, but within the context of the poetry collection it’s hopefully going to exist in one day, it serves as almost an instruction manual for metaphors: here, the floods and rainfalls are always change and the forest fires are always my highschool demons and my friends and how they look the same. The colour yellow is always referencing the same love. Basically, I like pinpointing my symbolisms and then crafting a poem around them. You end up creating something like an in-poem universe that you get to navigate like a fantasy novel. Like you’re telling a story about a natural disaster, but it’s all a metaphor, Hazel Grace.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. As I do.

I hope this serves as a starting point of sorts, anon. Most importantly, have fun, don’t concern yourself with all the rules too much. Experiment, be bold, read lots.

Again, if you’ve got any questions, I’d be thrilled to help. Thanks for the opportunity to toot my own horn to this outrageous degree, it’s been a blast.

[parchapalapresion]

Ophelia: Pt. 3

Ophelia… Ophelia… Ophelia…

Adam’s mind repeated restlessly. It was almost as if his very subconscious found itself aware of its limits, constantly reminding itself that it was quite easy to forget her name as soon as it had acquired it. Adam smiled at the name and how everything was so obviously Shakespearean. From the way her lip curled to the way her wit reflected on her vocabulary. Her eloquence proved itself to be endearing, and her behavior was never void of prudent charm. She was naturally intellectual, as he could perceive from their conversations. That was another aspect of her he found himself admiring: she was a conversationalist! She spoke her opinions about politics, humanity, and philosophy with clarity and steadfastness. She seemed to be unfazed by having her beliefs defied, and she portrayed graceful tolerance towards the ones who defied her. He remembered this from the conversation they had been engaged in a week prior. They had been discussing Nietzsche’s philosophy of amor fati when a couple of local scholars approached them, making a petition to join their conversation. It all seemed to amuse Ophelia, and she participated with uncensored intellect, which rendered Adam breathless. She was vibrant, and the scholars regarded her with warmth and utmost respect throughout their conversation. Soon, Ophelia grew restless, eager to leave the pub in which the exchange took place. She excused the both of them and reciprocated the warm farewells bestowed unto them. Adam found himself enrapt by her nature.

His ringing phone shook him from his reverie. He answered the call, smiling at the sound of the dear girl come through the speaker.

“Good afternoon, Adam,” she greeted.

“Good afternoon indeed, Ophelia,” he replied, sitting on his desk, not once minding the documents sprawled across it.

“Say, kind sir, are you busy this afternoon?”

Adam chuckled at her words, “Only if you’re willing, dear Ophelia.”

It was Ophelia’s turn to laugh at the man’s choice of words, “Well, kind sir, the library will be hosting a distinguished philosophy professor from Cambridge, and I was wondering if you would join me to listen to his lecture?”

Adam’s brow rose in interest, “Quite certainly, dear Ophelia. Should I meet you there?”

“Yes, kind sir, in a quarter to seven,” she replied with clarity in case Adam was writing the details down… which he undoubtedly was.

“I look forward to seeing you again, dear Ophelia,” he admitted as his heart took a leap of faith.

“Likewise, kind sir! See you then!” Her cheerful voice answered, setting his heart to soar.

————————————————————————————————————————

Adam inspected his reflection in the glass, and hummed in appreciation. He was dressed smartly in a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a cobalt tie. His shoes had been shined and he decided he was looking his best. He chose to wear a grey coat to combat the cold outside and decided to bring an umbrella along as well, just in case the occasion it was needed were to arise during their outing; knowing Ophelia, she would prefer to walk rather than hitch a ride on a cab. He added that quality to the list of ongoing qualities he admired about her.

Once outside, he was greeted by a light snow drizzle and he found himself glad for having brought his umbrella. Arriving at the library, he noticed a bright yellow umbrella stand out from the crowd of dark umbrellas similar to his. However, his lips spread in a smile when he noticed the person holding the umbrella. Under the yellow dome stood a lovely lady in a cobalt dress and grey cape; it was Ophelia. He touched his tie absentmindedly before approaching her under the snow.

“A quarter to seven precisely,” he greeted.

Ophelia turned to him with shining, excited eyes, “Hello, Adam! Indeed! Should we head inside?”

