Chip Putnam's Blog

It's April 14th and I happy to report that I survived the second round. Mr. Judy: The Advice Man is in the third round.

I am happy to report that my romance novel Mr. Judy: The Advice Man has advanced to the second round of the international Amazon Breakthrough Author Novel Award. The semifinalists will be named April 14th.

I recently read that the United States has gotten its academic butt kicked on yet another test on the international stage. However, this time, it was not just western European and industrialized Asian nations administering the cerebral beating. On this particular assessment, the US was clobbered by Vietnam, hardly an industrialized powerhouse. So what is the cause of this? Is the US educational system, once hailed as a marvel throughout the world dead? Are teachers at fault? Are our students merely tubs of goo with no intrinsic value? After twenty years of experience in the teaching world, I would say no to all of these options. Instead, I feel that mutually exclusive goals mandated by too many parties trying to fix a system that was never really broken are to blame.

Last year I started a project where I chronicled a year in the life of a teacher, which bore a strong resemblance to my school year. It is my hope to have the finalized product on the market soon, so the teachers side of the story can be told. While fictionalized, the issues it detailed are all too real. This very question of who is to blame for the educational disaster we are currently experiencing was addressed in one of the entries that I'm including in this post.

10-9-2012 Tuesday “Anatomy of an Educational Disaster”
People cry out that public education is dead. I disagree. It’s not dead, but I will agree that it is broken. The breaking occurred as elected officials tried to fix something that wasn’t broken. It began with a disturbing report that a large number of NC students were dropping out of high school. Coupled with the scary prospect of only achieving minimum-wage positions for these students, public outcry was loud and furious. So, the General Assembly of North Carolina passed a resolution that dropout prevention would be a major goal for every high school. With this resolution, came the fact that the graduation rate was incorporated into the school’s annual report card. In today’s world of no compromise, anything less than a perfect “A” is unacceptable to the general public. And what’s unacceptable to the general public is unacceptable to the school board, which in turn ensures that it is unacceptable for the principals of the individual schools. So, the orders were given that teachers would do everything within their power to ensure a student’s graduation. (That statement is actually a part of our evaluation tool. Note, that the burden is placed, not upon the student, nor upon the parent, but upon the teacher who sees the kid either an hour a day for an entire year, or ninety-minutes a day for a single semester.) While this is a just and noble cause, you must understand that when your attendance book looks like it has developed a bad case of chicken pox from all the absences (I have several students this semester who have already missed over 10 days in a block class and we’ve only been in class for 12 school days.), it’s a trifling bit difficult to ensure the graduation of those students.
Now, the kicker came a few years later as North Carolina, and the United States in general, began to lag further and further behind the rest of the industrialized world on standardized tests. A new cry arose. How could the country that put men on the moon not outcompete the Asians and Europeans on a flimsy test? The public demanded action and resolutions were passed from Washington to Raleigh that academic rigor would be our rallying cry. The public cried out, “We demand the best for our students, lest they are incapable of competing in the international arena.”
Let’s sit back and examine this from a familiar point of reference. Consider a coach who has been given the task of winning the NBA championship, the NCAA tournament, the state championship, or even simply the conference title. Yes, that coach is going to work his/her players to their fullest. “No pain, no gain!” will be the rallying cry for the team. His/her leadership shall inspire the team to excel to new heights. Plus, the coach is going to bloody well get rid of all the dead weight, good-for-nothing members on his/her team.
I can’t do that. If you’re in my class, you’re in my class. “We’re stuck with each other,” I often tell my classes. So, I’m left with the mandate of producing college-level students regardless of their background or if they are even at school. Considering that I have students who cannot identify North Carolina on a map (I had a student last year identify our state as England. That explains my cravings for a spot of tea and my irresistible urge to sing “God Save the Queen.”) this can be a difficult task at best. Coupled with the fact that I have students who have already missed ten days of school, the task becomes monumental, and this doesn’t address the twelve students in my classes who speak limited or no English. To place it into the realms of sports, this is equivalent to our coach winning (insert tournament of your choice here) with players who cannot hit a basket no matter how many tries they are given and who don’t even bother to show up for practice. The idea is ridiculous, but it is what I must accomplish.
So, I try to incorporate academic rigor into my curriculum. For me this is no problem. I’m a nerd who is also a sadistic bastard when it comes to tests. Years ago, one poor girl told me she was struggling with Organic Chemistry in college and calmly recited to herself, “I’ve survived Mr. Gregory’s tests. This isn’t so hard.” Outside of AP courses, I probably give some of the hardest tests at Haversaw High.
To further muddle up the waters, remember our first mandate that we will ensure every student will graduate from high school. In reality, the two goals, increased rigor and “No Child Left Behind” are mutually exclusive. The politicians can wrap words around their fingers indicating that both can be accomplished, but I would like to see them try it for themselves. As rigor increases, the academically challenged students fall behind. When they fall behind, a many of the slower students simply quit trying. As a result, they fall even further behind in a vicious self-inflicted cycle which I am utterly clueless how to stop. If I knew, I would be an award- winning author and not the one struggling to get an agent to give my works the time of day.
All of the educational reforms that have haunted my existence stem from the politicians trying to fix the fact that they set education on a course that cannot be done. The teachers are doing all that they can to promote high educational rigor while maintaining a high graduation rate. But, let’s face it, when you have students who think we lost the Revolutionary War and are still a part of Mother England....well, that probably says it all.

