Writing Behind Bars

NaNoWriMo has found its way into elementary classrooms and universities, foreign countries and hometowns. But did you know that NaNoWriMo also has a place in the prison system? Dedicated volunteers like participant and author Neal Lemery help give inmates an opportunity to voice their stories:

Much of my writing inspiration comes from the stories of the young men I visit in the nearby youth prison. I tutor in their garden and help youth in their transition to parole with my guitar, cribbage board, and endless cups of canteen coffee.

Several of the young men joined me in the NaNoWriMo challenge this year, inspired by their English teacher and by my actually producing a real book out of last year’s efforts.  

“We figured if you could do it, we could, too,” one youth told me.  

Writing in prison? I wondered how anyone could manage it. The prison has twenty-five young men sleeping in each dorm room filled with bunk beds, a living area with a blaring TV, video games beeping and chirping, and the voices of two dozen exuberant teenagers. Meal times are marked by marches to a cafeteria two buildings away, through the often rain-drenched Oregon coast winter weather.  

“Oh, I write everywhere,” one young man says.  “I carry my notebook and scribble away the best I can.”

They often write for an hour or two after bedtime, even managing to borrow a flashlight from a guard after lights out. After all, they are earning English class credit.  

Writing in full NaNoWriMo mode challenges me, even on the days when the Muse is happy and full of words for me to tap into my laptop. I’m spoiled: with my nice, comfy chair by the fire; a never-empty cup of tea; and nearby snacks in my nice, peaceful house. I clatter away, continually checking my daily word count. Still, I grumped to my unsympathetic wife about the pressure of 1,600 words every stinking day. November is a long month.

Wait a minute, I thought. What am I whining about? I’m not doing this in prison, with a stubby pencil and a cheap spiral notebook.

During the month, the students and I checked in with each other, with the usual grumps: losing sight of our plots, our characters petering out with a lack of adventures or personality quirks, and the annoyance of no time to go back and edit our daily blood-lettings on paper. My writing buddies kept pace with me, comparing word counts and plot twists twice a week when I visited. My fellow writing prisoners kept me filled in on their writing, needling me with all their youthful creative writing energy.

One guy was on work crew the whole month, cutting firewood and planting trees during the wettest November in twenty years.

“Oh, I wrote in the van, when we had our breaks and lunch,” he bragged.  “I got most of my words done out there. But my notebook got a little soggy.” He grinned–a true NaNoWriMo martyr. Other guys wrote on their bunks, scrunched up and leaning against the metal frames, sitting on thin mattresses, writing their hearts out, making the word count.

At the end of the month, I was greeted with elation: “I won, I won!” the wood-cutting, tree-planting author shouted at me. “I got my 50,000 words, and I’m already thinking of the sequel for next November.”

I bought two NaNoWriMo winner T-shirts last year.  I’ll wear mine with pride, but I know when he puts his on, his smile will be a lot bigger, and the T-shirt certainly more deserving.   

Neal Lemery is the author of Mentoring Boys to Men: Climbing Their Own Mountains, and Homegrown Tomatoes: Essays and Musings From My Garden. He’s completed NaNoWriMo the past two years, with his 2016 efforts producing a novel.  He’s a retired judge living on the Oregon coast.  

Top photo by Flickr user Miranda Ward.