Being forced to stay home day after day can easily drive a person crazy if you don't have some sort of creative outlet. If you do happen to be a creative person, this forced isolation can actually be viewed in a good light because it's giving you time to create -- paintings, poems, photography with your pets as your subjects, music, sculptures, wood carvings, model car kits that have been just waiting for you to have the time to make them, and so much more.
For me, it's writing and cross-stitching, but mainly the writing. Writing is my creative passion, so I'm taking advantage of this time to write a new novel. The first draft is coming along nicely, much more nicely than if I'd attempted to start it while also going to school each day to teach seven classes and direct a play in the evenings. Writing something lengthy takes time and committed focus, two things I rarely have with a full-time job. Yes, yes, I know I have summers off as a teacher, but even then there are so many other distractions and responsibilities that I never have had the time I do right now to just write. Every single morning, I write. I plan to keep doing that as long as this isolation period is forced upon us in the hopes that, by the end of it, I'll have a solid and complete first draft.
Now, let's get back to the jail comparison. In jail, a person usually has a lot of spare time that he or she can choose to use productively or to squander in wasteful ways. A number of men at the Yankton Federal Prison Camp choose to use that time in a productive way, and they take part in a creative writing workshop and publishing course led by Jim Reese, an associate professor at Mount Marty College in Yankton, South Dakota.
For almost thirteen years, once a week, Reese teaches the writing course to inmates. Not only do the men write stories and poems, they also publish them in their own literary journal called "4 P.M. Count," a prison term that refers to the roll call that takes place every afternoon to account for each inmate. The journal is available online to read or you can get a print copy, too. Both versions are available through Reese's author page at 4PM Count or by visiting jimreese.org.
Reese's motivation for teaching writing to prison inmates is to make them better people for when they re-enter society. The inmates at the Yankton Federal Prison Camp are not serving life sentences; writing gives them an outlet and a chance to learn while they are serving their time, so when they are released, the chances of them succeeding in the world go up.
As Reese says on his website: "As a taxpayer, I know I don’t want to pay money just to lock someone up. I would hope incarceration is teaching these men something. Is just locking someone up doing that? Statistics say no. Statistics say two-thirds of men will reoffend within three years, unless they receive some education and/or vocational training. If those services are utilized, recidivism rates go down. . . . You can lock a person up and let him out after so long. Maybe during his incarceration you teach him a trade— that’s great. What you also have to do is help him tap into the emotional instabilities that brought him to prison in the first place. Writing, art, and more importantly, education in corrections helps open that door. If a person never comes to terms with himself, one more angry person will be released back into society."
I've really enjoyed reading the online 2019 edition of "4 P.M. Count." In it, I've read stories about surfboarding, tattoos, jumping from up high into a river, the prison dog program (which is another very beneficial skill-creating avenue for the prisoners), a great satirical piece called "How to Be Cool," contributions by visiting authors who have attended the workshop, and there are also poems and fiction stories in the journal, too.
Not only is Reese the director of this program and a college professor, he is also a writer. His essay collection called "Bone Chalk" was recently published by Stephen F. Austin State University Press. Here is the column I wrote about it in the Norfolk Daily News:
Growing up in the 1970s, one of my
favorite things to do was to go roller-skating every Saturday afternoon. The
rink would be packed with kids, great music would be playing, the disco ball
would throw lights for us to follow across the floor, I’d fall down trying to
do the limbo, my friends and I would slingshot each other across the rink –
those were great times. I was reminded of my roller-skating days when I read “Little
Red Love Machine,” an essay in Jim Reese’s new collection called Bone Chalk.
Reese grew up in Omaha, learned a
lot under the guise of Willy the Wildcat while attending Wayne State College,
and now lives in Yankton where he teaches creative writing to college students
at Mount Marty as well as to inmates in the Yankton Federal Prison Camp. Due to
his extensive experience with creative writing, editing, and publishing, Bone
Chalk is well-written, well-organized, and well worth the read.
It’s a collection of essays in which
every Nebraskan can see himself or herself. Not only could I relate to the
essay about Reese’s time at a place called Skateworld, but I also related to
his mention of red beer (I love the stuff!), round bales (my favorite Nebraska
landscape is a field full of large, round bales, and I have many photos to
prove that), minimum maintenance roads (if you grew up in the 80s, you partied
on a few of those), auctions (my parents are addicted), ring-neck pheasants (so
pretty, but sadly I hit one last year and caused 2,000 dollars’ worth of damage
to my car), and so many other things. The book is a paean to what it means to
be a Nebraskan, or even a Midwesterner.
At one point, Reese writes about how
his mother-in-law would pack a “bag of sliced ham on cocktail buns spread with
butter and real mayonnaise” for any road trip. That really hit home for me
because I remember my mother doing the same thing when we’d go on vacation. For
one, money was tight, and for another, convenience stores were not the regular occurrence
they are now. I suspect that many Nebraska adults can recall similar road trips
with a container in the back of the station wagon filled with all the food a
family could possibly need to eat while driving across the state.
Reese’s antics as Willy the Wildcat
are especially fun to read. He’d even attend parties dressed as the mascot! “Every
Saturday night was trick or treat for Willy – I was on the prowl.” Naturally,
as a young college student, Reese did some silly things, but he learned from
them, and that’s the point. “I suppose looking back on it all now, it’s a bit
comical. . . . By putting on my mask, I truly believed I was transforming into
the character I always believed I should be.”
There’s a lot of fun in Reese’s
essays, but there’s also a lot of wisdom – wisdom gained from making mistakes, from
witnessing the bad and the good in people, and simply from living in the
Midwest. If you’re a proud Nebraskan, find a copy of Bone Chalk, and I guarantee
you’ll find yourself in at least one of its essays.
No matter how you get through this crazy coronavirus time, I sincerely hope you use some of it in your own creative pursuits. I also hope you take some time to read Bone Chalk and "4 P.M. Count."
