....if only I had a dictionary and thesaurus

February 17, 2011

“It’s like so much of the world has ignored me, left me for dead…for me this is a rebirth.”

8:18 p.m.

I’d been awaiting word from you and growing concerned every day that passed. Sometimes it takes your letters to the third day form the post date to arrive, sometimes a week. Of course, I don’t think that the postal system is that inconsistent. It’s a good bet that the mailroom sits on mail when they don’t feel like dealing with it. You can imagine how much they have to sort each day on a 3,300 man unit.

Today though, I could sense your letter coming. I’m always excited to hear from you but this time was different. The level of excitement was elevated….this whole ordeal is like embarking on some special journey, venturing onto new and unexplored territories. Again, I can’t thank you guys enough!

It means a lot to me that you not only take time from your busy schedules to read my letters and to respond, but also that you enjoy them. Really, for my words to bring even the smallest pleasure is something magnificent!

If I sound “great” it’s because that’s how I feel! I mean, I’ve been so wired, so productive, dreaming and positive. This means more to me than I thought I would. It’s like so much of the world has ignored me, left me for dead…for me this is a rebirth. I get to prove to myself and them that I’m still very much alive.

Even after giving it considerable thought, I decided that the state of Texas will not rob me of my identity. Jason Renerd Hall is who I am, I lost him for a while, but he is who I am, and I am he. I have the freedom of expression and free speech, they can’t have that.

Yes, we spend entirely too much time locked down. This warden is so full of it. Fortunately, I’ve been able to write myself silly and have not really given the lockdown too much attention. As long as I have food, soap, deodorant…I’m okay. I wish I’d stocked up on paper as I’m getting low. Worse comes to worse, I’ll trade some food for paper. Really, really wish I could get my mom to be more supportive. Those journal style notebooks would be ideal. She’s been sending some from Office Depot for three years now. I have not heard from her since the mid-December visit. Sometimes…I don’t know, sometimes I wish I didn’t love her so much, then she wouldn’t have the power to hurt me the way she does. Maybe I’ll write about it? Right now it’s spoiling my mood.

Anyhow, you say you admire my spirit and my creativity, and I blush. I wonder what state I would be in if not for your continual kindness? You inspire awe in me on a regular basis. Maybe one day I can emulate you and help a total stranger turn his/her life around. I know, I know, you won’t take all of the credit, but you should. Look what I was doing with my talents and potential before you.

Most of the stuff I cook comes on commissary. I think you can go to the TDCT website and see what they sell. The other things like seasonings and fresh herbs come from the kitchen or the gardens. The chicken breast comes in a pouch, the beef tips are also packaged.

Oh no, I didn’t mean for you to research the things I asked you about. Nooo, you do too much as it is, I just thought maybe you’d know about some of it. It was just stuff I came across in my reading, nothing important. Forgive me for sounding shallow, but I’m definitely not interested in the trans-sexual. (referring to Trinidad, Colorado)

Yes, your husband has lived the life of a captivating storyteller. Unfortunately I’ll one day have plenty of stories to tell about this place and the streets, but I’ll be creating new stories as well. Your husband is a great inspiration! I’ve not even begun to read his newest blog. I’m writing until I lay down to sleep so I can read, then perhaps dream of places my body has never been but my mind is free to explore.

A book I read and talked at length about was on how strict Hong Kong’s custom agents are. I can only imagine your panic and excitement. Yes you are lucky to have him and I’m sure he knows he’s lucky to have you. What you two have is something that is unheard of in the day and age, it’s beautiful really. Today’s society treats loyalty as if it were a sin. Loyalty is no ever expected in a marriage anymore, really, it’s sad. I wonder if I’ll ever marry again, or would I be better off single? I mean, I don’t want any of that trash! I want a woman who respects me, who shares some of my interests, who doesn’t need women and multiple men to keep her happy. Your relationship is inspiring, too.

Now, on to the blog content. Before I get into it all, forgive my spelling. I swear, as soon as possible, I’m going to buy a dictionary, a real dictionary. I asked my family for the New American Heritage Dictionary in 2007. Still waiting. And it only cost $4.99. So if you’d send me the info for Dell Books, I’ll order it myself. A lot of times, I won’t use a word I want to use because I’m unsure of the spelling. Going to buy a Thesaurus, too.

