Category Archives: reading

Research and Revision: Jail Escape 101 and Fast Draft

Fast draft of Sharlene book 2 complete (LOVED writing this way. Hope I can survive the revisions)

Part of the Fast Draft method is not stopping to do research. Just write the book, get it drafted, then do research during revisions. I made me first pass through the manuscript just to take notes on what I needed to do during revisions.

My main character Sharlene is a guardian angel. She’s got quite the adventure in book 2.

RESEARCH: Spa in Belize (that one you want to go to!)
RESEARCH: French discussion
RESEARCH Mexican beach city with ruins
RESEARCH security systems
RESEARCH EMT procedure for finding someone injured after accident blows up building
RESEARCH hospital stay after big accident
RESEARCH jail escape
RESEARCH criminal surrender
RESEARCH Valhalla, Olympus, Heaven compare/contrast

I love research. Hopefully this will be fun!


The first Sharlene book, Dead Girl Walking by Elizabeth Lee, is available on kindle and in print.

Check out my Amazon author’s page for more info.



The Power of Positive

You’ve gotta wake up every morning and ask yourself, ‘How bad do you want it?’ How much work are you willing to put forth for the things and people you want and need in your life? Nothing great comes without effort. But I promise you that if it’s something of great meaning in your heart and something you need in your life…EVERY risk, EVERY step and EVERY drop of sweat will be worth it. ~Markesa Yeager (I LOVE THIS QUOTE SO MUCH!!!!!!!)
I’ve tried something different this summer. If you follow me on facebook, you might have noticed. This is the summer of positive affirmation. I’m certainly not the originator of positive affirmations. One of my earliest memories is a summer spent watching Y&R. The character Tracy wanted to lose weight and she wrote affirmations every day. That was my introduction to the term. Several years later my friend Karen Kelley told me about The Secret and surrounding yourself with positive energy and how important it was to success. I love Karen, but I thought she was kind of crazy until I read The Secret. It’s definitely a little woo-woo, but it makes some great points. The Success Principles is another great book about surrounding yourself with positive energy and the secret to making dreams come true. I love both books. This summer I’m putting their principles into practice.
My writing world is the no negativity zone. The negative words, no anger, no hurt. I joined Candy Havens’ Fast Draft and wrote a draft in a week. I’m working on revisions now. I’ve got a new book–Letting Go–slated for publication this week (kindle or print only for 90 days). I’m a writer, so I write. No excuses. I’m getting healthy, so I work out every day in some way, no excuses. When school starts, I’ll add work to this, too. I can’t wait to see the difference the power of positive makes. ###

Letting Go by Mary Beth Lee, coming soon.

Clarissa Dye doesn’t put down roots. Stearns, Oklahoma, is a stopping point on her path to self-reliance. And God? Don’t even get her started. Enter Mackenzie Dillon and her cowboy dad, Jed. From the moment Mackenzie runs into Clarissa, the little girl worms her way into Clarissa’s heart. The fact that her strong father happens to work his way in there, too, only scares Clarissa more. Letting Go: a story of forgiveness, second chances and finding a love that lasts forever.

Words of Inspiration from Yearbook Camp

Reporter and screenwriter Skip Hollandsworth spoke to student journalists at the 2012 Gloria Shields Publications Workshop in July. He gave GREAT advice.