With the crisp bite of fall in the air and the leaves changing before my eyes, I felt my wonder lust arise this past weekend. Too many obligations, and a distinct lack of funds, unfortunately, have all conspired to keep the Putnam family trapped in Clemmons. To combat this misfortune, I delved into a travel log I kept from a family trip out to pay homage to Laura Ingalls Wilder. At least that was the original intent of the trip. However, my wife was stuck on a couch for ten months recovering from multiple foot surgeries, so our trip grew until we named it the “It’s Just This Far on the Map” trip. If you have never driven across large swaths of our country, I am truly sorry for you. You have missed something majestic.
One passage in particular, caught my eye. If you are ever in the vicinity of the southwestern portion of South Dakota, a visit to the Badlands should be included on your itinerary. If you can gaze upon the wonders contained within The Badlands National Park and not be changed, then something is amiss with your soul. I was certainly moved and I thought I would share it with you.
While my trip down memory lane wasn’t it as good as a new voyage of discovery, my visit to the past helped to bring back some fond memories. I hope you enjoy this little bit of a fantastic trip.

July 25th 2012 The Badlands

Lisa had planned this portion of our trip for me. Let’s just say it is the dream of any science teacher with an interest in geology to see these eroded lands. The world is full of land that is bad, but it only has one Badlands.
How do you describe the indescribable? They were like Heaven and Hell. To me, the science teacher, they were sure evidence of God’s handiwork. Mile after of mile of prairie must have tired the Creator, so he placed a magnificent cathedral, complete with grand hallways, sweeping vistas, spirals in multiple hues just for the shear joy of viewing His work.
For the weary traveler, who had journeyed across the trackless plains for months only to be confronted with a scene from Dante’s inferno, the horror he felt was depicted in the simple term: Badlands. Steep ridges and shear canyon walls that didn’t even have the decency to be made of rock are prolific. No, this obstacle was made of a pebble-like substance that crumbled in your hand and sent you tumbling back down amidst a flow of lung-burning powder to land you, if lucky, right where you began. For the unfortunate soul, it sent you plummeting over a ravine.
For the poor homesteader, the Badlands were no scene from an author’s imagination. It was the very essence of Hell itself, manifested in the cursed landscape that destroyed more than a few would-be settlers.
For the Lakota natives, it was a part of home.
As I stood on a nicely paved overlook, lamenting my one bit of misfortune (if you don’t count the ill-advised climb up the slopes of one of the Badlands’ countless abutments) of having to sit in line as a road worker held his sign with extreme disinterest, stopping traffic so his fellow workers could lay down a fresh layer of asphalt to make the drive of gawking tourists, like me, easier, I let my mind wonder. Lisa had seen enough and her foot had started to throb as I absorbed the breathtaking view a top one of a countless number of overlooks, all of which provided a stunning view. She decided a return to the car was in order. Meggie and Peyton had feigned heat as a reason to join her. It also gave them time to work on their next Junior Ranger badge.