Okay, okay, content. Basically I just wrote from the heart, took a mood or feeling and ran with it. This is all so new and foreign. I wasn’t sure how long was too long and how short was too short, so I just used your husband’s as a sort of guideline. It’s just my thoughts, where they start and where they end. I’m sending a few.

Love,

February 23, 2011

“It’s really important that my kids…not just my kids, many people have a chance to see who I really am, beyond this stigma and my mistakes.”

10:38 p.m.

And here I was not expecting a letter from you until next week! What a pleasant surprise! Still, I find it hard to believe that it takes the mail seven days, especially when I sometimes get your letters in three days. Ah, but why dwell on the negative...I’m bless to have you in my life. The joy you brings makes many things seem like just mild annoyances.

You really are phenomenal! When you suggested using the letters, (for the blog) I don’t know, I kinda brushed the idea aside because the thought of my letters struck me as boring. Then I get your letter today and I see the genius in it. The whole idea, the way you broke it down, introduced it, the total package. I sat there reading my own words, captivated.

Thank you for the printouts. I love history when it’s rich and entertaining. About the books, usually they have to be sent from a bookstore of the company (they’re real picky). But I don’t know about your situation. After all you do publish books. I can’t be sure. I can only suggest calling here, trying to find someone competent enough to speak to and seeing what they say. Sorry. As much as I’d love to get books, I’d hate to have to send them back because people are so stupid. “Sure, cell phones are fine, but God forbid someone receive a book!” Idiots.

Do let me know what you need of me and I’ll do my best to make it happen. I’m still waiting to hear from my mom and my aunt. My feelings get hurt far too often by people I love. Sometimes it seems as though it would be easier to not even care. I am who I am though. Caring is in my character and it’s not like I’m wrong to want to be loved back, right?

Anyhow, I worked out hard today and my eyes are so heavy. Look forward to hearing from you next time!

Warmly,

BLOG   

The Wrong Man for the Job

I’m not adverse to proper.  Proper speech, proper posture, proper behavior… There’s a proper place and time for everything.  But sometimes, sometimes wrong just feels so right.

In this place, wrong spawns unchecked, destroying everything it touches like an evilly mutated curse of Midas.  And I try my damndest to steer clear of all sources and surfaces of debilitation. 

In this place, it is rare to encounter truly good people.  I don’t mean altar boys convicted of crimes they didn’t commit.  I’m talking about good people, folks with hearts of gold who made copper choices. 

Within these walls are Bible toting evangelists who’ll stab and push your spleen through your back.  Also dwelling within these walls are stone cold murderers, inked head to toe, whom command respect with bearing alone, who pray in secret—humbled by the forgiveness of a higher power, who will fight when threatened, give to the cold the shirt off their backs, and feed the hungry their last spoon of food.

The first man is a poseur, a fool foolishly attempting to fool He who cannot be fooled.  And the biggest fool of all is the fool that follows the fools, so I avoid those types.  The second man, the man you would no doubt label a “thug” on sight, is a man of virtue.  He is my peer, for it is my perception that the blind man who gains sight is of higher value than he who pretends to have sight, shouting directions into the crowd.  The blind leading the blind.

Yes, the repentant killer is who inspires hope in me, that one can sink so low and still rise up.  Kindred spirits, no?  Because of my past, I too will be labeled and stigmatized.  He and I though, with blueprints to build highrise positives and grand productivities, will cross the Statistic River, and transform from “niggas” to enigmas.  Go figure. 

What?  Are you offended?  Please.  Maybe my words are too strong to belong outside of a rap song.  Noo, sometimes wrong is right when wrong makes the statement right won’t make.

Forsake, shake and fake, you live like a fraud. While I keep it real, like I do with God.  By God, you are blushing, hushing my soul?  With the lie that you live and the lies that you’ve told?  That’s cold.

