A guest post about keeping our students safe

The shooting at the elementary school in Newtown is still much on my mind this week. Today I have a special guest blogger, Kate Lutter, who is a fellow CMP author and was previously an elementary school principal. Kate has offered to share her reaction as a former principal and her insights. The important thing is to use this tragedy as an opportunity to start a dialogue about how we can make a change for the better. I’m not sure anyone has the answers yet, but we need to start talking. Feel free to leave a comment–all opinions are welcome as long as they are polite and respectful.

After the Massacre at Newtown, if We Do Nothing Now, Can We Keep Our Students Safe?

by Kate Lutter

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          Let me put my cards on the table.

I write novels for a living. But I used to be an elementary school principal in Edison, New Jersey.  I ran a building for K-5 (kindergarten through fifth grade) for eight years, and although the population varied (the highest student populaation was 640 students) the median number was about 500 students. I had one full time nurse and one full time counselor.

The front of our school was glass.  My school sounded a lot like Sandy Hook in Newtown, Connecticut.

When I heard what happened, when the news slowly eeked out, when the facts became clearer–who had done the shooting, what weapon had been used, how the shooter had gained access to the building, and eventually how the staff inside reacted once they realized an intruder was present–I have to admit, my heart pounded.  And then I cried.

I imagined myself in that same scenario, and I asked myself what I would have done as principal if someone entered my building, blasted their way through the glass with a semi-automatic rifle, clearly intent on murdering the children?

When I became principal, we were on the verge of instituting many security procedures that are now common place in most elementary schools:

A single entrance into a school–a front door which was locked after the students entered in the morning, and which included a camera and a buzzer system.

Lock down drills which required extensive staff and student training.

Evacuation procedures which also required extensive planning and again extensive training for both staff and students.

Name tags that every staff member was required to wear and visitor tags which every visitor to the building was required to procur once they entered the building and wear, which made it easier to spot anyone in the building who did not belong there.

What prompted this “high security” was the shooting at Columbine High School in Colorada in 1999. That incident pushed the education community to re-evaluate what needed to be done to keep our students safe.

Now, it seems, that bar needs to be raised again.  And I do not make that statement lightly.  Schools are not a prison.  And although some schools in the inner cities and even some high schools may have a police officer that roams the building armed with a gun to keep the peace, most schools do not have a guard or a police presence.

The plain fact is that even if you legally own a weapon, you are prohibited by law from bringing that weapon onto school property. The culture of school is that it is a very special place, and it is believed by many that the risk of bringing weapons into such a protected zone far outweighs the benefits.  Classrooms are not equipped with safes where teachers could store weapons.  We do not want to turn a school into a shooting range if and when an incident occurs. It would be unimaginable.

And yet . . . Newtown, Connecticut forces us to re-examine the dilemma we are in as we fight to keep our schools safe.

Here are my thoughts as an ex-principal:

All of the security procedures that we and most schools instituted after Columbine are valid, but are they enough to keep our children safe?

The intruder, using a semi-automatic rifle, was able to shoot his way through the glass window and gain entrance through the locked door.

The intruder, using a semi-automatic rifle–the only person with a weapon in a “weapon free zone”–was able to make his way down the corridor of a school after having murdered the principal and counselor and within a matter of minutes or, perhaps, it was seconds, murder twenty children and four more teachers.

In fact, the reports that are now coming out say that a single child had as many as eleven bullets in his/her body. No wonder there were so few survivors.  Although I did hear of one first grade girl who pretended to be dead. She later exited the building covered in her classmates‘ blood.

That was how she survived.

The “lock down” procedure, no doubt, protected other students and teachers, but I wonder if the intruder had wanted to, could he have shot his way into other classrooms and taken more lives?

It’s believed he had enough ammunition on him to do so.

The “lock down” procedure I used in my building was predicated on a code word that would be spoken over the intercom.  I don’t know what they used at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  In theory, the code word would kick in “lock down.” Teachers upon hearing that word were instructed to lock their classroom doors, turn off the lights, huddle the children in the safest part of the classroom, keep them quiet and wait.

How long does it take for the police to arrive?  Five minutes.  Ten minutes.