I was left alone, and the voice of the lands called out to me in the whisper of the wind through the prairie grass. I looked back, away from the magnificent vision before me of towering spires and curving ravines, only to find a vast grassy sea stretching endlessly behind me. From this perspective, you would never imagine that a drop through highly eroded cliffs was a mere matter of feet in the opposite direction. My old friend, the prairie wind whispered in my ear and my mind traveled back into the past to hear the distant sound of Lakota drums. I swore if I squinted just so, I could see the brave hunters stalking the mighty bison. With the wind’s whisper still in my mind I returned to God’s canvas, only to see the Lakota hunters replaced by a rickety claim shanty standing, maybe a fourth of a mile away from the erosion zone and one thousand feet below my perch. A thin trial of smoke arose from the chimney as faint wails from a woman distraught at the death of her child wafted up the horrid cliffs. The meager soil could not provide enough sustenance to keep the poor soul alive. Returning to the present, my eyes were rewarded with a rich blending of yellows, grays, and reds that could be read like a book, revealing a past of ocean bottoms, sandy shorelines, and volcano ravaged grasslands. Both Heaven and Hell were there in front of my eyes.

This post came about when I tried to get ready for church this morning. The sight which greeted my eyes when I surveyed the window bore a strong resemblance to a wooly mammoth. With a hectic first quarter at school, everyone in my house recovering from pneumonia or bronchitis, and two active girls, obtaining a haircut has not been high on the priority list. During the sermon, when I should have been paying careful attention to the message, my brain was occupied with determining sure fire signs that you are in serious need of a haircut.

Five Signs That You Need A Haircut

5. Your friends refer to you as a reject from the 1970s.

4. You’re a 42-year-old man and you scream out in frustration, “I can’t do anything with my hair!”

3. You spend more time trying to comb out the cowlicks in your hair than your wife and two daughters combined need to get ready to go out for a night on the town.

2. You want to comb your hair like a Hollywood celebrity whose name happens to be Chewbacca.

1. You feel the weight of the world upon your shoulders and then you realize that it’s just the weight of your hair.

This week has been Spirit Week at my school. It is a time of fun, school spirit, and downright zaniness. Several kids have shared stories of being stopped by neighbors to inquire if they had actually lost their minds. I’m sure quite a few Facebook posts have commented upon just how far the neighborhood has gone downhill. To be fair to the unknown little old lady who commented today, my student was wearing a dress, high heels, and fishnet pantyhose. The student is also one of our star baseball players.
Keeping in the spirit of things, I have decided to post an excerpt from a project I hope to have on the market soon. Diary of a Fed-Up Teacher chronicles the life of a fictitious teacher in a fictitious school that bears more than a passing resemblance to my own experiences last year. So sit back and enjoy my contribution to Spirit Week.