See, I’ve sold enough dope and I’ve shot enough guns, kissed the darkness then chose light for daughter and son.  No more rear view mirrors, no life on the run.  I know who I am now, who I hope to become.  Manifested through lessons of desperate and dumb, realize I’ll move mountains by flexing my thumb!  Not defiant, a GIANT, blessings add to my sum.  Hey, I once was a bird brain, pecking, chasing the crumbs, now awakened and breathing, I am “Jason the Lung.”

Refreshing.  Undressing the wolf in sheep’s wool.  Not worthless.  My purpose?  Divine’s mighty tool.  While you frown and you sneer “he’s all wrong, he don’t fit.”  Since we be’s speaking slang, you ain’t right about shit.

You’ve missed my whole meaning, with a message so strong!  If you’d open your eyes, you’d see right comes from wrong.  See, I’ve been where you’re headed, truth is, I wrote the book.  Went from child to buck wild, crazy crook to great cook.

Accused to accomplished, condemned to complete, use the doubters as steps to success from the streets.  And I wear my wounds proudly, my war cry, my song.  I’ve found me, raw and righteous, now who’s right and who’s wrong?

Joining, coming together, meeting of the minds, do you mind? Mind?  Mine.

Jason's excitement continues. He blogs in rap.

February 9, 2011

“ Most of my fights then and the few as an adult have been about standing up for someone who can’t.”

12:12 a.m.

As you can probably imagine, your husband’s letter “wowed” me! A pleasant wow though. Now, hours later, after writing him a book, I’m thanking you as well. Your vigilance and ability to write and write well not only keep me buoyant, but keeps me sharp. Not many people write, but those who do are educated. It makes a difference.

No, no access to a computer. No doubt, people would surf porn and a lot of escape routes. Texas is so prehistoric anyhow. The classes that have computers do not have internet access (some classes do, but the access is so limited, it’s anemic).

Right now I’m only taking American/Texas government. Not a class I’m interested in, but it’s valuable knowledge. There wasn’t money available for me to pay for another class. Ironically, my teacher instructs via satellite from the main college campus. Our notes come from her computer. I may be able to write her about it, but I can’t speak directly to her without my class and a few others hearing.

Yeah, the gals told me pretty good. Thank God everything is back to normal. I’ve increased the intensity of my daily workouts, nothing major though. Running something I plan to do out there as well. Every morning, run and start the day firing on all cylinders.

Happy to hear you’re back to work! You seem happier when busy. That’s a healthy mentality. Dealing with books, you are open to worlds of insight and possibilities, stories and histories. Sometimes it sounds like so much going on, you know? The children’s book sounds interesting. I loathe bullies. Most of my fights then and the few as an adult have been about standing up for someone who can’t.

The weather here has been dreadfully cold for about a week, warmed up, now they are expecting six inches of snow tonight. It’s chilly, but not cold like last week. It was so cold in this cell that I didn’t want to get from under the covers to pee. ): Glad at least ya’ll can be warm, safe and stationary. I worry so about the people I care about. My mom doesn’t understand that and goes for several weeks without letting me know that she’s okay. I thank you for the constant contact.

Again, your husband's blog was very informative and entertaining. I can see it all in my mind as I read. The pictures were great too! I really think the picture of you in front of Victoria Falls is wonderful! The pictures look like paintings.

Well, I’m going to write myself to sleep. Better put this out to be mailed. I’m very excited about all of this. I’ve been writing too, so don’t think I’m all talk. 

Always looking forward to your kind words! What a friendship. Who would have thought?

Sincerely,

February 14, 2011

“What you and your husband have given me is more than my passion to write back, ya’ll have given me purpose in a purposeless place, joy in the jungle of the jolted.”

9:19 a.m.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

Have I told you how special you are to me? “Wale lal Lady, if I ain’t, then perdon me….I’m long overdue.” Honest, you are very, very dear to me, so allow me to say I love you. No, no, no….don’t blush…no awkwardness…formal smormell. We are sooo far beyond “formal.” This is life, life demands passion, passion grows from seed of truth. My goal is not to offend, but simply pretend not to pretend. You have become as near and familiar as family. You are family. Geesh, he waited until my defenses were down…what can I say? I guess I’m easy. So when I close a letter, from time to time, “with love” know that it’s from the heart, no ulterior motives, no byproducts, no preservatives, just wholesome, old fashioned love.