It became glaringly apparent to me as I ended my tenure at Martin Luther King Elementary School in Edison, New Jersey, and as more and more schools became the battlegrounds for intruders and more and more lives were taken, that the security procedures put into place after Columbine were not enough.

Now I am absolutely convinced of it.

This is what I rest my case on–that schools are very special places where we bring a large quantity of children together in a so-called protected environment. Because we try to eliminate all possible risk of accidental death, we establish a “weapon free zone” in the schools, which means that no one is allowed to bring a gun or knife or any kind of weapon into the building or onto school grounds.

The only defense the staff had against the intruder was the “lock down procedure” which clearly has its limits against a semi-automatic rifle.

I believe in the Constitution and the second amendment.  I have friends and relatives who legally own guns.  They like to hunt.

A ban on assault type weapons would not impinge upon their right to hunt and bear arms.  A ban on magazine clips would not impinge upon their right to hunt and bear arms.  A law that abolishes the loop hole that now exists which allows people to buy guns at gunshows with little or no background checks would not impinge upon their right to hunt or bear arms.

I am calling for balance here.

Our children have a right to be protected in school against assault-like weapons that can kill twenty children and put eleven bullets in a body in less than five minutes. There is no way to protect children in a building when that kind of weaponry exists on the market and is easily accessible.

President Obama said it best.  Our hearts are broken.  We all feel the pain.

I hope that pain galvanizes us to do what is right here and protect the children.

Kate Lutter has taught high school, coordinated a school district’s staff development program, and served as an elementary school principal, before she jumped off the cliff and decided to write full time.

Now, she lives in New Jersey with her husband and five cats and spends her days writing, studying Italian, gardening, travelling, volunteering at a local cat shelter, and hanging out with her extended family.

Writing is what keeps her sane on a daily basis.

Check out her website at www.katelutter.com

Happy release day: Wild Point Island by Kate Lutter

Congrats to Crescent Moon Press author Kate Lutter on the release of her debut novel, Wild Point Island! This looks like a great read! Keep reading for a fun excerpt.

The blurb: 

Banished from Wild Point Island as a child, Ella Pattenson, a half human-half revenant, has managed to hide her true identity as a descendent of the Lost Colony of Roanoke.  Thought to have perished, the settlers survived but were transformed into revenants–immortal beings who live forever as long as they remain on the island.

Now, Ella must return to the place of her birth to rescue her father from imprisonment and a soon to be unspeakable death.  Her only hope is to trust a seductive revenant who seems to have ties to the corrupt High Council.  Simon Viccars is sexy and like no man she’s ever met. But he’s been trapped on the island for 400 years and is willing to do almost anything for his freedom.

With the forces of the island conspiring against her, Ella  must risk her father, her heart, and her life on love.

Bio:

Kate Lutter believes she was born to write. She wrote her first novel when she was in eighth grade, but then almost burned her house down when she tried to incinerate her story in the garbage can because she couldn’t get the plot to turn out right. Now, many years later, she lives in NJ with her husband and five cats (no matches in sight) and spends her days writing contemporary paranormal romances, traveling the world, and hanging out with her four wild sisters. She is happy to report that her debut novel, Wild Point Island, the first in a series, has just been published by Crescent Moon Press. She is busy writing the sequel and her weekly travel blog entitled Hot Blogging with Chuck, which features her very snarky and rascally almost famous cat.

Website: www.katelutter.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/katelutternovelist

Blog: www.katelutter.blogspot.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/katelutter

Email: katelutter.author@gmail.com

Excerpt from Wild Point Island

Despite what he believed, I never had a relationship where I felt so bound to someone and yet so constrained in behavior. Sitting so close to him on the beach, hidden from view, wanting to hold him, I hesitated. So I’m not sure how what happened, happened next. What kept us apart—the suspicions, the fact that time had elapsed and we felt a bit like strangers meeting again—all of it abruptly dissipated like so much fog when the sun shines through.

His strong yet gentle grasp pulled me toward him, and he held me close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I felt in the urgency of his grip how much he’d missed me, and remembered again the dream he’d arranged for me, how cautious he’d been only days before. But dreams could not satisfy me now, no matter how real they seemed.