10-10-2012 Thursday
I have seen horrors the likes of which mortal man was not meant to see. Today was Opposite Day of Spirit Week. This is the day students dress as the opposite of what they are. For example, if I had an ounce of school spirit, I would dress-up as a jock. When one of my students asked why I did not participate in Spirit Week my response was that I’m not in high school, I just work in one. Some of the participants, such as one of my goth/punk/thug girls removed all of her studs and piercings and came to school in a dress, looked really nice. That’s what the keepers of the secret fire of school spirit imagined when they decided on this day.
The reality was something far more horrifying. Apparently, a large number of our student body is comprised of closet cross-dressers. Seeing the girls dress as football players, or thugs with baggy pants was no problem. To be truthful, a lot of the girls that were sagging, covered-up more of their body than they normally show when dressed in their own clothes. Outside of almost yelling at one “boy” for coming out of the girls‘ restroom only to be answered by a soprano voice exclaiming amidst giggles, “It’s me, Jane, Mr. Gregory.” the girls were no issue.
The problem arose with the boys. Try to envision the football linebackers in strapless, sundresses and you can understand why this day was bad, horrifying, dreadful, and downright disturbing. One, very muscular young lad decided to wear an extremely flimsy dress. One of our female teachers pulled him aside and pointed out that either he was chilly or that he was in serious need of a camisole. That’s how the day progressed.
Oh, well. I guess it was all in good fun. The next two days should be uneventful. Friday is Wear School Colors Day. The PTSA is also preparing a tailgate party for us during lunch. The tailgating is going to occur in the library so no cars are allowed. That’s fine, it’s the thought that counts and our PTSA puts on quite a good spread. Tomorrow is Decade Day where you wear clothes from your favorite decade. I even told my students I would participate.
“What are you going to dress-up as?” Sandy asked in disbelief.
“A science teacher from the 90’s,” I replied. “You’ll be amazed at how much he looks like a science teacher from 2012!”

I was recently asked several questions for an interview to be placed on fellow anthologist, Angela Roquet's, blog. I thought I would include the interview on Goodreads as well.


Question: Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? What is your favorite flavor of supernatural and why?

Answer: I would have to say the zombie hordes are my favorite. Vampires get all of the PR, ghosts are too transparent, and werewolves are just plain schizophrenic. It shouldn’t be too difficult to pick a species, but werewolves have to try to be both humans and wolves. It’s no wonder they don’t really fit in with anyone. For my favorite undead, I have to go with the underdog, the oft maligned, zombies. They lurch, they moan, and eat the occasional brain. What’s not to love?

Question: Do you dabble in other genres besides paranormal?

Answer: I’m possibly the most eclectic author I know. My passion is fantasy, but I’m good with a quip or two. So I find it easy to write contemporary humor. Since all of my adult life has been spent in a high school classroom, I tend to gravitate toward school stories that bear a more than passing resemblance to events I have witnessed over the past twenty years. In a demonstration of my eclectic nature, my most recent manuscript was a romantic comedy. When asked about my favorite genre, my response is, “The one I haven’t explored yet.”

Question: Are you and outline or an organic writer?

Answer: I tend to start a story with both a beginning and an ending in mind. The steps in between are usually a hazy blur, with half-glimpsed scenes. It’s an adventure writing a novel, and several characters have assumed personalities that I had not predicted at the start of the project.

Question: Where do you do your writing?


Answer: If you remember the old Western TV show, “Have Gun - Will Travel,” then you have an idea of where I write. My theme is “Have Laptop – Will Travel.” With two active daughters, I can be seen sitting in bleachers watching gymnastic practice while slaughtering entire villages in a story. Waiting for the end of dance class on night, I mapped out the entire ending of a love story where boy meets girl only to loose her to the allure of the stage. At this point I can’t decide if her love for him is strong enough to pull her away from the limelight, or if zombies destroy the theater. All thoughts of travel aside, my favorite place to write is draped over our overstuffed chair in the living room with Pink Floyd playing in the background.

Question: What are you currently working on?
I am currently finishing a fictional account of a school year, which bears an overwhelming resemblance to the real world events I experienced in my own classroom last year. I am hoping to have it on the market by the end of the October. I am also polishing up a fantasy manuscript in what I call “High Fantasy” in the Tolkien style. After watching her dear, old, dad write, my youngest daughter wants to collaborate on a story she is developing. Aside from the benefits of spending time with my daughter, it’s a darn good story line. I’ve enjoyed my foray into the realm of the paranormal with Off the Beaten Path. When I finished the “The Reason Why Grandmother’s Should Never Be Allowed to Read About Vampires,” a small embryo of an idea took root in my mind of a way to merge the drama of high school with the fun of the paranormal, without anybody sparkling. When you think carefully upon the subject, high school and the paranormal really aren’t that different.