  1. Learn the rhythm of a good sentence.
  2. Type of famous writers’ work to learn that rhythm.
  3. I don’t have droughts. I’m not allowed. The insurance man doesn’t get to have droughts and neither does the writer. There’s a lot of writing that’s not inspired. I get a first draft, then I know where to go.
  4. 1st draft is crap. (He used Hemingway’s quote)
  5. Challenges? I still feel fear. I still write a paragraph and say who do I think I am? I’m not a writer.
  6. The way to beat the fear is to write a sentence and then another. And then another.
  7. No matter how bad it is, keep writing.
  8. I don’t ever try to write a cluttered sentence.
  9. Hollywood always looking for the next teen movie that captures the teen zeitgeist.
  10. Start taking notes in a journal. It will be gold one day.
  11. How to get ready to write: wake up early, drink a lot of coffee, try not to get distracted.
  12. The great goal is how to shut out the outside world.
  13. Your life (as a writer) is a lonely, miserable, pain drenched life. And you’ll love it.
  14. Don’t be safe. Don’t write the predictable story.
  15. If the quote goes on too long, you lose the reader
  16. I love getting the detail that makes people gasp. That’s reporting.
  17. Readers want to be moved
  18. Why he’s a reporter: Because I couldn’t do math. (His father loved to tell stories) If you’re surrounded by good storytellers you pick it up.
  19. People love to talk about themselves.
  20. Here’s where you get the best stories: don’t be afraid to ask a stupid question, but ask it sincerely. I would interview anyone who would talk to me.
  21. Never stay with the one quote. Follow up. Ask more.
  22. A lot of journalism is pedestrian work, but that teaches you to write tight. Just because you’re writing a boring story doesn’t mean you get to be bored.
  23. ALWAYS LISTEN, follow up, don’t even look at your notebook.
  24. Don’t red your questions to your source. Have a conversation.
  25. I’m still never comfortable with my work. Never happy with it.
  26. Don’t think of writing as an art. Think of it as a craft.
  27. Get them to tell a story that’s important to them–and you
  28. He tells them “I’m not here to judge you. I want to try to understand what got you to this place.” Then he tries to make them comfortable.
  29. Make sources feel like they have a sympathetic ear
  30. Where he gets his stories: I read. I look for funny stories. Stories that I read and think “that will make a really good twist”
  31. Start a conversation. Don’t let them think it’s an interview.
  32. When you’re interviewing someone and they pause, take a breath too. LET THEM SPEAK. (STFU)
  33. I believe it’s very important to get banter going.
  34. If you get the forum to write about people, don’t get the hot head when they criticize you. When you enter the public arena, you ask for criticism.

Red Pen Intervention: Self-Pub Editing

You know those posts that go around showing how researchers can give you parts of words and your brain can figure out what’s there? For some reason I didn’t realize that translated to my writing.

My day job consists of constantly editing and proofing. For some reason I thought that meant I could self-proof with no worries. WRONG. Even reading out loud I’ve missed a ton of stuff. Lesson learned. I MUST have a proof reader for my self-pub work. Now I have to upload corrected novels to Amazon. Proof I need to SLOW DOWN! Another example of just because I can doesn’t mean I should–and that’s a real issue with self-publishing for me. It’s so easy to submit the work without taking the time to let the work rest then return to it to make it the best it can be. I’m learning, though.

On the bright side, I’ve got the cover for my July inspirational romance, Letting Go. 


Coming to Amazon July 2012. An inspirational romance by Mary Beth Lee. Letting Go: A story of forgiveness, second chances and finding love that lasts forever. Triple Eight Ranch Book 1.

I’ve started working on the next Sharlene Gallagher book (YA by Elizabeth Lee). That Sharlene is a real character.

Vampires Aren’t Real…

One of my favorite writing stories comes from a Charlaine Harris interview. A reporter asked her how she responded to critics who said she got the vampire mythology wrong. Harris leaned forward, looked at the reporter and gravely said  that vampires aren’t real, so she could do what she wanted with them.

Last night while explaining my new young adult book Dead Girl Walking,I told Mom (#1 fan) that my guardian angel protagonist is a murder victim who has to figure out  the identity of her murderer before the killer strikes again. She said that’s not how it really works with angels. I felt like I’d arrived. 🙂

Off to the revision cave on A Different Kind of Hero. Conflict is calling my name. As in I forgot about including it on the page. Don’t forget to leave reviews for books you read by indie authors. Word of mouth is our best promotion.

Use the Pain (What I Hope to Remember When Writing Christian Fiction)

Alert! This is a post dealing with religion. If that bothers you, STOP READING!

A loved one called me Jezebel the day I wore red lipstick to church. I was a young single mother at the time, so I found the idea of my red lipstick paving the road to hell quite hilarious. At least that’s what I said out loud. Inside, I was crying. Fortunately, a ridiculous comment like that didn’t shake my faith. Pissed me off, but it didn’t make me turn my back on God. I figure comments like that have shaken others’ faith. Funny how people like that think they’re glorifying God. I think Jesus would have something to say about that. The Jesus I know was about something far bigger than red lipstick. Don’t even get me started on the number of times I’ve heard people talk about tattoos being of the devil. Or how drug addicts are a product of their own bad choices so we just need to leave them to go to hell one hit at a time.