We pulled apart, but our eyes met. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his, chaste at first, to taste him, to spur his reaction. But that tentative reaching out soon exploded into the confirmation I’d been waiting for. Our desires cascaded in upon each other. I wanted more of him, and soon lost awareness of the cold surf, which melted against our heat. The roughness of the sea also faded into the distance. The spray of salt water was forgotten.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t want to think of the future or eternity. Only feel sweet sensations as he kissed me harder and harder.

Helpless to resist this love-making, I was the sand being thrown about by the waves around me. Soaked with a longing for him.

His kisses grew stronger, and I wanted all of them.

“Ella,” he groaned, sweeping the stray strands of hair out of my eyes.

I reached up to touch his face, to trace the outline of his strong jaw. Desire flickered in his eyes, a wildness mirroring my own needs, and I wanted to lose myself in that need, in that desire. I wanted him as I had wanted no other, knew for the first time in my life I had the potential for loving someone who knew me for who I really was.

It was intoxicating.

“Can you take me now?” I asked. “Here. Show me what I have to do.”

Indecision flickered across his face. I saw it. A look of a man who walked a tight rope and risked falling to the depths below.

“Ella.” His voice floundered in his own deep emotion.

But I reached over to pull him closer, and he tumbled on top of me. The weight of his body anchored me to the ground. Within seconds, my back was pressed against the sandy floor. His eyes grew hooded as his lips played against my mouth. Teasing. Caressing.

Suddenly, the kisses changed. Slow and carefully placed, I felt a heaviness to them that made me ache where I had felt warm and riled up before.

Aching to be with him in that way that I knew was forbidden to us.

But what did I care.

He was kissing me, and I began kissing him back, as if I had been doing this all my life, as if I were some kind of expert, allowing the pooling warmth in my stomach to find release. His hands burrowed under my sweater, nudging, rubbing against my breasts, which swelled to his touch.

The feel of his skin against my skin pushed me to a boldness I had not known until now, and I reached my hand below the belt of his pants, dared now to touch where I knew he wanted me to touch.

“Simon.” I whispered his name into the air, so sure that he was the one. Knowing as we wrestled together on the sand, in this sweetest of lovemaking, that I had a fire in me that he had set. He was the man I had been waiting for. This was the moment–

I felt resistance. Simon seemed to be struggling for control.

Over me. Over himself.

“Enough.” His voice, raw and edgy, strained against the sea that roared in the background.

Still breathing heavily, he released his hold on me, and pushed himself to a seated position.

My heart pounded.

“Have I done something wrong? Tell me,” I demanded.

“No.”

“Then why are you stopping?”

“We cannot be together, not now. I was wrong to even start.”

“Wrong? But I thought… ” I struggled to sit up, to face him, to put my own thoughts in order. When two people wanted to be together, how could there be something wrong? “Don’t you want to be with me?”

His gaze traveled down my body. I felt his stare, the desire in it. “Yes. I want to be with you.”

“Then–” I touched his arm. I needed to understand what could possibly be strong enough to hold him back.

“What I want has already been decided. You must decide what it is you want…” His voice softened. “… to do with your life.”

A chill coursed down my spine. And even though my flesh was still warm from his touch, I pulled my sweater down to cover myself, not because I was ashamed, but without his closeness, the early evening breeze now felt cold and damp. I guessed what he was saying, but I didn’t want to think about the future. Not here, not now.

“I want you to make love to me, Simon.”

“The Council forbids it,” he said.

“I don’t care about the Council. They have no say in what’s between us.”

He faced me then, and his finger touched my lips. “I could take you, Ella. Now. But it would not be the honorable thing to do.”

My fists clenched. I didn’t understand.

“I made a choice when I saved you from your uncle’s dangerous game. It was not difficult because I wanted you, Ella. But it was my choice. The moment our spirits fused, everything changed. Until you are sure I am what you want, I cannot take you. Until you are sure this island can be your home, I cannot give into my passions. My world is not like your world. There is no formal ceremony of commitment. There is the fusion and then there is consummation. When that occurs, you will be bound to me forever. There can be no turning back.”

Guest post – Hot blogging with Chuck

I’m pleased to welcome Kate Lutter as my first guest blogger! Hope you enjoy her description of a fun trip to Washington, DC–with Chuck.

This is Chuck

Hi, my name is Kate and I blog about my exotic travel experiences with my hunky husband.  The blog is called Hot Blogging with Chuck.  But . . .

