Tag Archives: inmate writing program

Student Work Wednesday

(The following is an excerpt from a larger, work-in-progress essay).

You Live and You Learn by Manny C.

I was born into a world that was falling apart in violence and crime. Some commit crimes for the thrill, some do it simply because they feel there is no way out. Money is the root of all evil.

In the city of Chicago, this is the reality for most family members. The youth find pleasure inside gang life. They refuse to live in poverty and quickly adapt to the fast life, fast money. This was/is the story of my life, until I finally listened to my new mentors that showed me a different perspective. My sudden dynamic experience being mentored was overwhelming.

I was born in the Norwegian Hospital and raised on Kedvale between North Avenue and Cortland. At the age of 8, I realized I lived in the borderline of two rival gangs. Groups by the dozens would stand under street lights late at night surrounded by girls and fancy cars. Shootouts would erupt out of gangways and alleys making everybody scatter like roaches. I would be watching from our third floor bedroom window with my brother that was 2 years older than me. We would try to make sense on who is doing what to who and why.

There were nights when we would be excited to see events like these. But there were days we wished they would just put the guns down. Countless times our block parties were cancelled due to gang violence.

I remember the day as if it was yesterday, the day I learned how to ride a bike. It was my 9th birthday, mid-June on a beautiful day. My dad bought me my first two-wheeled bicycle. I couldn’t wait to finish eating so I could go outside and show it off to my friends.

I remember my dad guiding me and telling me how to keep my balance. I felt his arm on my shoulder as he told me to go faster until I noticed he had removed his hand from me. I looked back and realized he stayed behind and I was riding this bike by myself. I felt like the coolest kid on the block with my black Huffy bike with pegs.

The block party was on full effect. My neighbor right then and there approached the fire hydrant with a big, red wrench. All the kids on the block knew what time it was. As my neighbor struggled to open the valve, every kid stopped what they were doing and ran towards the water that began blasting out. The water from the hydrant formed a small rainbow in the mist.

Down the block, the latest Cumbia song started playing on full volume. The older teens got in the middle of the street and started dancing to the rhythm. It didn’t take long for one of them to pull me off my Huffy bike to make me dance. At nine years old I didn’t know how to dance, but I sure acted like I knew what I was doing; shaking my tail side to side, one step, two step. Emily laughed with me and encouraged me to keep going while she showed off her moves. Emily was 16 years old and she was my next door neighbor. I had the biggest crush on her ever since I met her. I loved it when she would call me her “lil man.”

As I danced with her I heard a bird call…all of a sudden, I saw a masked man run out of a gangway. He started letting rounds off towards Cortland where three guys started running for cover. Emily covered me with her body as she carried me off the street as fast as she could. One thing I knew for sure was that one of my family members was involved in this constant battle for this neighborhood.

Yet again, another perfect day ruined. Why did it have to be on my birthday?

Unfortunately, I had eight uncles that were gang related. It was normal for me to have their company; I felt secured. One tragic day I lost one of my uncles to gang violence. This forced my parents to leave the city for the sake of my two little sisters, my older brother, and me. But it was too late for me.

By eighth grade, I carried on my uncle’s ways. I smoked and caused trouble in the neighborhood with my friends. I bought my first car at age 15; all drug money. My parents didn’t have a clue I had so much. They were just proud I had such tremendous grades in school.

I always believed the weed was the key to my success to my grades. Math and science were my best subjects. I actually found astronomy and formulas quite fascinating. I mastered a couple formulas by simply putting two and two together. This made everything else mathematically simple. And curiosity took the best of me in biology. It blew my mind how small I am compared to how big the universe is. I needed to know more; I was hungry for knowledge. But once that bell rang, it was back to the streets…

2Pac – “Sometimes I Cry”

In class at the Lake County Jail we have read a diverse selection of works that have generated insightful conversation and proved helpful in modeling various writing forms. Most recently, a student mentioned that Tupac Shakur–primarily known to me as a (great) rapper–had written a good deal of poetry. Keeping with our efforts to expose the students to a wide range of voices, I got my hands on his posthumously-released poetry collection The Rose that Grew from Concrete and brought some of the poems to class.

Last week we read and discussed “Sometimes I Cry” (printed below). It elicited some powerful discussion on imposed gender roles and the expectations they carry, how we can help one another, and how to gather strength when one feels broken.

The moment was also important as it reinforced the fact that in that small, concrete-lined, poorly-lit room we all have the ability to learn from one another.

Sometimes I Cry

Sometimes when I’m alone
I cry because I’m on my own
The tears I cry R bitter and warm
They flow with life but take no form
I cry because my heart is torn
and I find it difficult to carry on
If I had an ear 2 confide in
I would cry among my treasured friend
But who do you know that stops that long
to help another carry on
The world moves fast and it would rather pass u by
than 2 stop and c what makes u cry
It’s painful and sad and sometimes I cry
and no one cares about why.

–2Pac

Student Work Wednesday

Pay Attention to Detail by Terry S.

Like a siren your presence screams at my attention
blinding me from comprehension…
I no longer see the vast qualities of the world…
but total release from life’s limitations…
flashing hot and cold with no control there’s no ration behind the fantasy you hold

Pay attention to detail…

Voice the sound of a soft seashell
I understand and can tell… the bold, italic, and underlined ways she casts her spell
Mesmerized I don’t think she realize I memorize every sensuous effect cuz I…

Pay attention to detail…

A cool breeze the way your hair flows round your bright face…
I swear it only exists for the light of my days
yet with a wind of expression my dreams are no longer a daze…
back and forth, back and forth I pace…
thinking ‘bout you in all your amazing ways curly hair, ponytail, hair down laid down God how I love her smile

Pay attention to detail…

Age: 22 Favorite color: Pink
likes dresses and jeans shoes: Vans sometimes heels when she steps on the scene
Likes helping people when they’re in need
so she’s a nurse trying to get a degree
always getting the short end of the stick so she thinks
“fuck helping people who’s helping me?!”

Pay attention to detail…

————

About Terry S.: Misguided…Now I makin’ my own way. Speaking through these lines revealin’ what lies behind the real, separated from the fake capitalizing on my mistakes.

“Writers Block” Prison Writing Program

“Michael said after the workshop that he never would have imagined he’d be a writer. When he reads his work to his peers it is freeing.”

–from SC prison holds writing program for prison inmates by Lyn Riddle

Read more here: http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2014/05/26/4924463/sc-prison-holds-writing-program.html#storylink=Lyn Ridd
Read more here: http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2014/05/26/4924463/sc-prison-holds-writing-program.html#storylink=cpy

Perry Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison in South Carolina, is host of a creative writing program for inmates. The “Writers Block” program was started by Carol Young Gallagher and Anna Katherine Freeland and functions as a traditional writing workshop where peer critique of work is emphasized.

Three years ago, Gallagher, then president of The Emrys Foundation, began the program after receiving a letter from an inmate asking to start a program. Emrys Foundation, a literary nonprofit which includes an annual journal and press, had previously held writing workshops in hospitals but never prisons. Gallagher, with the help of Freeland who “wanted to do a creative writing program in a prison since she was an undergraduate in the English and creative writing program at Converse College 16 years ago” created Writers Block, which they hope to one day make its own nonprofit and expand to other facilities.

To mark the program’s three-year anniversary, a journal of the inmate’s work will be published this fall.

Read more about the program in The Charlotte Observer.

Read more here: http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2014/05/26/4924463/sc-prison-holds-writing-program.html#storylink=cpy