Through my soul
I have been asked what makes me write, why do I write, or what do I feel when writing. It sounds so easy and simple to answer, yet very hard to admit or realize. At the start writing was my way to escape reality, to escape my cell, to escape my life. I wanted to write even as a young boy in Canada, so prison wasn’t the key ingredient to launch my “career” or lack thereof. I write selfishly to feel good, I write to live a fantasy life or in a fantasy world. I write to say sorry for what I have done because at times it’s easier then actually saying sorry.
I don’t feel my writing is special in any way because I write what I feel in my heart and soul and that does not take talent. Honestly I hope my writing helps others understand what I went through in prison and therefore what their loved one(s) are going through. In a way a microphone so to speak. There are times I just get tired or bored of writing about prison, how much can I really say about a subject so dear to some and so justified to many more. Prison is a very bad place to live.
You see prison is what you make of it. For some it’s an extension of their life in the “freeworld” or outside world. They live a violent life on the outside and continue that life style on the inside, and in doing so make life for many others terrible. Most of the guys I knew inside wanted to do their time, obey the rules best they could and go home. I had never seen so much drama as I had witness behind the walls of TDC (TDCJ now).
I truly believed at times that some were not happy unless they could create chaos to those around them. The joy in others pain. But in saying that there were many positive times in prison. Friendships were created from the most of bizarre circumstances, we played board games and watched TV. We shared ideas as well as books. We “spread” nightly and joked. We talked of the big game and family. We shared photos of loved ones and children and grandchildren. We readied for work and chow time, we waiting on the call for commissary and library.
We all did the best we could out of a terrible situation. Some better than others. A big part of our day as I have stated before was mail call. No other aspect of prison was as important as receiving letters from loved ones and friends. Now a days, with the phone system I’m sure the brothers I left behind look forward to hearing all your voices even more.
So why do I write? Maybe to help some of you, maybe to help myself. Maybe to see if I can or if I’m as good a writer as I have been told. It’s not a skill or a talent to tell a story from your heart and soul. It is I who am grateful that you, my readers allow me a few minutes once in a while to enter your lives.