Over the years people have done a lot to ruin the words and actions of Jesus for non-believers. That thought is directly behind my decision to write Christian fiction in addition to the other genres I write in. The Jezebel comment and the anger and hurt it caused led directly to Grace is Enough (out now) and Letting Go (in the works). I held those emotions back for so long, I didn’t even realize they were simmering in my brain, just waiting for a chance to break out. Funny thing, though; even when I started writing, I held the pain back. I didn’t let myself feel completely. Someone once told me writing is like bleeding on the page. They’re right. If you want to write, you have to be willing to feel everything. Use the pain. And then heal it with your art. I did.

Grace is Enough (summer 2011 as Prodigal) is available now on Amazon. Get it here. Find more of my books here.

Letting Go–Chapter One, Preview

Letting Go is my second inspirational romance. I hope the book connects with readers. It certainly did with me. I’ll post a link as soon as the full novel is ready. I’m copy editing it now. You can see more of my novels on my Amazon author page. If you like what you read, let your friends know about my books!

Letting Go by Mary Beth Lee

Chapter One

Clarissa Dye sighed as she took in the reflection staring back at her. The hard-edged face, the lines around her eyes, the grey smudges reminding her of months and months of sleepless nights.

Behind her, the alarm started its daily squawk. She should just chuck the thing. Not like she needed it. At least not until she changed time zones.

She swallowed the hard ball of pain in her throat, the one that threatened tears—once a mainstay, now a memory—and stepped into the living room, smacked the clock to shut it up, then folded the bed back into the awful green couch and told herself to be thankful. But, man, it was hard sometimes.

Plodding into the kitchen, she made herself a cup of instant coffee. The cheap stuff that tasted like railroad ties and spit but still got the job done.

She added a piece of dry toast to her breakfast and told herself to buck up. Stearns, Oklahoma was her choice. Her chance. Her minimum three-month stint to save before moving on via Greyhound to the next chance dot on a map picked at random. One month down, two to go.

Slipping into her yellow Crocs, she tied her pink apron around her too thin waist and whispered a quick thanks to whichever Fates out there had led her to Pete’s Diner with the tiny efficiency apartment located above the garage behind the restaurant, all bills paid, discount if renters actually worked for gruffy, old Pete. Without it, her stay would likely be more around six months. Six months meant attachments. Clarissa didn’t do attachments.

“Mornin’ Pete,” she called as she entering the diner through the back door, even though she knew Pete’s only answer would be his signature glower. His bushy white eyebrows and matching hair gave emphasis to the look, but his sparkly blue eyes leaned a little closer to Santa than Scrooge.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Bev, the only friend Clarissa had allowed herself to make on this stop, called as she twisted to maneuver around Clarissa with a French toast, sausage and eggs-over-easy loaded tray and headed to table fifteen and one of the town’s claims to fame, Norene Albright nèe Chisholm, once upon a time Miss Texas runner up. Ms. Norene ate breakfast at Pete’s every morning, laughing all the while that her days of watching her figure were long past.

“Table seven’s gonna to want more coffee in a jiff,” Bev said. “Think you can handle it?”

Clarissa grabbed the freshly brewed hot pot off the warmer and started toward the table smiling hello to Lester Pyle, the one customer in town who tipped based on smiles and service. Clarissa liked Lester just fine, so her smile was real. The waitresses at Pete’s knew just where they stood with the lonely old man who worked at the towing service on the other side of the town square and had since he’d dropped out of school in the tenth grade in 1975.

Kind of like she’d dropped out of school before a judge made her go back and finish or sit in jail. Lester got a kick out of that story.

“Mornin’, Lester,” she said, and then  a whirlwind of pint-sized arms, legs and laughter barreled into her.

Luck, dexterity, and a strong hand on her shoulder kept Clarissa from dropping the pot, but even that didn’t keep a bit of the hot liquid from sloshing out onto her fingers.

“Here,” a deep voice said. “Let me help.” Liquid pain warred with awareness when the hand moved from her shoulder to the coffee pot as he set it on the table.

Stepping away, Clarissa wiped her burnt finger on her apron and told her shoulder nerves to simmer down, which would’ve been easier if Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome didn’t also have a booming voice.

“Mackenzie Renee Dillon, what have I told you about running inside?”