I’ll gracefully accept you smiling, crying (touched tears), or doing a little dance, anything else would be uncivilized.

Obviously, you’ve noticed I’ve got my mojo back! How about roasted lemon pepper chicken to celebrate? And your very best bottle of Welch’s 2010 vintage sparking apple cider. I insist. You are the catalyst, largely responsible for today’s Jason. Call your husband in the room and ask him if he would give you a big thank you hug for me?

How are you? Hopefully you’re experiencing milder weather. It’s currently warm down here, but I’ve not paid the weather much attention, been in my own world, literally consumed by words, thoughts…this past week has been productive. I’m actually glad to be on lockdown. They bring my food (regardless of how awful it is). No need to dress, to interact. Read, work, think and if there’s time, eat, work out and bathe.

I’m nearly out of paper, no surprise. For the last several years, I’ve only needed paper for letters, a poem or rap here and there. Now, I must have written 30 pages, front to back, in the past six days! Writing until my hand hurts. What you and your husband have given me is more than my passion to write back, ya’ll have given me purpose in a purposeless place, joy in the jungle of the jolted. And as advised, I’m not writing with dollar signs dancing in my head, but you have my word, if any money is made, not matter how far down the line, regardless of how small the amount, I’m going to do something special for you.

My neighbors kept asking how I could be so lively on lockdown, then they just started to enjoy me. Without even knowing what’s going on, they all suddenly want to read what I’m writing. (I let two guys read my first two days of writing—seeking an opinion—and they told everybody that I was “BAD!”) That feels good, though. As I mentioned before, I need constant reassurance…well, no…I guess not. ): I used to…but now…I hadn’t paid much attention. Well, that’s cool! I’m sure of myself. Cool!

Before I forget (please don’t be upset?), do you remember sending me the pictures of crawfish, turtles, crocs and catfish? Okay, the guy I had drawing that stuff for me went to jail like eight months ago. Then when he got out, I couldn’t catch him to get the drawing and pictures from him. Then, he went to jail again. Whew! So I need more pictures, if you don’t mind, if you have time?

Blog:    The Wrong Man for the Job

I’m not adverse to proper.  Proper speech, proper posture, proper behavior… There’s a proper place and time for everything.  But sometimes, sometimes wrong just feels so right.

In this place, wrong spawns unchecked, destroying everything it touches like an evilly mutated curse of Midas.  And I try my damndest to steer clear of all sources and surfaces of debilitation. 

In this place, it is rare to encounter truly good people.  I don’t mean altar boys convicted of crimes they didn’t commit.  I’m talking about good people, folks with hearts of gold who made copper choices. 

Within these walls are Bible toting evangelists who’ll stab and push your spleen through your back.  Also dwelling within these walls are stone cold murderers, inked head to toe, whom command respect with bearing alone, who pray in secret—humbled by the forgiveness of a higher power, who will fight when threatened, give to the cold the shirt off their backs, and feed the hungry their last spoon of food.

The first man is a poseur, a fool foolishly attempting to fool He who cannot be fooled.  And the biggest fool of all is the fool that follows the fools, so I avoid those types.  The second man, the man you would no doubt label a “thug” on sight, is a man of virtue.  He is my peer, for it is my perception that the blind man who gains sight is of higher value than he who pretends to have sight, shouting directions into the crowd.  The blind leading the blind.

Yes, the repentant killer is who inspires hope in me, that one can sink so low and still rise up.  Kindred spirits, no?  Because of my past, I too will be labeled and stigmatized.  He and I though, with blueprints to build highrise positives and grand productivities, will cross the Statistic River, and transform from “niggas” to enigmas.  Go figure. 

What?  Are you offended?  Please.  Maybe my words are too strong to belong outside of a rap song.  Noo, sometimes wrong is right when wrong makes the statement right won’t make.

Forsake, shake and fake, you live like a fraud. While I keep it real, like I do with God.  By God, you are blushing, hushing my soul?  With the lie that you live and the lies that you’ve told?  That’s cold.