“Most definitely, dear Ophelia. Here, allow me to take your umbrella and cape,” he offered, closing his own umbrella and removing his coat at the door.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Ophelia replied, placing her cape and umbrella into his awaiting hands. Adam took the opportunity to appreciate her dress. She possessed the elegance of Audrey Hepburn with the modest neckline and string of pearls; she was a modern day Sabrina in his eyes, perhaps a bit more golden. Adam handed the coats and umbrellas to the usher who welcomed them at the door and followed Ophelia into the complex.

Inside, they were handed programs, which Ophelia quickly tucked inside her bag before resuming her hold to Adam’s elbow.

“Where should we sit, dear Ophelia?”

“Over here would be grand, don’t you think?” She gestured at the seats nearest to the platform. Adam agreed and sat beside the girl who was currently looping what seemed to be a student identification card around her neck. She reached into her bag and pulled out a leather journal and fountain pen before settling comfortably against the cushioned chair.

“Was I supposed to bring something, Ophelia?” Adam asked as a blush crept to his ears.

Ophelia smiled and shook her head, “Oh no, kind sir. This is simply me shooting two birds with one mere stone. I’m a journalist, you see, and the lecture will go to the columns at the Herald and the experience to my Master Thesis.”

“Oh! Will it bring any trouble to do as you plan?”

“None at all, kind sir, it is actually encouraged by my chief editor and my professor alike.”

Adam let out an involuntary sigh of relief, “I wasn’t aware of your profession. I thought you were just finishing your Bachelor’s degree. I apologize for my lack of decorum.”

“Now, there is no need to apologize, Adam. You couldn’t have possibly known. Plenty of people think I am younger than I actually am,” she replied with a kind smile.

“Dear Ophelia, you are positively evergreen,” Adam assented.

“And you are quite the gentleman, kind sir,” Ophelia looked up at him, “May I know which is your profession?”

“I am a mere poet hiding behind the face of a lawyer,” he replied. At twenty-six, he was currently a blooming lawyer; however, his true passions lied in poetry.

“How grand!” Ophelia grinned, “Do you write often?”

“More than I probably should,” he chuckled.

“Oh, you must let me read some of your poetry some time,” Ophelia expressed.

“I would be honored if you were to read my verses, dear Ophelia,” he answered in complete sincerity.

“A poet…” She whispered in marvel. Adam blinked in curiosity, but he was soon distracted by the polite applause around him receiving the man of the hour.

-BM

[the-record-newspaper]

Delmas Parker: A great teacher and a great man

            Delmas Parker

By JERRY LANKFORD

Record Editor

There’s only one thing I can say about my experiences at Millers Creek Elementary and West Wilkes High  School – I carry with me few fond memories in regards to the educational parts of those years.

I did, however, make some good friends — some that I still have and speak or visit with fairly regularly, particularly Jimmie Moretz, Mark Brooks and Ricky Killen.

But, I’ve never been to a class reunion. And, unless something drastically changes my thinking, after low so much time and so much water under the bridge, it’s very doubtful that I ever will.

With that said, there were good things that happened over the course of my school years — those came in the forms of a couple of teachers who really went out of their way to show me patience, kindness and encouragement.

One was the late Lizzie Deal. She was our neighbor on Kite Road in Millers Creek and was married to my first cousin, Bobby Deal. I spent countless hours at their home next door, playing with their sons, Richey and David, who were close to my age. I was never in Lizzie’s class, but she was very nurturing toward me, particularly when she discovered my love for history.

The focus of this column however, is my sixth-grade teacher, Delmas Parker.

At the time I went to school there, Millers Creek Elementary was in the building that now houses Millers Creek Baptist Church on Boone Trail. Mr. Parker’s classroom was located at the top of the stairs on the gymnasium side of the school.

The best I can recall, I had his class during the afternoon. He taught language arts and social studies, which were my favorites.

Mr. Parker came to like me despite my horrible and disruptive ways. And, in return, I developed a great respect for this kind and gentle spirited man.

Several weeks ago, I spoke with Mr. Parker, who is now 81, via phone from his home in Clemmons. I told him I wanted to interview him for a column. He seemed surprised. But after a bit of coaxing, he related to me a brief history of his life.