His deep voice was all disappointment and reprimand. The girl’s smile turned to trembling sadness. Clarissa’s heart tugged at the imp’s frown.

“I’m sorry, Miss….” The child on the floor sported off-center russet pigtails, purple and green Little Mermaid leggings and a blue shirt with a puppy appliqué stitched to the front. She looked so horribly mismatched, Clarissa couldn’t help but smile.

“Clarissa,” she said, then looked up at the father. “And really, it’s okay. Accidents and all that.”

““I’m sorry, Clarissa,” the little girl said, and her words whistled through the gap where two front teeth used to be as she spoke. Then she turned to her father. “I ‘pologized, Daddy. Will you not be mad now?”

“Go wash up so we can eat breakfast,” he said without answering the plea, and Clarissa felt sorry for Mackenzie when she turned dejectedly and trudged to the bathroom.

“Hey there now, don’t go letting that little show of hers fool you,” he said, then held out his hand in introduction. “Jed Dillon.”

Clarissa had seen Jed Dillon and his daughter more than once since moving to Stearns. Every time they made their way to Pete’s, quiet whispers of sadness and pride moved from one patron to another. She didn’t know his whole story, didn’t really want to.

Any more than she wanted to shake his outstretched hand. But while she might wear the term loner with pride, rude was not her strong suit.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Clarissa Dye.”

He towered over her small frame. His palms were calloused, tanned. A working man’s hands. His cowboy hat spoke volumes. His was the real deal, like most around these parts. Straw for the late August heat. His long sleeved shirt opened to show a sun reddened neck. Crinkles along his icy blue eyes spoke of a time when laughter was his norm.

“I’m sorry about that,” he started to make amends again, but she waved his words away.

“No need for apologies,” she said.

Before she had to say more, Mackenzie was back, “I’m ready to eat now, Daddy.”

Jed looked from his daughter to her and back again, then his solemn lips tilted in a small smile and he said, “Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk again sometime,” before making his way to booth seventeen, Bev’s section.

As Clarissa watched them walk away, an ache for something she didn’t understand pulled at her heart, but like the remembered tears from earlier, she pushed it away.

Jed ordered Mackenzie’s French toast and milk, answered in the appropriate places to her knock knock jokes and tried not to think about the new waitress in town. Clarissa Dye. She wore a world of angst on that uptight face of hers.

“Daddy, Clarissa’s pretty, huh?”

Oh boy. “She’s something.”

“Yeah, but that something’s pretty. Can I put a quarter in the box an’ play Momma’s song?”

Jed congratulated himself when the question barely squeezed his heart. He reached into his pocket, grabbed some change and handed it over, then watched as Mack crossed the diner, carefully this time, to pick out four songs. One of them would be Trisha Yearwood’s American Girl. Was every time.

On the way back to her seat, his little girl stopped and charmed the customers she knew. Most were like extended members of their family. That’s the way Stearns worked, and he thanked God for that on a daily basis. He’d made it through the toughest time in his life because of friends and family and God’s blessings.

“You really have to stop letting her out dressed like that, Jed,” Bev said, delivering Mack’s milk and his coffee.

Like he had any choice in that matter. “She picks her own clothes. That’s one battle we’re not fighting.”

“She’s picked that outfit every Saturday this month.”

“Probably will next month, too.”

Bev laughed and grabbed creamer from an empty table nearby, dropped it on the corner of his booth. “Looks like you finally met Clarissa. What’d you think?”

Mackenzie climbed back into the booth and gave Bev a big hug, saving Jed from answering and giving him a chance to watch the object of conversation as she moved from one table to another, behind the counter, back to the diner’s floor. She moved with the lithe grace of one of his Quarter Horses, but her face was set in the intensity of an untamed Mustang. Her hair was tucked up in a clip, keeping it away from her face, hiding its true look, but a few wisps of blonde straggled free. Her hands were tiny like the rest of her. She looked like one of their hard Oklahoma winds would blow her clear to the Gulf coast, and like she’d fight that wind every step of the way. His momma’d call that look grit.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what he thought about Clarissa, other than what Mackenzie had already stated in her five-year-old simplicity.

Clarissa Dye’s life might be full of hurt, but she sure was pretty.

“You find someone to watch Mackenzie next week after school yet?”