See, I’ve sold enough dope and I’ve shot enough guns, kissed the darkness then chose light for daughter and son.  No more rear view mirrors, no life on the run.  I know who I am now, who I hope to become.  Manifested through lessons of desperate and dumb, realize I’ll move mountains by flexing my thumb!  Not defiant, a GIANT, blessings add to my sum.  Hey, I once was a bird brain, pecking, chasing the crumbs, now awakened and breathing, I am “Jason the Lung.”

Refreshing.  Undressing the wolf in sheep’s wool.  Not worthless.  My purpose?  Divine’s mighty tool.  While you frown and you sneer “he’s all wrong, he don’t fit.”  Since we be’s speaking slang, you ain’t right about shit.

You’ve missed my whole meaning, with a message so strong!  If you’d open your eyes, you’d see right comes from wrong.  See, I’ve been where you’re headed, truth is, I wrote the book.  Went from child to buck wild, crazy crook to great cook.

Accused to accomplished, condemned to complete, use the doubters as steps to success from the streets.  And I wear my wounds proudly, my war cry, my song.  I’ve found me, raw and righteous, now who’s right and who’s wrong?

Joining, coming together, meeting of the minds, do you mind? Mind?  Mine.

Jason stays positive and writes to the Husband

February 7, 2011

“They did random drug test, and you can imagine the fuss that caused, probably because half of the cell block is dirty.”

11:11 a.m.

Hola! How do ya do? Great, I hope! You know I think about you all the time, but I’ve been waiting for a quiet moment to write so that I convey the true peace and love that occupy my heart.

The last days have been hectic, but classic prison life. Thursday evening, they locked us down for the weather. It snowed enough for there to be a blanket of white outside for two days, coldThen this bald headed communist dictator of a warden (he’s not who anyone thought he was) decided to go ahead and lock us down for three weeks. Seems like we’re always on lockdown because we are. This sadist robbed us of the Super Bowl, sent people to a commissary that had run out of soups, which are a staple. It’s all messed up around this place.  

Aha, but do not mourn for me my dear kind lady. 

Encouragement is more precious than pity, plus, you encourage with the best of them.

Honestly, I’m fine. No really. I’m fine. I mean, do to my enterprises, I’ve got food, there’s nothing that I’m in desperate need of. See, I know something they don’t know. I’m free! Yes, of course, my physical is confined, but my spirit, my mind, my heart are free. So while I may have my moments, there’s always the lingering feeling at the periphery, like a revelation, and it’s that un-caged bird, soaring high above this madness.

Their attempts at oppression only raise me that much higher than them. If narcissism is their legacy, what is it compared to what I’m destined for? With that knowledge, or foresight, it’s that much simpler for me to suppress what will reside in me.

Are you smiling? I hope you’re smiling.  Everyone was all defeated yesterday. I love football as much as the next man, but life goes on. I listened to it on the radio while I made some combination frittatas. Chicken breast, beef tips, rice, peppers, tortillas, sausage, a salsa I made of fresh onions, hot sauce, jalapenos and fresh cilantro with a pinch of lemon Koolaid. I grilled the meat, made a thin gravy, melted my cheese, browned my tortillas and enjoyed the taste of freedom.

And, I’m beginning to love clichés, because they are so appropriate. You know, “find the silver lining…” things are only as bad as you perceive.

Thank you for the Pro Bowl info. Can you believe I didn’t even watch the game? Yeah, too much ignorance in the dayroom for me.

In my reading (novels) I’ve come across some things of interest that you may be able to add upon. Trinidad? 1867 Denver? Apishapa Canyon, Arapahoe Indians? All of it was Greek to me and loosely connected to the stories, so not much info was given. I figure you could fill me in. Why? Curiosity. I’m one of those people who can be all snuggled in with a book and come across a word I don’t understand/

know, and although the context clues give an idea, I can’t read on without something definite. So, I’ll get up and go to the dictionary, then copy the definition so that I’ll know it the next time I come across it.

February 8, 2011

“It’s really important that my kids…not just my kids, many people, have a chance to see who I really am beyond this stigma and my mistakes .”

5:03 p.m.

Letter to the Husband

It hasn’t been 15 minutes since I received your letter and I’m excited, encouraged, gracious, overwhelmed and very optimistic! I know that your wife never prints her words that size, so I knew something was different. Then as I flew through the letter, soaring and growing giddy at the prospect and possibility of pursuing a dream, I had to stop and calm myself so I could write. How crazy would it be to get a letter from you encouraging me, offering your support, then I ramble and jump all over the place out of pure excitement?