Mr. Parker was born in Gaston County on April 23, 1938, to parents Delmas and Helen Parker. He is married to Sue Lewis Parker from Ashe County, whom he met while teaching at West Jefferson School. They have a son, Kevin, and daughter-in-law, April, and three grandchildren, Danielle, Luke, and Sara.

But, let’s backtrack a bit.

When asked about his career as an educator, Mr. Parker said, “It was a slow process in the beginning.”

He explained that his parents had not had many educational opportunities. His father had a seventh-grade education, while his mother only went as far as the fourth grade.”

Mr. Parker looked back on his childhood and recalled the time he was diagnosed with “a bad case of rheumatic fever” at age 11.

“I spent a year in bed, looking out the window,” he said. “My mother and my aunt would go to the library and bring me book after book. I read all kinds of books. But, (Charles Dicken’s) ‘David Copperfield’ opened a whole new world for me. I knew more about David Copperfield than I did about myself. That book helped me get started.”

The first college he attended was Charlotte College.

“At first I planned to take engineering courses then, I became interested in the idea of teaching,” he said. “From there, I went to Appalachian State Teachers College.”

He worked various jobs to pay for his education.

“I started teaching at West Jefferson when I was 26 or 27,” Mr. Parker said. “I hadn’t finished college. In the summer I would go back to school and finally received my bachelor’s degree when I was about 28. Before that, I had an old grammar school certificate to teach first through eighth grades.”

When he got his BS, he went on to acquire his master’s degree, “the same way, working on it in the summer,” he said.

In 1966, his focus shifted.

“I was teaching in West Jefferson and we were watching Walter Cronkite one night on TV. His segment was about integrating schools in South Carolina. The report stated the white teachers left after this happened.”

Mr. Parker applied for a position in Lamar, S.C. where he taught African-American students.

“The only problems I had were dealing with antiquated buildings and books,” he said.

When he came back from South Carolina, his father-in-law, B.F. Lewis, who had been a teacher in Ashe County, knew Mr. Cowles, the principal at Millers Creek Elementary.

“Sue and I were living in a trailer park near Boone,” Mr. Parker said. “Mr. Cowles came and talked to me about coming to Millers Creek. I went there, and signed a one-year contract, teaching eighth-grade language arts and social studies (that was in 1969). I got along really well with Mr. Cowles.”

Wayne Barker later became principal and Mr. Parker went on to teach sixth-grade and seventh-grade classes.

“When I was there, there were only two sixth-grade teachers,” he said.

Mr. Parker had found a home at Millers Creek Elementary School. He wound up teaching there for 28 years.

“I saw a lot of people come and go at Millers Creek,” he said. “I worked with a lot of good teachers and I worked for some great principals.”

I openly admit that during my elementary school years I was mean as a striped snake. And, I felt the sting of countless paddlings — yes, they really used to do that — but I never cried.

Some of those teachers Mr. Parker referred to above — it was made very apparent — didn’t think much of me and my, let’s just say, rowdy ways. I’ll not name names because they are still alive, but I distinctly recall a couple of stinging comments made by two of my mentor/educators.

One came in either the winter of 1976 or spring of 1977, when my father, Sammie Lankford, was dying from cancer. I was entering this teacher’s classroom, laughing with a friend. That teacher said to me, “What have you got to laugh about? Your father is dying.”

Another came the next year when a teacher announced in front of the entire class that he was “certain that Jerry Lankford would spend his entire adult life in prison.”

Well, so far, so good.

I told Mr. Parker about those comments. “That’s not how you talk to a student,” he said. “You try to encourage them.”

His classroom was like a soothing, kind, and compassionate oasis for me.

Mr. Parker retired in1998, but came back to fill in for sick teachers and substitute when needed.

Mr. Parker knew nearly my entire family.

“I remember your mother, Willa Mae, very well,” he said to me. “She was a very sweet lady. And, she was very concerned about your education. I’d see her coming up the stairs and I knew she was here to talk about Jerry.”

He also taught my sister, Ellen.

About Ellen, Mr. Parker said, “She was very intelligent. She was perfect in her work and very conscientious. She always used precise language. She was a great student in all her subjects and an avid reader. When she finished her work, she’d have a book open and reading.”

My sister said Mr. Parker was one of her all-time favorite teachers and recalled him loaning her a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy – some heavy duty reading for your average sixth-grader, but not for Ellen.

After he had come out of retirement, he also taught my two oldest daughters, Jennifer and Anna.

“Jennifer was in the seventh grade when I taught her,” Mr. Parker recalled. “She was shy, but sweet. She was easy to talk to.”

Jennifer remembers Mr. Parker well and fondly.

Anna was either in the sixth or seventh grade when he was her teacher. “Anna never talked much,” he said. “She was sweet, but you never knew what she was thinking.”

Finally, I just had to ask, “How would you describe me as a student?”

Mr. Parker paused a moment, then said, “You were all boy.”

A very polite euphemism, I must say.

Back in my elementary school days it was semi-customary to buy your teachers Christmas presents. The year I was in Mr. Parker’s class, I remember picking out his present at the old Roses store where Melody Square is now. It was a porcelain figurine of a Revolutionary War soldier.

“I still have it on my mantle,” Mr. Parker said. “It’s always been very special to me.”

When asked if he had any idea how many students he taught during his 28-year stint at Millers Creek, Mr. Parker estimated the number at more than 2,000.

Over the years, Delmas Parker has also been very active in the Democrat Party, having even ran for 10th District Congress in 2000 against Republican Cass Ballenger.

“I didn’t do so well,” he said with a laugh.

When asked to sum up his educational career, Mr. Parker said, “I am proud to have been a teacher. I’m proud to be a teacher today.”

He continued, “A teacher is almost immortal. A good teacher does not die. He continues to live through his students. He should see the potential and good in each student and try to bring that out in each of them. I really believe that. That’s my philosophy. Each classroom is a little community, and each student is a part of that community. Some are rich, some are poor, you have all that. You try to bring that community together as something good. It’s not just what you learn in books. It’s developing a sense that you can do great things in life. Character is so important. That comes from the way you treat a student. They are all one of God’s children, no matter where they come from.”

Delmas Parker…a great teacher, a great man, and truly, also a Child of God.

 Note: Mr. Parker added, “If any of my former students would like to contact me, I’d love to hear from them.”

He can be reached at delmasparker@gmail.com

 Jerry Lankford has been editor of The Record since February 1999. He has worked as a professional journalist for more than 30 years. He can be reached at 336-667-0134 or at jerrylankford@yahoo.com

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5 Reasons I'll By no means Stop Dieting

Alison Dvorak is a registered dietitian with a Grasp of Science degree in diet science and bachelor's degrees in psychology and dietetics from Syracuse College. It keeps me on my plan, it provides me one thing aside from the Nutrisystem meals, and it additionally jogs my memory that I'm worth the good elements. Take pleasure in Meatballs in Marinara Sauce, Rooster Alfredo, Italian Herb Flatbread Pizza, Hearty Beef Stew, and Lasagna with Meat Sauce whenever you pick up this weight reduction meal kit. Medifast and Nutrisystem are two such weight reduction plan packages, and so they have confirmed monitor data. The plan shouldn't be for pregnant ladies, people with continual kidney disease, or anybody with sure allergic reactions or weight loss program needs. Nutrisystem supplies a useful buying checklist to help you discover the perfect meals on the grocery retailer. To grasp the influence of participating in a meals supply food regimen, determine your current every day meals value. Our clinical research shows we deliver vital weight reduction ends in as little as one month and we're pleased as research have shown that early weight reduction is a predictor of lengthy-time period success, stated Nutrisystem Company Dietitian Courtney McCormick, MPH, RDN, LDN. The Nutrisystem diet is customized to satisfy individual well being goals and according to national tips for dietary consumption meeting targets for fats, sodium, sugar, ldl cholesterol and fiber as well as nationwide tips for bodily exercise. The other day, I received an e-mail from a reader who wanted for me to interrupt down all the costs associated with nutrisystem for her so that she might know precisely how a lot she can be spending for all the pieces. In a Nutrisystem weight-loss program, your energy come from carbohydrates, proteins 25 percent and 20 per cent from fat. As a result of as long as you commit to enhancing yourself and work at it, this food regimen does it is part. Nevertheless, when you are continuously eating meals out at restaurants or quickly meals places, then you definitely would perhaps uncover that Nutrisystem is cheaper (and more healthy). There are some drawbacks with placing an overweight little one on a Nutrisystem food plan that have to be addressed. Support Offered By Both Plans: Both Medifast And Nutrisystem provide a huge quantity of support to their members. Nevertheless, you have to select essentially the most appropriate plan for you otherwise you're extra more likely to fall off the bandwagon. I just started my Quick 5+ food regimen a week in the past and to date each meal, dessert and snack I've eaten has tasted OKAY to me. And I just weighed myself and I misplaced 6 pounds! Nutrisystem labored for me as a result of this system is easy to observe, the meals tastes nice, and it gave me the construction I wanted to perform my weight reduction targets. If you want to add your individual evaluation or opinions to this article, feel free to go away a comment along with your story, good or not so good and I'll publish it. Merely complete the form at the foot of this web page and add your own story, comment or ideas on this evaluation article or on any facet of the Nutrisystem weight-reduction plan that you simply feel you need to talk about.

The cheapest option is the Basic program; when choosing this option, prospects are despatched pre-chosen meal options, and can't select the contents of the personal meal pack. You get everything delivered right to the doorstep; all you must do is read the included menu plan and heat it up. Each companies provide a variety of frozen and shelf-secure objects. NutriSystem additionally affords a big comfort bonus by transport the food directly to your own home. I wish to exit with my buddies and dress to kill like they do, however I really feel too self acutely aware, so I made a decision to begin a diet and I chose Nutrisystem. In a 2009 National Enterprise Research Institute survey of 9,600 Nutrisystem dieters, 4 of each five mentioned this system glad their hunger. If I did over train on this plan my physique didn't need to let the weight come off and I wouldn't feel good. You wont need to deprive yourself as much as you would for those who go along with one other weight reduction program. I used to be amazed on the variety of people complaining about this program I just don't perceive why it is fairly easy to comply with and I do not really feel hungry in any respect! It's been calculated that previously ten years, Nutrisystem has helped individuals shed more than 71 million kilos. Nutrisystem provides a number of several types of meal plans for which might be tailor-made made for specific groups of shoppers, together with ladies, males, people over the age of 60, vegetarians, and Kind II diabetes victims. I started the Atkins eating regimen, using the meal replacement bars, then a dinner on Atkins weight loss program house cooked. This sort of is sensible because most would assume that extra girls than men are researching weight loss program programs. 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I am not one to often comment in threads, but thought it appropriate to present back since I read the opinions earlier than starting NS and located them very useful. Too expensive to ship again so I am donating the food to the local meals financial institution though I cant conceive of anybody being hungry sufficient to eat it. I was eating Lean Delicacies for two weeks and doing fairly nicely after which I believed I would attempt Nutrisystem. You get to pick from a hundred completely different foods, as well as all the things supplied in the basic plan however with added dieticians and counselors support. At the moment, the Nutrisystem food regimen plan is simply available for those in continental America. Whether you are weaning your self off the eating regimen program or are taking a time without work of the pre-made meals, utilizing a few of the online recipes may be an excellent option to maintain issues fresh. 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I was having trouble in my first month on Nutrisystem once I started final October. She's a senior (82) and won't prepare dinner a lot so eats what ever she can seize from the fridge and it's a very unbalanced food regimen. I combined the two kits and did the meal plan for 10 days (weekends on my own). And, if you determine the price per meal individually as opposed to in bulk, it's not even humorous what a distinction this is. The Spark Resolution weight loss plan is designed around nutritious, reduced-calorie meals that optimize your metabolism, together with a regular health routine. There are three ranges of plan accessible, each of which includes different meals, and each carries a distinct value. All variations of the Nutrisystem plans fall beneath the SUCCESS program and tailored to every particular person, whether that be diabetes, vegetarian, males's wants, women's needs, price range wants, or some other issues. Critics of the weight-reduction plan point out that during this system, you are not taught how to shop for, make, and prepare healthful nutritious meals. Disclaimer: Our critiques and investigations are primarily based on extensive research from the knowledge publicly available to us and consumers on the time of first publishing the submit. On diets earlier than, I decided that this time I'd attempt to figure out what works and attempt to stick with it. NS has a program that permits me to choose and select my favorites so I need to enjoy the food I like at smaller portions and study to snack effectively.