Jed tore his attention from the new girl in town and turned to Bev. Usually he could set his schedule up in such a way that transporting Mackenzie from town back to the Triple Eight was no big deal. If he couldn’t pick her up, his momma could. But Momma and Daddy were celebrating fifty years of wedded bliss in Branson, and he had several contractors picking up trees all next week. Mackenzie’s hyper nature made after-care at school difficult, but he might not have a choice.

“Not yet. You got any ideas?”

Bev shrugged then looked pointedly across the room. “Clarissa’s off afternoons next week. She’s pulling a couple breakfast, close doubles, but she’s free the times you’re needing. You might see if she’d be willing…”

Jed pushed away her suggestion. One, he didn’t really know Clarissa Dye. Two, hyperactive kids needed a special kind of structured care. “I think I’ll pass on that for now, but I appreciate the suggestion.”

“Daddy, come down here. I wanna tell you a secret.”

Jed’s heart constricted. Funny how Mackenzie mimicked her mother’s actions even though she couldn’t possibly remember her. He bent down and laughed when she grabbed his face in her hands and Eskimo Nosed him. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too, munchkin,” he said. And he hoped that was the only kind of secret Mackenzie ever had where he was concerned. It wouldn’t be long and the secrets from their past would be all too real to his precious daughter. He prayed he could somehow soothe the hurt the truth would bring.

“Ya know, I remember one time I asked Jed out and instead of telling me no outright, he said maybe one day when I was a little older.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes and kept filling the salt shakers. “What were you, five?”

“Shoot no, girl. I was twelve years old and a right proud owner of a brand new training bra. I pretty much figured Jed would be my husband and we’d have ourselves a passel of kids. I was going to give them all names that started with J. I think I still have a spiral notebook somewhere with Beverly Dillon written in pretty curlicues followed by every J name I could think of.”

Clarissa didn’t want to be curious about the man and his daughter. His life. But she couldn’t help herself. Besides, she needed to keep her mind busy. Because right this minute she was feeling awfully sorry for her sad self.

“You’re not going to quit talking about him until I agree that he’s some kind of heart throb, are you?”

“Nope.” Bev affirmed with a laugh.

“Fine. You’re right. He’s cute if you like the Heathcliff type.”

“I never really thought of Jed as brooding or angry or anything like that,” Bev said.

“Are you kidding me? He’s totally gloomy. All serious, quiet intensity. Blah.” She shivered and then sat in one of the empty booths and put her feet up for a minute. They had thirty until the diner re-opened. “So, what’s his real story anyway?”

“He’s a good dad, a good man, and he’s got money. It doesn’t get much better than that,” Bev said, focusing in on the one thing she said was a must for any man in her life.

“Money’s always good,” Clarissa said, although she’d met her fair share of rich jerks.

A knock on the glass drew their attention and they both started in surprise then laughed.

Mackenzie Dillon stood on the other side of the glass doors. Her hair and clothes the same mess as before.

Bev flipped the sign to open and let the little girl in, and once again Clarissa was reminded of a whirlwind.

“Daddy said I can spend my tooth fairy money on a rootbeer float if you’ll make it for me, Bev. Will you, please?”

“Sure thing, Mack,” Bev said, taking the two dollars the girl held out and putting it in the register then getting busy on the float.

Clarissa almost felt bad about staying at the booth, but she wasn’t too certain about leaving Mackenzie by herself. Her dad really needed to do a better job keeping an eye on her.

“I like your pink nail polish, Clarissa. Daddy won’t let me paint my nails ‘til I’m older he said. Are you feeling bad ‘cause you don’t look so good right now. You look like you might be gettin’ the flu or something.”

Terrific. She started to say no, she felt just fine, but the little girl barreled right on. “I had the flu once and I threw up all over Miss Topkins. She’s my Sunday School teacher, an’ she’s old like you but she’s still a Miss, not MZZZZZZZ. That’s what she says. You wanna come to Sunday School with me tomorrow so I can get some points?”

And breath blessed breath.

Good grief. Clarissa tried to come up with an answer that would let the little girl down easy. Somehow she didn’t think the whole church isn’t my thing excuse would work with Mackenzie Dillon.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to come to church. Mr. Pyle won’t come to church with me either. He says he don’t much like the sonofagun preacher….”

The bell over the diner’s doors rang, and Mackenzie’s easy expression turned stormy when her father’s voice sounded.