My mind started darting off down several corridors. All of them with bright beautiful lights at the end, beckoning me forth. But unlike a near death experience, the lights are all leading me towards what’s to be sought in this life.

Of course, now that I’m focused with a single minded determination, all of my “peers”… er…um…fellow inmates are shouting like starving baboons. Ahh, but before I get carried away, allow me to respond to your words, then we’ll go from there.

Yes, I was shocked to hear from you. Not that I thought you incapable, I just grew accustomed to communicating through your wife.

Every year at Christmas, and several times at random, I think about how rude I was in response to that first Christmas card. Me and my demons. Anyhow, you guys were understanding enough to see beyond my defensiveness and here we are.

Really, you’d be surprised at how easy it is to survive in this madness. You say that you could never endure even one day of confinement, but my dear friend…what choice do you have? That’s what it all comes down to.

Forgive me if I insult you by thinking that we are alike, though I do. However, it seems to me that civilized educated people, people of integrity and decent moral standings are the ones that figure out how to make the system work in their favor. True, the ignorant and deprived thrive mainly because of the strength in numbers and the sense of community…also because never having anything/anyone that holds value makes it that much easier to continue without, and without expectations. Yet, the man who has had, who has, who will have, is eager to return that that cherished existence, and able to finesse their way along the fault lines. Comply, not conform, and never concede. My point, I would never wish it on you, but you are not a man who could be broken by even this environment.

It’s amazingly odd, perhaps unbelievable, but I cannot see my talent the way others can. Cooking, I know I can cook. Writing is different, though. It’s like I can see it and not see it, you know? My aunt tells me that I intimidate her because she’s a college graduate and a teacher, and wishes she could write like me.

The truth of it is, I see my talent through the eyes of others. A true artist, huh? I need the praise, in a sense, without it, I doubt myself. All in all, it comes from the heart. Passion is my gift and my curse. Do you follow?

Like, let’s say I prepare you and your wife a meal? Okay, you’ve got a wilted spinach salad with hot bacon chunks, seasoned crawfish tails, and a homemade French style dressing. Warm garlic bread. Steamed broccoli and baby carrots. Angel hair pasta in pesto sauce topped with sautéed butterfly shrimp, served with a chilled white wine. Despite the pleasure I’ll take in preparing the meal, your enjoyment is the ultimate reward.

Writing is the same way for me. It’s initially for me (therapeutic). Then the act of planting the seed, watering, pruning and loving the sprout, sapling, then tree… Sure, the apples taste good, so why not share? You enjoying the apples makes me love and appreciate the tree more.

Sure, we could dress it up and say that I just have a giving heart. Mmm…yeah. I do. Still, we all want to be loved and appreciated. Bottom line.

You produce/publish books. Now, they bring income, but is that enough? Could you stand for a customer to purchase a book from you, then contact you to tell you how awful the book was? Of course, not. You want people to not only do business with you, but to be satisfied and think highly of you.

Plus, I’ve got a lot to prove to the world/myself!

From a young age (prior to pre-K) I could read. It’s easy to love the art form of expression. As a result, I grew up with a love to read and write. In elementary, I did plays, poems, all sorts of presentations all through school, although I never really applied myself except for rapping.

Rap was always easy, the words were just there. Others pushed, urged. Again, I never really gave my all. So much has been taken for granted in this lifetime….now’s my chance to surge forward with no fear of failure, an uncanny sense of confidence and the freedom that comes with pursuing a passion.

You write in a very concise, reader friendly manner that allows the reader to go where you’ve gone, see what you see, walk in your footsteps. In a sense, your writing is, I think, responsible for re-awakening my desire. Thank you!

Man, I can totally relate to your accounts of growing up. (Not the South African part!) My English teachers always singled me out, were harder on me, less tolerant. As a child, you don’t realize why. My mom would grill me on my writing assignments. By the time I was eight, I’d learned that it was easier to just look a word up than to ask her what it meant.

She would refuse to tell, and instead send us to the dictionaries, thesaurus and encyclopedias. Then demand that the definition be written out and used in a sentence. Many days my brother and I would stalk by her, eyes out, mumbling complaints on our way to one of the bookshelves to look a word up. It’s funny now, it wasn’t then.

Any paper written at home had to be checked. Mom was then a travel agent at Stone and Webster Engineering. She had pens and hi-lighters of all colors. Our papers got butchered, bled through with red, suggested in blue, hi-lighted in pink and yellow. You can imagine me snatching my (final copy!) from the table in front of her, furious at the corrections ruining my paper, causing me to stay up another hour rewriting. No exaggerating, some mornings I’d only get to bed at 4:00 a.m., hands hurt and ink smeared, but proud of my paper. Her mantra, “Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, son. Now, get it right!”

Fortunately, my papers took enough abuse at home and needed no more from the teacher. If and when a teacher did mark one of my paper, it made me furious. Most of my problem was spelling and hand writing, as it still is. But the positive comments made it all worthwhile and I often had to read my papers in front of the class.

High school in this country is pitiful. It’s like a holding facility. Not much is learned beyond middle school. Athletes are passed, cheating is rampant and the teachers are so underpaid that they don’t care. Then you get to college and know nothing. Believe it or not, many of these guys in here have graduated from high school and can’t put a decent paragraph together. My generation is dominated by slang and text.

The blogs are awesome! Really. Do you get “hits?” It seems that many people would take interest. Do you make an outline or just kind of go with the flow? I’m very curious. In the novels I’ve written, I’ve not done an outline, but somehow keep it together.

Ha! That’s so true, what you said about how “stars” can write any random garbage and become a best seller. It’s really important that my kids…not just my kids, many people, have a chance to see who I really am beyond this stigma and my mistakes. I agree with you and assure you, it’s not about the money or notoriety. If that stuff comes, great, but first it’s about the therapy. Most stuff I write ends up on a shelf, unread, forgotten.

I had no idea your wife kept all my letters. Wow! I try to keep all of hers and for a while I did. But these slave drivers only allow us to have a certain amount of property. (Fire hazard nonsense. How do you start a serious fire in a place constructed totally of stone and iron?) Anyhow, that bundle had grown very large before they made me purge it. I keep all cards and pictures and especially letters that are inspiring. My “keepers” do not understand or care about sentimental value. 

Web log, huh? Makes sense. Because it definitely didn’t before that. It all sounds very fascinating. My mom used to design or build HTMLs, but I never really paid attention. I assume, the account would be like setting up a Yahoo or Hotmail account? Happy belated birthday! Sounds like the web book was the perfect gift.

I really don’t know what to say…thank you! I didn’t imagine that it would play out like this, with the support and encouragement. You seem as eager as me, which is great! This is all so very new and exciting!

Honestly, I really have to give it all a great deal of thought. It’s important that I do my best. As of now, I have some family email addresses and I’ll get more. The family is supportive to an extent. They all claim to be busy and wish I was online. How about that?

We aren’t going to tip our hat, though. I’ll simply gather email addresses. It’ll feel good to shock them into paying attention. I’m so grateful to you guys! This is more of a blessing than you realize. Really, there are not nearly enough ways for me to thank you. All I was expecting was info and suggestions. This blows my mind!

Answering some of your questions:

I do not object to using the content of my letters. Hopefully I’ve been very honest, I know I’ve been sincere. And if I didn’t tell all of something, it was possibly about two years ago, before there was the bond and trust. Beyond that, you’ve gotten me for me.

The running, jogging, working out help me in every way imaginable. As you say, it’s a great stress reliever. I did too much too soon. I’m fine now though. Running is something I look forward to in the world, waking at 4:30 a.m. and running the sun up!

Not surprised that you also love To Kill a Mockingbird. A Painted House will be something fresh in comparison to Grisham’s other works. Did A Boy’s Life take you back to a familiar time and place?

My aunt tried to make me read about Mandela when I was younger. I simply didn’t read the books because she suggested them. In retrospect though, I think I will try to get a copy of those books. You are right, what he did is something extremely worth aspiring to. I have not read much non-fiction lately, trying to escape my “now” through mysteries, dragons and other mystical creatures. Lately, well very recently, the quest for knowledge has been a flame within me. Glad to have a credible reference list.

Lord of the Rings is one of those books (series) that one can never read too many times. I loved it! The movie was great too. Unfortunately, I’ve never come upon the early Harry Potter books. I read five and six though and enjoyed them thoroughly. Last year I got caught up in reading the Sword of Truth series (Legend of the Seeker). The first five…three books were great! The main characters never get a break though, and that irritated me. I get emotionally invested in some characters. I refused to read 12 books where the people I’m pulling for never get a moment of happiness. Dean Koontz rules!

You have my word. My words are on the way. Give me a few days to sort everything out in the kaleidoscope that is my mind right now. And again, thank you! Whatever info/help/suggestions as far as formats or anything are welcome and requested.

Sincerest gratitude,

Blog  - To Have Loved…

There’s a song (R&B) in heavy rotation right now, in which the man sings, “Sometimes I cry, Baby….”  Basically, it’s a song about lost love that still lives.  The artist has moved on, his old love has moved on, they’re both happy, but not quite.  Personally, I like the song, probably because I can relate.

A guy who lives upstairs from me and a few cells over, was playing the song on his homemade/prison-made speaker.  I’d put my book down, closed my eyes, and was singing along with perhaps too much emotion and a chest full of nostalgia, when my soulful reminiscence was derailed by the prescribed enmity of prison. 

“Man, cut that bullshit off!” shouted my neighbor, one of the many teeming, slithering and boisterous minions of the loathsomeness.  “Real men don’t cry!  I ain’t never cried behind no bitch ass piece of pussy!  Cry when I die!”

Downward, down, down spiraling wildly in a frantic tailspin, I dropped from the clouds high in my mind where memories of her soar.  Down, down through the brittle earth and right back into the bowels of hell.  Prison just  won’t relinquish its hold on me, letting me know, constantly reminding me that no matter how far above my mind and heart go, I am, for the interim confined to this…place…this trap.

Immediately, I was upset and saddened.  Upset because, once again, negativity had thoroughly disturbed my groove, invaded my sacred memories of her, of us, with something so foul and unworthy.  Saddened, because this man, this gargoyle of hatred either is ashamed of being a man with feelings, or (Lord forbid) he has never been in love.

Ouch!  If the latter, how horrible for any person to go through life, to have had children, witnessed… 

experienced beauty, lived and never loved…never lived.

To have been in love is to have been hurt.  After the day there is night.  Sunshine follows rain.  These things go hand in hand.  If I could have the love without risk of pain, great, yet unrealistic.  But love is so powerful, so consuming, all encompassing, captivating and blissful that we throw caution to the wind and embrace the turmoil that may accompany or follow, for just a moment in Eden.  Perhaps the exception, I am delighted by the peacefulness of the night, refreshed by the cool cleansing of the rain, just as I enjoy their counterparts.  Do I also enjoy the pain of love lost and gone astray?  No.  However, I accept it as part of the deal.  Does one not love their gorgeous and kind spouse because they may snore when exhausted?  Ah, so you get my point.

This too, is the point being made in the song I spoke of earlier.  Love is not guaranteed to keep two people physically united forever.  But the true, deep ever-reaching love of soulmates, regardless of the outcome of the relationship, ties us to those people for eternity, spiritually.

Yeah, I’ve loved, been in love since then, since her, married even, and though it (each relationship) was good in its own way, it was never that cherished connection of souls that she and I shared.  So yes, sometimes I cry, not tangible tears, but weeping of the heart.  That’s not an issue of “man” or “real men,” it’s an issue of life.

If money is the root of all evil, then love is the fruit beared by the graceful, heaven bound tree at the opposite end of the garden.  The seeds can be deathly bitter, but if you’re careful to avoid the seeds, the flesh of this fruit (when ripe) is as sweet and exquisite as anything you’ll ever taste.  Maybe, you too will cry?  If so, I pray that they are tears of joy.  Regardless, when you find the fruit of love in season, enjoy it, savor it, share it with someone dear to you and let the seeds fall to the soil to sprout when it rains.  And it will rain.