I haven’t been completely honest with you.  Chuck isn’t my husband, he’s my cat.

Not many people take their cat with them when they travel.  I know this.  And Bob, my husband, does not jump with joy to know that Chuck is coming with us, stuffed in my carry-on, all the air deflated out of him, only to be pumped up upon arrival and raring to go.

But it is a reality born of necessity.

You see, Chuck was bored at home, and he was developing into a “over groomer.”

Feral and homeless, we adopted him, expecting some problems, but we did not expect that this cute and very adorable orange and white tabby would turn into an obsessively clean cat or that he would begin to groom the fur right off his body.  In spots, of course.

The vet said Chuck was bored.  He needed stimulation.  Travel.  Fun.  That’s how it all began.

And when Chuck discovered that I had written a novel called Wild Point Island . . . well, that clinched it.  Chuck wanted to go see the island, which was a bit difficult.  So we began to take Chuck with us as we traveled around the U.S. and the world.

Our trip to Washington, D.C. is a perfect example of Chuck in action.  We arrive by train from New Jersey, and Chuck immediately announces that he wants to go to the Smithsonian Institute to see the space capsule.  You know,  the one that landed on the moon.  A secret wish he’s had ever since he’s been a kitten and saw some program on TV about the capsule.

Go figure!

So off we go on a beautiful February day, a Friday, to be exact, in the later afternoon, when luckily the tourist traffic is at a minimum.  Because, frankly, cats are not allowed inside the Smithsonian Museum, and it will take quite a bit of fancy maneuvering to get Chuck out of my backpack without being seen so he can sniff around the capsule and get an eyeful to his heart’s content.

When we arrive at the Smithsonian, we make a beeline for the capsule which is on the first floor, but unfortunately, it is right in the middle of everything, in clear view of about four guides who man the front desk.  We strategize.  Bob volunteers to go to the desk and act as a distraction while I wander innocently over to the capsule.  My plan is simple.  I’ll stand on the back side of the capsule, wait until I am relatively alone, and then let Chuck sneak out and get a peak of the capsule.

Of course, complications arise immediately because Chuck announces that he doesn’t just want to see the capsule, he wants to climb inside of it and pretend he is an astronaut flying in space.  The first cat astronaut, which would make Chuck a “castronaut.”   New word, new concept.

More complications.  Oh, yes, we get Chuck inside the capsule.  Don’t ask me how many laws I break to do that, but . . . we discover almost immediately that Chuck is claustrophobic.  That capsule is tiny inside.  I mean really tiny.  It is hard to imagine how a human man fit inside there.  And Chuck, well, we call him Chucky Cheese behind his back.

He used to be a cute, adorable kitten.  Now he’s a cute, adorable cat.

But, still, Chuck is tough.  He insists on rolling around inside the capsule as if he is weightless.

Some imagination that cat has!

Then catastrophe strikes.  I am standing there, my eyes glued to the interior of the capsule watching Chuck roll around when I hear, “Pss.” I whirl around in time to see Bob signaling towards a guide who is walking towards us.  With a frown on his face.  Trouble.

At the same time, I can hear Chuck “meowing” from inside, totally lost in the moment, enjoying his fantasy inside the capsule.

I knock furiously on the capsule window.  “Niksay.  Niksay.”

This is our code word for “Cease and Desist.”

Immediately the meowing stops.

And then it happens.

The guide is intercepted.  By another guide.  There is a problem with the lunar module  display case.

I whisk around, open the capsule, pull out Chuck and shove the startled “castronaut”  into my backpack.

Phew.

The next day we return to the Smithsonian Institute, but we’ve decided it is best that Chuck remain at the hotel.  We ordered in breakfast.  There is a balcony.  It is a beautiful sunny day.  Chuck is resting comfortably.  Dreaming, no doubt, of becoming famous.

Chuck Glenn.  Or  Chuck Armstrong.  Or Chuck Lovell . . .

If you’d like to read more about Chuck, you can find my weekly blog at: www.katelutter.blogspot.com

I love to blog about my almost famous cat Chuck, but my real calling is writing paranormal romance novels.  My first novel, Wild Point Island, is due to be released winter of 2012.   Read more about it: www.katelutter.com