“Mackenzie Dillon, did I tell you to come over to Pete’s or did I tell you to wait a minute?”

Stormy faced, the little girl crossed her arms over her chest. “I wanted my rootbeer float, Daddy. You said…”

“I said hold on a minute.”

Clarissa fought the tumult of emotions. On the one hand, she understood Jed Dillon’s anger. But the feed store was next door. And he, or the Tooth Fairy, had obviously given his daughter the money to buy the float. What did he expect anyway? Perfection? Mackenzie was a kid. Barely more than a baby.

Before she could even think the decision through, Clarissa turned to face the angry father and broke her first rule of how to get by without making connections.

“She was just asking me to church tomorrow. She said there were some points involved?”

TEA Meets Delores Umbridge

I remember watching the Delores Umbridge testing scene on Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and thinking THANK GOD TAKS isn’t that bad. I think TEA must’ve used the scene as an influence when designing the STAAR and test administrator training. Now if we only had the Weasley’s.

RIP The Week That Was Wasted

Dear students,The anti-education
I’m sorry. I’m sorry we wasted your time this week. Sorry you had to sit and wait and wait and wait while your peers finished the exam that takes everything else you do in school and belittles it. Sorry you’ve been brought up in the generation of test, test, test where teach, teach, teach means nothing unless it culminates in Commended.
I’m sorry I had to look at you and say “no talking, no questions, no, no, no” unless, of course, your question was could you read a book when you were done.
I’m sorry I had to break out the teacher look when the entire class was done within 90 minutes, and yet you had to sit silently for 4 hours in your perfect little rows of 5X5, facing forward in classrooms covered in butcher paper so you wouldn’t actually learn something.
I’m sorry the politicians we elected listened to business owners and testing companies instead of educators about how best to ensure you are learning.
I’m sorry I didn’t stand up earlier and say enough is enough.
I’m sorry I didn’t educate your parents on what the test-only culture was doing to our classrooms.
I’m afraid now I might be too late. But I won’t be silent, and neither will most of your other teachers.
Something has to change. I’m sorry it won’t change in time to make a difference for you.
And, yes, I realize the test is done. I realize that you’ve been brought up in a culture that says the test is all that matters. But, dear students, that is wrong. And while the test is done, class is not.
I’ll see you Monday. I might not be able to recapture a week of lost learning, but for the next four weeks, we’re going to learn without the pressures of the test. Hopefully, the teacher look can be put away until next year’s week of no, no, no. No learning, no questions, no real answers other than A, B, C, D.
If you’d like to bring a book for downtime, AWESOME. I have some suggestions for you, and our library is fantastic.
Perhaps we’ll have a wake for the week that was wasted.

Building on the Values of No Child Left Behind

Since NCLB took hold we’ve seen entire generations of children taught to bubble in answers like pros while losing the ability to problem solve and think critically. Our schools are earning “Exemplary” ratings, and yet, the only subjects students learn are those measured by a test. Testing companies and their lobbyists are earning billions while school districts try to balance budgets. Teachers and administrators across the nation are calling for change, but politicians and lobbyists–most of whom have never set foot in a public school–continue to beat the drum of test, test, test. The test in and of itself is not the problem. Having a tool to measure data is a good thing. The problem is politicians bought into testing company lies that the test was the salvation of education. And then they tied everything we do in education to that lie. Instead of investing in great teacher training and effective strategies for everything from classroom management to best learning practices, we invest in hour upon hour of “How to actively monitor a test” and “keeping the test secure.” (more)
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

(continued) The test has done nothing to improve teaching other than helping teachers learn to analyze data. While that’s not a bad thing, when it comes at the expense of actual student learning, it’s terrible.
Has their been some success in closing the achievement gap? Yes. Would that success happen without NCLB and its test driven theory that has created big business for Pearson, et al? Yes. We were already working on best practices before NCLB. True best practices, not best test taking practices. Reading this post, I have to wonder if the author has even looked at the exit-level tests we’re giving children today. If not, he should. And then he should take a released practice test, publish his results and then talk about how the test translates into real world learning and how NCLB saved education. Talk to professors and they’ll tell you the truth: today’s students aren’t prepared for post-secondary learning, but they are expert standardized test takers. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see standardized test taker as a great career path for any student, regardless of socioeconomic class.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost