Shaun Attwood, Waterstone's Manchester Trafford Centre
The New Year (by Lifer Renee)
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
So much happened in the last year, I feel as though I just stand still and watch the chaos around me.
I spent New Year’s Day switching bunks with my current roommate. I have been on a lower bunk – well, I can not count the years – for a while. The change was needed for me. We started around 8am, and it was an all-day event because everything was flipped. I do feel a little more settled.
The weather has changed drastically. It rained for a full day and a half. Then it was a full day of bone-chilling wind. For the last three days, I went outside, and there has been ice on the ground. These conditions make me seclude myself inside my room. It was actually a nice break as the waves of negativity around here never stop when you are among the prison population.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog.
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
So much happened in the last year, I feel as though I just stand still and watch the chaos around me.
I spent New Year’s Day switching bunks with my current roommate. I have been on a lower bunk – well, I can not count the years – for a while. The change was needed for me. We started around 8am, and it was an all-day event because everything was flipped. I do feel a little more settled.
The weather has changed drastically. It rained for a full day and a half. Then it was a full day of bone-chilling wind. For the last three days, I went outside, and there has been ice on the ground. These conditions make me seclude myself inside my room. It was actually a nice break as the waves of negativity around here never stop when you are among the prison population.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog.
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Interview at Berhamsted School
After my talk at Berkhamsted School yesterday, I was interviewed by Sacha van Straten. Here's a link to the interview:
Shaun Attwood - author of Jon's Jail Journal ipadio Talk to your World
After my talk at Berkhamsted School yesterday, I was interviewed by Sacha van Straten. Here's a link to the interview:
Shaun Attwood - author of Jon's Jail Journal ipadio Talk to your World
Wild Man - My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He looked out for me in Arpaio’s jail after we were arrested, and is one of the main characters in Hard Time.
In prison, the inmates separate themselves racially. Each race has a leader called the head. Under the head are torpedoes – inmates who will smash someone for the head of the race no questions asked. Due to his fighting skills, Wild Man was crowned the head of the whites several times. In this blog, Wild Man and I discuss what is expected of the head.
“I know that the head of the race briefs the newcomers, the fish,” I said. “He helps indigent inmates get stuff like hygiene supplies, stamps and writing paper. He handles situations with the other races to try to prevent race riots. What other duties are there?”
“The head has to make sure all of the guys under 35 go and work out,” Wild Man said.
“Mandatory rec,” I said, referring to recreation.
“Yes. The reason is that if anything jumps off like a race riot, you need your youngsters and torpedoes healthy, so they can fight. We even did strong-man competitions with the other races. The heads will get together and throw a $100 of store in for the winner. You’ve got to give the youngsters incentives because if they want to rebel and they do, they can easily smash the older guys. I had six dorms in one of my buildings. In each dorm, I had a dorm head. I had to smack one of them in the face for disrespecting one of his youngsters. I was sat there talking to the dorm head, and he said to the youngster, ‘Hey, fucker, you haven’t even cleaned my floor yet!’ I thought, I’m just gonna ignore this as he’s trying to impress me. Then, as the youngster went past, the dorm head said, ‘Hey, I told you once. Get my fucking floor fucking polished.’ I said to the dorm head, ‘Are you paying him to do that, mate?’ He said, ‘No,’ so I stood up, smacked him, and said, ‘Who the fuck are you, mama’s boy?’ You have to pay the youngsters and give them incentives. You don’t treat them like shit like that. That annoyed me. If your youngsters behave bad, then you have to discipline them. Nine times out of ten, I wouldn’t punch them, I’d open-palm them, which would knock them on their arses anyway. I hated having to do that, but I’d give them enough warnings. You can’t start looking weak or else the old-timers will pull you to one side, and give you stories about what happened to so and so in The Walls who lost control of the youngsters, and ended up getting his throat slit.”
“What else does the head do?” I asked.
“If one of the guards is disrespectful to one of the races, then the head of that race is supposed to stand up, not in an aggressive manner, but to explain to the guards why it is disrespectful.”
“How would he go about that?” I asked.
“Nine times out of ten he would go and see the counsellor and say to the counsellor, ‘Look, shits about to hit the fan ’cause of this guard,’ and explain the reason why. The counsellor will go to the duty sergeant, and the sergeant, nine times out of ten, will pull the guard up. Also, the heads of all the races at some of the yards I was at would have a meeting with the captain every week. They’d sit down and have coffee, and discuss whether the yard was running smoothly or what the problems are. The captains aren’t stupid. The captain might say, ‘Such and such is obviously doing drugs. Tell him to keep it down,’ and it’ll come downhill then. The guards know all of the drug stuff that’s going on. They just don’t want it in their faces ’cause that’s disrespecting them.”
Click here for Wild Man's previous blog
The above photo of Wild Man is a response to all of the emails I've been getting from people who've read Hard Time, and said that Wild Man looks too nice in the photo in Hard Time to have committed the acts I've described in the book. To gauge his size, bear in mind that the jail outfit he is wearing is a 5XL. Some of you may also want to start bracing yourselves for Wild Man's antics in the prequel to Hard Time.
From Polish Avenger (Letter 3)
Polish Avenger - A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.
We nearly lost Jack a while back due to lupus. He’s gaining strength, but still mostly in a wheelchair. Poor bugger. I suggested he demand Buddhist Sky Burial when the time comes. That’ll make the Arizona Department of Corrections have a fit!
I think your repeated attempts to get Hard Time in here are a lost cause. I never ever even knew it had arrived and been sent back. They are supposed to send us a notice, but I suspect that it’s so controversial (i.e. truthful) that the staff just quietly fired it back. Blighters! Ah well, come 2015, I’ll be able to read it on the outside, dammit, so I’ll wait for that. Hell, by then I should be able to just download it to my iPod Mark 7. :)
Making that float was insane, and also the most hours I’ve put into anything in years. One Saturday was kick ass, as we rigged up the stereo and had The Prodigy blasting away.
Click here for Shit Slingers V.
Click here for Letter 2 from Polish Avenger.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for Polish Avenger below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Polish Avenger - A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.
We nearly lost Jack a while back due to lupus. He’s gaining strength, but still mostly in a wheelchair. Poor bugger. I suggested he demand Buddhist Sky Burial when the time comes. That’ll make the Arizona Department of Corrections have a fit!
I think your repeated attempts to get Hard Time in here are a lost cause. I never ever even knew it had arrived and been sent back. They are supposed to send us a notice, but I suspect that it’s so controversial (i.e. truthful) that the staff just quietly fired it back. Blighters! Ah well, come 2015, I’ll be able to read it on the outside, dammit, so I’ll wait for that. Hell, by then I should be able to just download it to my iPod Mark 7. :)
Making that float was insane, and also the most hours I’ve put into anything in years. One Saturday was kick ass, as we rigged up the stereo and had The Prodigy blasting away.
Click here for Shit Slingers V.
Click here for Letter 2 from Polish Avenger.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for Polish Avenger below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Family Sues For $3million Over Death of Inmate
At Tucson prison - where I once resided - a mentally-ill inmate, Tony Lester, had just come off suicide watch when he was given access to a razor blade in a hygiene kit. He slit his throat and fell onto the floor. The guards responded. Shocked by the amount of blood, they did nothing to save his life. They just watched him bleed to death. The guards have since cited their lack of medical training and fear that Anthony had a weapon for not trying to stop the bleeding.
At Tucson prison - where I once resided - a mentally-ill inmate, Tony Lester, had just come off suicide watch when he was given access to a razor blade in a hygiene kit. He slit his throat and fell onto the floor. The guards responded. Shocked by the amount of blood, they did nothing to save his life. They just watched him bleed to death. The guards have since cited their lack of medical training and fear that Anthony had a weapon for not trying to stop the bleeding.
Adobe Mountain (by Guest Blogger Big Jason)
Big Jason was incarcerated as a youth in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Durango jail and the Arizona Department of Corrections Adobe Mountain juvenile facility for assault, attempted burglary, and violation of probation.
Visitation was about to end and by now most of the parents had left for the night, leaving a few scattered groups of incarcerated youth at tables looking bored. With my belly full from Tom's barbecue and my mind in a good place from a satisfying visit, I waved my parents goodbye and sat back down to await the corrections officers’ orders.
A friend of mine who had been sitting close to us was acting kind of weird. He motioned for me to get closer, and told me that his mom had left him some cigarettes, but he didnt know how to get them back to our unit. I told him I couldn't help because I had no way to get them back either.
“Line up for count!” a guard yelled.
We formed a single file down the hallway from the visitation room.
“Strip down, clothes in front. You know the routine, ladies.” We were young men and some boys, but they loved to humiliate us and bust our balls.
By now I was wondering how soon it would be before they found the tobacco contraband and locked us down.
“Bend over and spread your cheeks,” was barked at us by the head CO, a portly man with grizzled hair and an attitude to match.
Reluctantly, we complied and continued the routine under their gazing eyes. Having finished the strip search, the CO's marched us back to our units and went about business as usual, or so I thought.
An hour or so went by and I saw the CO's drive up to the unit, headlights blaring against the dark contrast of the desert.
It’s on now, I thought.
They came in and started asking people who had been at Visitation. They reached my cell, and one said, “Roll up. Let’s go. We know it was you.”
I pleaded that the cigarettes weren’t mine, but it fell on deaf ears. Before I could really mount any verbal defense, I was cuffed and on the back of an electric cart that headed to the isolation unit known as GOLF. This place consisted of a security shack, dungeon-like cells (with more bugs than the Starship Troopers trilogy), mucous and semen covered the walls and ceiling, globs of which had formed geological shapes from hardening halfway through a slow hang. Once again I was asked to “Strip down and spread ’em,” and issued a jumpsuit and flop flops.
The cell they escorted me to was the worst on the line. It was the rear cell that never got cleaned, no light, just filth. You passed the time by trying to stay curled up in a ball to prevent the hordes of translucent bugs and other assortment of crawlies from making a home on your person. If you were lucky, you might get a bible or some old-school “Murf the Surf” story to read once the shift change happened.
Again I tried to explain to the guards that I was not responsible and the cigarettes weren’t mine. I was told by a guard named C.O. Archibald that I was a bad liar as he slammed the cell door in my face.
An hour or so had passed when the second guy in charge of the whole institution under Phil Anderson showed up and began to ask me questions about Visitation, reiterating the fact that none of them believed me and that I was in big trouble. He didn't want to hear any excuses. I was guilty and that was that.
A day and some hours passed without any more questioning or talks. I was released back to my unit. Now with a loss of privileges and level deduction over this incident. I was ready to kick some ass and deal with some punks who sent the guards my way.
It didn't take long before I realized that the so-called friend I had was to blame. He had already transferred to a different unit to avoid the smashing he would have received from me had he been there. No staff or CO's ever mentioned this to me again. Visits resumed as normal, and I never saw that kid again for the remainder of my incarceration.
So many crazy things went on at Adobe Mountain in those days (1989-91) that it became national news and brought forth many changes in the programs and staff at Adobe. But I found out later that the same abuses are still happening as exposed in many Phoenix New Times articles.
I look forward to sharing some of what happened in those times with you. Hope you guys enjoy reading them as I enjoy sharing them.
Big Jason
As this is Big Jason’s first guest post at Jon’s Jail Journal, your comments are appreciated.
Click here for the previous guest blog.
Big Jason was incarcerated as a youth in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Durango jail and the Arizona Department of Corrections Adobe Mountain juvenile facility for assault, attempted burglary, and violation of probation.
Visitation was about to end and by now most of the parents had left for the night, leaving a few scattered groups of incarcerated youth at tables looking bored. With my belly full from Tom's barbecue and my mind in a good place from a satisfying visit, I waved my parents goodbye and sat back down to await the corrections officers’ orders.
A friend of mine who had been sitting close to us was acting kind of weird. He motioned for me to get closer, and told me that his mom had left him some cigarettes, but he didnt know how to get them back to our unit. I told him I couldn't help because I had no way to get them back either.
“Line up for count!” a guard yelled.
We formed a single file down the hallway from the visitation room.
“Strip down, clothes in front. You know the routine, ladies.” We were young men and some boys, but they loved to humiliate us and bust our balls.
By now I was wondering how soon it would be before they found the tobacco contraband and locked us down.
“Bend over and spread your cheeks,” was barked at us by the head CO, a portly man with grizzled hair and an attitude to match.
Reluctantly, we complied and continued the routine under their gazing eyes. Having finished the strip search, the CO's marched us back to our units and went about business as usual, or so I thought.
An hour or so went by and I saw the CO's drive up to the unit, headlights blaring against the dark contrast of the desert.
It’s on now, I thought.
They came in and started asking people who had been at Visitation. They reached my cell, and one said, “Roll up. Let’s go. We know it was you.”
I pleaded that the cigarettes weren’t mine, but it fell on deaf ears. Before I could really mount any verbal defense, I was cuffed and on the back of an electric cart that headed to the isolation unit known as GOLF. This place consisted of a security shack, dungeon-like cells (with more bugs than the Starship Troopers trilogy), mucous and semen covered the walls and ceiling, globs of which had formed geological shapes from hardening halfway through a slow hang. Once again I was asked to “Strip down and spread ’em,” and issued a jumpsuit and flop flops.
The cell they escorted me to was the worst on the line. It was the rear cell that never got cleaned, no light, just filth. You passed the time by trying to stay curled up in a ball to prevent the hordes of translucent bugs and other assortment of crawlies from making a home on your person. If you were lucky, you might get a bible or some old-school “Murf the Surf” story to read once the shift change happened.
Again I tried to explain to the guards that I was not responsible and the cigarettes weren’t mine. I was told by a guard named C.O. Archibald that I was a bad liar as he slammed the cell door in my face.
An hour or so had passed when the second guy in charge of the whole institution under Phil Anderson showed up and began to ask me questions about Visitation, reiterating the fact that none of them believed me and that I was in big trouble. He didn't want to hear any excuses. I was guilty and that was that.
A day and some hours passed without any more questioning or talks. I was released back to my unit. Now with a loss of privileges and level deduction over this incident. I was ready to kick some ass and deal with some punks who sent the guards my way.
It didn't take long before I realized that the so-called friend I had was to blame. He had already transferred to a different unit to avoid the smashing he would have received from me had he been there. No staff or CO's ever mentioned this to me again. Visits resumed as normal, and I never saw that kid again for the remainder of my incarceration.
So many crazy things went on at Adobe Mountain in those days (1989-91) that it became national news and brought forth many changes in the programs and staff at Adobe. But I found out later that the same abuses are still happening as exposed in many Phoenix New Times articles.
I look forward to sharing some of what happened in those times with you. Hope you guys enjoy reading them as I enjoy sharing them.
Big Jason
As this is Big Jason’s first guest post at Jon’s Jail Journal, your comments are appreciated.
Click here for the previous guest blog.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio Tortures Inmates with Endless Xmas Elvis Tunes (by Long Island)
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
Guess what Arpaio is doing to us now and has been doing throughout the month of December? He shut off every TV in every pod and pumped in Elvis Presley’s Christmas music over and over, starting at 6am and ending at 10pm. It’s the same songs over and over and at top volume all day long. It’s absolutely maddening. I feel like I’m at Gitmo getting interrogated by the C.I.A.
Arpaio often claims to have personally arrested Elvis: “My best arrest was Elvis Presley, but I let him go. I took him down to the police station. I guess he conned me out of giving him a ticket. That was in 1957.” Asked if Elvis gave him tickets to his Las Vegas show, Arpaio said, "No, but he gave ten Cadillacs to narcotics detectives around the country, but I never got one."
The website Overthrow Arpaio states that such claims by Arpaio “suggest a serious mental problem.”
Happy New Year Everyone!
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
Guess what Arpaio is doing to us now and has been doing throughout the month of December? He shut off every TV in every pod and pumped in Elvis Presley’s Christmas music over and over, starting at 6am and ending at 10pm. It’s the same songs over and over and at top volume all day long. It’s absolutely maddening. I feel like I’m at Gitmo getting interrogated by the C.I.A.
Arpaio often claims to have personally arrested Elvis: “My best arrest was Elvis Presley, but I let him go. I took him down to the police station. I guess he conned me out of giving him a ticket. That was in 1957.” Asked if Elvis gave him tickets to his Las Vegas show, Arpaio said, "No, but he gave ten Cadillacs to narcotics detectives around the country, but I never got one."
The website Overthrow Arpaio states that such claims by Arpaio “suggest a serious mental problem.”
Happy New Year Everyone!
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.
I must extend an apology to everyone for the length of time it’s taken since the last post. I was called away on company business – ha! My day job here is that of secretary at our onsite construction school. Our warden strolled in one day and informed us that we had exactly three weeks to construct a float for the big Veteran’s Day parade in downtown Phoenix, Arizona. A float huge enough to hold ten people. From scratch.
What’s more, this couldn’t be just some token slap-together junk wagon, no, they expected quality.
Ulp! No pressure, eh? Not to mention that our collective parade-float-building experience was precisely zilch. Well, time to learn, yes?
A local credit union sponsored the raw materials: great 12 foot (4m) blocks of Styrofoam and assorted carving tools. Being a fine art painter by trade, I figured sculpture would be easy. Just channel your inner Greek marble mason and away you go!
I was wrong. So very, very wrong. Ten hours later, I was stood in a small mountain of Styrofoam particles. The stuff gets everywhere – it’s horrible! My masterpiece WWII soldier resembled…a crippled chicken. It was madness! The more I carved, the worse it got. The other fellows were having great success, so I finally had to acknowledge the inevitable, inescapable, irremediable conclusion: I suck at this.
Thankfully there were plenty of things to paint. Leaving that godforsaken uncooperative Styrofoam to more capable hands, I unpacked the lovely little paint gun they sent us. I caressed its stainless-steel curves as if it were a naked woman. I really love to paint! Before long, I was engaged in the fine ballet of air hose and spray gun, clothes splattered, hands dripping primer, at one with the universe and never happier.
We were cleared to work 14-hour shifts until the deadline. The instant coffee and hand-rolled cigarettes and sugary pastries came out, and we put the convict machinery into top gear.
Seventeen of us put in 196 hours each, for a total of some 3,300 man-hours. The float was spectacular. The Director of the Arizona Department of Corrections himself rode on it, and remarked to news cameras that it was a work of art.
I had to agree.
And so did the judges, as we won best in category.
The warden brought the trophy down, so we could all take a group photo with it. I for one felt privileged that time and circumstances had allowed me to participate in such an excellent tribute.
Now we’re converting it into a Christmas float by adding a Styrofoam Santa and 4000 colored lights to be used in the 2010 Fiesta of Lights Electric Light Parade.
And so that’s why there haven’t been many posts from me recently. But never fear, good readers, our float orgy is nearly complete and I have many more tales of Magnum and other demented misfits to share in 2011.
Happy holidays to all!
Previous Xmas Posts:
2009 in Germany
2008 Xmas Holidays in a Women’s Prison
2007 in England shortly after my release
My release December 2007 part 1
My release December 2007 part 2
2006 Xmas with Two Tonys
2006 Xmas Day Blog
2005 Xmas visits from my parents
A Christmas Eve poem from an anonymous inmate
Merry Xmas Everyone! Thanks for supporting Jon's Jail Journal and our friends inside!
Battle of the Waterstone's
Mum and I arrived at Wigan hoping to beat the sales record set in Warrington. It didn’t look likely at first as we were told that the store would be so busy, there was no room for a table to sell our books from, that no flyers had been printed up, and the store no longer had a copy of the email containing our flyer. Some copies of Hard Time had been placed at the end of the checkout counter, completely out of view of the incoming shoppers, and we were told to operate from there. After 20 minutes of not selling a single book, my agitation rose to the point where I began lobbying for a table. The manager was eventually summoned, and a large table near the door laden with Xmas offers was cleared. As soon the display of jail outfits was set up, shoppers besieged the table.
Throughout the day, the managers of the Warrington and Wigan branches were taunting each other by email: the Wigan manager boasting that we were on target to sell 100 books and smash the record in Warrington; the Warrington manager pooh-poohing all such claims, insisting that the Warrington record was unassailable.
When Mum left at 3pm, we were still over 20 books short of the record. At 4pm, I usually leave the store, but my competitive juices had been sufficiently stirred by the manager to motivate me to stay. I left before 5pm with 97 books sold, versus 87 in Warrington.
We returned to Warrington on Christmas Eve, but the store was scheduled to close early. The manager jokingly offered to give me the keys, so I could keep the store open in order to sell enough books to beat Wigan, but I declined. We sold over 70 books. The regional manager shook our hands, and congratulated us.
500 books were sold during these recent northern book signings. They left me so exhausted I slept for 11 hours last night.
Click here for the previous Waterstone's signing blogs
Mum and I arrived at Wigan hoping to beat the sales record set in Warrington. It didn’t look likely at first as we were told that the store would be so busy, there was no room for a table to sell our books from, that no flyers had been printed up, and the store no longer had a copy of the email containing our flyer. Some copies of Hard Time had been placed at the end of the checkout counter, completely out of view of the incoming shoppers, and we were told to operate from there. After 20 minutes of not selling a single book, my agitation rose to the point where I began lobbying for a table. The manager was eventually summoned, and a large table near the door laden with Xmas offers was cleared. As soon the display of jail outfits was set up, shoppers besieged the table.
Throughout the day, the managers of the Warrington and Wigan branches were taunting each other by email: the Wigan manager boasting that we were on target to sell 100 books and smash the record in Warrington; the Warrington manager pooh-poohing all such claims, insisting that the Warrington record was unassailable.
When Mum left at 3pm, we were still over 20 books short of the record. At 4pm, I usually leave the store, but my competitive juices had been sufficiently stirred by the manager to motivate me to stay. I left before 5pm with 97 books sold, versus 87 in Warrington.
We returned to Warrington on Christmas Eve, but the store was scheduled to close early. The manager jokingly offered to give me the keys, so I could keep the store open in order to sell enough books to beat Wigan, but I declined. We sold over 70 books. The regional manager shook our hands, and congratulated us.
500 books were sold during these recent northern book signings. They left me so exhausted I slept for 11 hours last night.
Click here for the previous Waterstone's signing blogs
Waterstone’s Warrington
Mum and I just got back from today’s book signing. It started out with 12 books sold from 11am until noon, so we figured it would be an average day. I was keeping count by writing the number down.
During the next hour, things went bonkers. For 40 minutes, Christmas shoppers mobbed my table, some demanding three or four books to be signed – “Can’t have the grandchildren fighting over one book now can we?” – so I completely lost count.
“You’ve sold 75,” a staff member said a few hours later. “More than Kerry Katona!”
"Who's she?" I asked.
The lady looked at me as if to say, What planet are you from? This is what happens when you don't watch TV.
Those of you worried about me overworking my mum will be pleased to know that while I was so busy I didn't even get to open my bag of salted cashews, Mum took a full lunch hour to eat at Debenhams.
By the end of the signing, Mum and I were delirious from exhaustion. I actually left the store to bin some trash, and when I re-entered Mum thrust a leaflet at me, and tried to sell me a copy of Hard Time. I really should have bought one off her before she noticed I was her son.
By the time we left, the computer system hadn’t registered all of the book sales, but the manager estimated it be almost 90. He invited us back for Xmas Eve, a hard-to-get spot coveted by authors.
Tomorrow, we’re returning to the Wigan Waterstone’s, but the store only has 50 books in stock. Fortunately, I carry 100 in the trunk of my car at all times.
It's great to get out and meet so many friendly people who are interested in my story.
Click here for the previous Waterstone's book signing blog
Mum and I just got back from today’s book signing. It started out with 12 books sold from 11am until noon, so we figured it would be an average day. I was keeping count by writing the number down.
During the next hour, things went bonkers. For 40 minutes, Christmas shoppers mobbed my table, some demanding three or four books to be signed – “Can’t have the grandchildren fighting over one book now can we?” – so I completely lost count.
“You’ve sold 75,” a staff member said a few hours later. “More than Kerry Katona!”
"Who's she?" I asked.
The lady looked at me as if to say, What planet are you from? This is what happens when you don't watch TV.
Those of you worried about me overworking my mum will be pleased to know that while I was so busy I didn't even get to open my bag of salted cashews, Mum took a full lunch hour to eat at Debenhams.
By the end of the signing, Mum and I were delirious from exhaustion. I actually left the store to bin some trash, and when I re-entered Mum thrust a leaflet at me, and tried to sell me a copy of Hard Time. I really should have bought one off her before she noticed I was her son.
By the time we left, the computer system hadn’t registered all of the book sales, but the manager estimated it be almost 90. He invited us back for Xmas Eve, a hard-to-get spot coveted by authors.
Tomorrow, we’re returning to the Wigan Waterstone’s, but the store only has 50 books in stock. Fortunately, I carry 100 in the trunk of my car at all times.
It's great to get out and meet so many friendly people who are interested in my story.
Click here for the previous Waterstone's book signing blog
Dawn of a New Adventure (Part 9)
“We’ve got a local author signing books today,” my mum said to a harmless-looking old lady entering the store. “It’s a true story. Bit like The Shawshank Redemption – ”
“I’m not interested!” The old lady’s face animated, her eyes becoming wide and wild. “I’m a poet! I'm a published poet! Do you know Lord Byron?” Her voice changed as if she were channelling messages from the spirit world as she started reciting Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, a lengthy poem by Byron. On and on she went, attracting queer looks from the passers-by that I was trying to attract to my table, who were now swerving away from us. When she started waving her arms around and putting her face so close that we could smell her cat-food breath, we backed away.
A woman weighed down with shopping bags whose passage was blocked by the old lady yelled, “Can you get out of my bloody way!”
The old lady drifted further into the store, showering random praise on Byron with statements such as “Lord Byron got that one right!”
I had the urge to ask her “Did Lord Byron get it right when he slept with his half sister or drank from human skulls?” but I managed to suppress it.
And thus began last Friday’s book signing at Waterstone’s in Altrincham, where we – me and my top salesperson: my mum – smashed our previous record by selling 47 copies. According to the Waterstone’s staff in Warrington, local authors sell an average of 5 copies per signing.
On Saturday, Mum – after seeing news reports about the traffic chaos and worried that we might perish on our 39 minute journey to Waterstone’s in Stockport – packed an emergency preparedness kit, consisting of blankets (including the cat’s for some reason), a litre of apple juice, tangerines, bananas and nuts. Despite being barely able to see through a windshield caked in salt from the freshly gritted roads, we arrived unharmed.
A group of schoolchildren, mistaking me for someone famous, the kind of mistake I really appreciate, approached my table with the following demand: “Sorry we don’t have enough money to buy your book, but will you sign some of your leaflets and stamp them with cockroaches for us.” After I’d accommodated their wishes, they ran outside, giggling, chatting, and flaunting my signature to their friends.
Luckily, they left just in time so as not to overhear a woman say to her husband, “Shaun Attwood. Who is he? I’ve never heard of him.” Approaching my mum, the woman said, “Are you his mum or his manager?”
“Both,” Mum said. “But I don’t get paid.”
The next bookstore eccentric was in the same league as the Byronic Woman. I’d managed to coax a number of shoppers to my table. They were happily reading the book jacket to the accompaniment of mum’s words of encouragement to buy Hard Time when a man who appeared to be wearing a lunch heavy on tomato ketchup all over his sweater and jacket lapels barged through them, and greeted me in an incomprehensible way that involved drooling on the table. The cluster of potential book buyers scattered – never to be seen again. Eyeing droplets of drool landing worryingly close to my pile of unsold books, I had to do something about the situation. I managed to steer him to one side of the table. He droned on, his drool landing safely on the floor. But he was acting like mosquito repellent on the fresh batch of customers coming up the stairs, clutching my leaflet, interest sparkling in their eyes – until they saw him. At one point he started waving his chequebook at me, but I was mystified as to what he was trying to communicate about it. All I could fathom was that he didn’t have the money on him to buy Hard Time, that he was going begging in an attempt to raise it and that he’d be back in two hours.
A middle-aged man approached my table. "Are you Shaun Attwood?"
"Yes. I'm signing my book today – ”
"You're under arrest! We're extraditing you back to America, to Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jail."
He remained deadpan, and I played along.
By the end of the signing, Mum had almost lost her voice. The people she was pitching to were either walking past, unable to hear her, or looking at her in a kindly way as if she had some illness. She was no doubt a victim of my work ethic: I'd only allowed us to have a bag of crisps each for lunch so as not to lose any sales.
Discussing the bookstore eccentrics on the drive home, Mum said, “That’s how local authors end up in their old age.” She added that I’ll end up like the Byronic Woman, only quoting Nietzsche.
We sold 55 books in Stockport, giving the proactive staff – two of whom donned the striped jail outfits (see the pics in the previous blog) – bragging rights over the other branches. Thank you to all of the staff at Waterstone’s who have been helping us!
The next Waterstone’s book signings are in Warrington on December 22nd, and Wigan on December 23rd.
Click here for the previous Waterstone's book signing blog
Click here for Dawn of a New Adventure (Part 8)
Shit Slingers VI (by Polish Avenger)
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were committing. In Arizona, if a burglar gets killed, accomplices can get 25-year sentences.
Polish Avenger recently read the article below, and wanted to share it as part of his Shit Slinger series:
Amy Marie Hager, 33, was arrested after deputies with the Manatee County Sheriff’s Office responded to a domestic violence complaint. When trying to place Hager into a transportation van, she jerked away and told the officers that she had defecated in her pants. She then turned and grabbed fecal matter from her shorts and threw it, soiling one deputy.
Hager reportedly said, “Damn, I only hit one of you,” according to the incident report.
She was charged with domestic aggravated battery, battery on a law enforcement officer and resisting arrest with violence.
If you haven’t read any of Polish Avenger’s disturbing yet amazing Shit Slinger series yet, then click here.
Polish Avenger’s extremely funny “Holiday Post” will be posted in time for Xmas.
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were committing. In Arizona, if a burglar gets killed, accomplices can get 25-year sentences.
Polish Avenger recently read the article below, and wanted to share it as part of his Shit Slinger series:
Amy Marie Hager, 33, was arrested after deputies with the Manatee County Sheriff’s Office responded to a domestic violence complaint. When trying to place Hager into a transportation van, she jerked away and told the officers that she had defecated in her pants. She then turned and grabbed fecal matter from her shorts and threw it, soiling one deputy.
Hager reportedly said, “Damn, I only hit one of you,” according to the incident report.
She was charged with domestic aggravated battery, battery on a law enforcement officer and resisting arrest with violence.
If you haven’t read any of Polish Avenger’s disturbing yet amazing Shit Slinger series yet, then click here.
Polish Avenger’s extremely funny “Holiday Post” will be posted in time for Xmas.
Caught Tattooing in Prison (by Lifer Renee)
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I do tattoo work from time to time. Mostly when I have no money. I do it to pay for stuff like hygiene items from the store.
So a friend, Kathy, wanted a tattoo. As she does tattoos as well and was a tattoo artist before her arrest, it was a privilege to tattoo her.
When we were ready to start, Kathy stepped outside of my cell door, and asked the girl on the stairs if she would “pin” for us. [Watch out for the guards because tattooing in prison is a violation of the rules punishable by a loss of privileges.]
She responded, “Yeah, I got you, homey.”
Kathy came back in. I put the stencil on her leg, tattoo gun at the ready. I started the outline. I was about a quarter of the way through the outline when a shadow appeared at the cell-door window.
Oh damn, I thought, turning to look at an officer.
He was staring at the tattoo gun in my hand. “Put the gun on the counter and step out of the room.”
I put the gun down. My heart was racing. I forgot to put my shoes on, not even shower shoes, and it was 107 degrees outside.
They shut the door to my cell.
The officer called the on-shift sergeant. I didn’t catch the radio conversation.
Sitting at the ramada, I tried to wipe the ink and stencil off Kathy’s leg.
A friend brought me a pair of deck shoes, so I wouldn’t have to walk around on the hot concrete barefoot.
The guards searched my room and locked me out. They threatened to move me and Kathy to CDU [Complex Detention Unit]. They packed up all of my belongings, leaving my bedding and some basic hygiene products. In violation of prison policy, I did not receive a seized-property receipt or an inventory sheet. They left me sat in the blazing heat in borrowed shoes without a cup of water even to drink.
The girl who was supposed to be watching out for us approached. “I’m sorry. I…” is about all she got out.
Cutting her off, I said, “If you don’t shut up and get away from me, we’re going to have problems.” I was not in the mood for excuses.
Again, she tried, “I didn’t know…”
Through clenched teeth, I said, “If you do not get away from me…”
A friend of mine took the girl away by the arm as she knew I was in so much trouble I didn’t need to bury myself.
Our belongings were carted to SSU’s office [the office belonging to the prison’s team of investigators]. The SSU officers would search through everything at their leisure. Photographs were taken of our tattoos. During my strip search, the officer would not allow me to put my clothes, shorts or even panties on while she took photographs of the tattoos on my back. I felt violated. I never thought I’d be doing porn for the Arizona Department of Corrections. There was no reason to disallow me from wearing panties and shorts. The angel tattoo on my back is big, but it stops an inch or two past my bra line. There is nothing below it but virgin skin that has not even seen sunshine in 16 years.
I received a major ticket – a felony according to the new disciplinary policy. I got 30 days LOP [Loss Of Privileges], 30 extra duty hours, and loss of 10 ERC’s [Earned Release Credits].
Click here for Renee’s previous blog.
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I do tattoo work from time to time. Mostly when I have no money. I do it to pay for stuff like hygiene items from the store.
So a friend, Kathy, wanted a tattoo. As she does tattoos as well and was a tattoo artist before her arrest, it was a privilege to tattoo her.
When we were ready to start, Kathy stepped outside of my cell door, and asked the girl on the stairs if she would “pin” for us. [Watch out for the guards because tattooing in prison is a violation of the rules punishable by a loss of privileges.]
She responded, “Yeah, I got you, homey.”
Kathy came back in. I put the stencil on her leg, tattoo gun at the ready. I started the outline. I was about a quarter of the way through the outline when a shadow appeared at the cell-door window.
Oh damn, I thought, turning to look at an officer.
He was staring at the tattoo gun in my hand. “Put the gun on the counter and step out of the room.”
I put the gun down. My heart was racing. I forgot to put my shoes on, not even shower shoes, and it was 107 degrees outside.
They shut the door to my cell.
The officer called the on-shift sergeant. I didn’t catch the radio conversation.
Sitting at the ramada, I tried to wipe the ink and stencil off Kathy’s leg.
A friend brought me a pair of deck shoes, so I wouldn’t have to walk around on the hot concrete barefoot.
The guards searched my room and locked me out. They threatened to move me and Kathy to CDU [Complex Detention Unit]. They packed up all of my belongings, leaving my bedding and some basic hygiene products. In violation of prison policy, I did not receive a seized-property receipt or an inventory sheet. They left me sat in the blazing heat in borrowed shoes without a cup of water even to drink.
The girl who was supposed to be watching out for us approached. “I’m sorry. I…” is about all she got out.
Cutting her off, I said, “If you don’t shut up and get away from me, we’re going to have problems.” I was not in the mood for excuses.
Again, she tried, “I didn’t know…”
Through clenched teeth, I said, “If you do not get away from me…”
A friend of mine took the girl away by the arm as she knew I was in so much trouble I didn’t need to bury myself.
Our belongings were carted to SSU’s office [the office belonging to the prison’s team of investigators]. The SSU officers would search through everything at their leisure. Photographs were taken of our tattoos. During my strip search, the officer would not allow me to put my clothes, shorts or even panties on while she took photographs of the tattoos on my back. I felt violated. I never thought I’d be doing porn for the Arizona Department of Corrections. There was no reason to disallow me from wearing panties and shorts. The angel tattoo on my back is big, but it stops an inch or two past my bra line. There is nothing below it but virgin skin that has not even seen sunshine in 16 years.
I received a major ticket – a felony according to the new disciplinary policy. I got 30 days LOP [Loss Of Privileges], 30 extra duty hours, and loss of 10 ERC’s [Earned Release Credits].
Click here for Renee’s previous blog.
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Postcards from Long Island (10)
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
Just when I thought it would never get any better, I was blessed with a new plea bargain for 6 years. I’ll only have to serve 85%, and I’ll have 3 years back time. This is a lot better than the plea I had with the sentencing range of 7.5 to 10.5 years. If I can get the minimum on the plea, which is 5 years, that would bring me home in a year. That’s pretty damn good considering the amount of shit I was in. My sentencing has been moved to the 1st of January, so I’ll be here for a little while longer.
I’m sending all of the postcards you’ve wrote to me out for my mom to put away. I’ve read Hard Time twice now, and when I wrote you last I forgot to thank you for sending it to me, and for mentioning me, Long Island, in the back. Thank you so much for your friendship.
Take care, my friend!
Rule Britannia!
Long Island
Click here for Long Island's previous blog.
Click here for Long Island's review of Hard Time.
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
Just when I thought it would never get any better, I was blessed with a new plea bargain for 6 years. I’ll only have to serve 85%, and I’ll have 3 years back time. This is a lot better than the plea I had with the sentencing range of 7.5 to 10.5 years. If I can get the minimum on the plea, which is 5 years, that would bring me home in a year. That’s pretty damn good considering the amount of shit I was in. My sentencing has been moved to the 1st of January, so I’ll be here for a little while longer.
I’m sending all of the postcards you’ve wrote to me out for my mom to put away. I’ve read Hard Time twice now, and when I wrote you last I forgot to thank you for sending it to me, and for mentioning me, Long Island, in the back. Thank you so much for your friendship.
Take care, my friend!
Rule Britannia!
Long Island
Click here for Long Island's previous blog.
Click here for Long Island's review of Hard Time.
More Waterstone's Book Signings
It's still snowing here, and the roads are iced over. I'm at my parents' house, about to leave for London. The snow looks like glitter falling from a dark sky. Car windows are frosted. Car theft has spiked up due to owners leaving their vehicles unattended with the engines running to generate warmth.
In Wigan on Saturday, Waterstone's sold out of copies of Hard Time within an hour and a half, and we had to fetch more from the car. Staff member Abbey was a great help, immediately jumping into a jail outfit (see pic below) and handing out flyers to incoming shoppers. My mother generated considerable sales by chatting to customers. Wild Man showed up and signed some books as well. He looked larger than life in a black flowing jacket.
The next day in Warrington we sold even more, and set a new record for the amount of books sold at that store on a Sunday. Two staff members donned the jail outfits (see pics below), and handed out flyers.
Waterstone's promptly recommended more Hard Time signings to its stores in the northwest, and today I was inundated with requests. I'm now scheduled to do signings nearly every day of the week preceding Xmas. Two of their biggest stores, both Manchester locations, have booked me for March.
I'm still getting nowhere with the southern bookstores though, which is a pity as I live by London. Does anyone out there work at a southern Waterstone's? It actually costs more to travel up north than I make from the books sold at these signings. But at least more people are reading Hard Time, and spreading the word.
Click here for the first Waterstone's signings blog
It's still snowing here, and the roads are iced over. I'm at my parents' house, about to leave for London. The snow looks like glitter falling from a dark sky. Car windows are frosted. Car theft has spiked up due to owners leaving their vehicles unattended with the engines running to generate warmth.
In Wigan on Saturday, Waterstone's sold out of copies of Hard Time within an hour and a half, and we had to fetch more from the car. Staff member Abbey was a great help, immediately jumping into a jail outfit (see pic below) and handing out flyers to incoming shoppers. My mother generated considerable sales by chatting to customers. Wild Man showed up and signed some books as well. He looked larger than life in a black flowing jacket.
The next day in Warrington we sold even more, and set a new record for the amount of books sold at that store on a Sunday. Two staff members donned the jail outfits (see pics below), and handed out flyers.
Waterstone's promptly recommended more Hard Time signings to its stores in the northwest, and today I was inundated with requests. I'm now scheduled to do signings nearly every day of the week preceding Xmas. Two of their biggest stores, both Manchester locations, have booked me for March.
I'm still getting nowhere with the southern bookstores though, which is a pity as I live by London. Does anyone out there work at a southern Waterstone's? It actually costs more to travel up north than I make from the books sold at these signings. But at least more people are reading Hard Time, and spreading the word.
Click here for the first Waterstone's signings blog
Question Time
Apologies for the delay in blogging. We have record snow in England. I got stranded away from home while on the road doing talks to schools. Delays on my local freeway, the M25, were up to 20 hours, and hundreds of lorries had jack-knifed. I ended up staying at my sister's house. Now the freeways are deserted. It was surreal driving home, dodging cars abandoned on the roads, constantly having to make way for squealing emergency vehicles. Viewed against the white earth and sky, the bright-blue ambulance lights looked like poltergeists trying to materialise from another world. I'm scheduled to leave today to do more Waterstone's book signings, Wigan on Saturday, Warrington on Sunday, so I'll probably be getting stranded again here soon. Here's the latest questions and answers:
I am a student who experienced your speech at Richard Hale School. I found it very interesting, and have now learnt what jail really is like, which will hopefully help to keep me away from drugs and jail. I came away with a few questions I would like to have asked, but wasn't confident enough to ask them in front of the whole of year 10 and 11.
Where you addicted to drugs when you went to prison?
In response to this question, please read part of a discussion I had with the brilliant prison psychotherapist, Dr. O:
“Drugs enabled me to socialise. I figured I could do them to have fun when I felt like it – most weekends – and I told myself I wasn’t addicted because I could stop, and seemed to function normally before I chose to do them again. Was I in denial?”
“Yes. You were addicted otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” said Dr. O.
“I thought addiction was like a heroin addict who’s got to get his fix every day or else he feels ill.”
“Addiction is when doing drugs interferes with your ability to function. You have a limited – a narrow view. Acknowledging your addiction exists is difficult for you. You must look at it in terms of how you would introduce yourself at an AA meeting: ‘I’m Jon. I’m a drug addict. I’ve been clean and sober for so many years.'”
Click here to read the entire conversation with Dr.O. (part 7)
Why did you get moved to a maximum security jail?
I went to court in the hope of getting my $750,000 bail reduced, so that I could get out of the jail. The judge ended up doubling my bail to $1.5 million (cash only). When your bond goes over a million, you are automatically reclassified to maximum security.
What happened to your fiancée when you were sentenced to prison?
Claudia showed up at the sentencing, but she had already broke up with me. A year earlier, the prosecutor had charged her for a crime she had not committed in order to stop her from visiting me. It was too hard to keep going with no visits.
Are you a millionaire now by doing talks and writing your blog?
No. What was left of my money was seized by the police. I’ve started my own business doing talks to schools, but to get my business off the ground I had to go into debt. The blog is for the benefit of prisoners. It doesn’t make any money. I could put ads on it to make money, but that would detract from what the blog is trying to achieve.
Do you still have friends from prison that were there with you?
Yes. They write to me and I post their stories to Jon’s Jail Journal. This year I’ve decided to use the money I was going to spend on Xmas cards to instead send much-needed books to my friends inside.
What were the emotions when you were sentenced to prison, and what you felt about your family at that point.
I could write pages answering this question. It’s actually all covered in the last chapter of my book, which is one of the longest chapters in there. You can find your answer in the copy that I donated to your school.
What did it feel like being a millionaire?
I had more money than commonsense. I immediately moved into a big mountainside house in a private community, with my own swimming pool and Jacuzzi. I was spending it like crazy on throwing parties, and stuff like limo rides, and trips to Las Vegas where I spent thousands buying Diesel clothes in Caesar’s Palace. I lost most of it when the stock market crashed, so I wasn’t living large for long.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Apologies for the delay in blogging. We have record snow in England. I got stranded away from home while on the road doing talks to schools. Delays on my local freeway, the M25, were up to 20 hours, and hundreds of lorries had jack-knifed. I ended up staying at my sister's house. Now the freeways are deserted. It was surreal driving home, dodging cars abandoned on the roads, constantly having to make way for squealing emergency vehicles. Viewed against the white earth and sky, the bright-blue ambulance lights looked like poltergeists trying to materialise from another world. I'm scheduled to leave today to do more Waterstone's book signings, Wigan on Saturday, Warrington on Sunday, so I'll probably be getting stranded again here soon. Here's the latest questions and answers:
I am a student who experienced your speech at Richard Hale School. I found it very interesting, and have now learnt what jail really is like, which will hopefully help to keep me away from drugs and jail. I came away with a few questions I would like to have asked, but wasn't confident enough to ask them in front of the whole of year 10 and 11.
Where you addicted to drugs when you went to prison?
In response to this question, please read part of a discussion I had with the brilliant prison psychotherapist, Dr. O:
“Drugs enabled me to socialise. I figured I could do them to have fun when I felt like it – most weekends – and I told myself I wasn’t addicted because I could stop, and seemed to function normally before I chose to do them again. Was I in denial?”
“Yes. You were addicted otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” said Dr. O.
“I thought addiction was like a heroin addict who’s got to get his fix every day or else he feels ill.”
“Addiction is when doing drugs interferes with your ability to function. You have a limited – a narrow view. Acknowledging your addiction exists is difficult for you. You must look at it in terms of how you would introduce yourself at an AA meeting: ‘I’m Jon. I’m a drug addict. I’ve been clean and sober for so many years.'”
Click here to read the entire conversation with Dr.O. (part 7)
Why did you get moved to a maximum security jail?
I went to court in the hope of getting my $750,000 bail reduced, so that I could get out of the jail. The judge ended up doubling my bail to $1.5 million (cash only). When your bond goes over a million, you are automatically reclassified to maximum security.
What happened to your fiancée when you were sentenced to prison?
Claudia showed up at the sentencing, but she had already broke up with me. A year earlier, the prosecutor had charged her for a crime she had not committed in order to stop her from visiting me. It was too hard to keep going with no visits.
Are you a millionaire now by doing talks and writing your blog?
No. What was left of my money was seized by the police. I’ve started my own business doing talks to schools, but to get my business off the ground I had to go into debt. The blog is for the benefit of prisoners. It doesn’t make any money. I could put ads on it to make money, but that would detract from what the blog is trying to achieve.
Do you still have friends from prison that were there with you?
Yes. They write to me and I post their stories to Jon’s Jail Journal. This year I’ve decided to use the money I was going to spend on Xmas cards to instead send much-needed books to my friends inside.
What were the emotions when you were sentenced to prison, and what you felt about your family at that point.
I could write pages answering this question. It’s actually all covered in the last chapter of my book, which is one of the longest chapters in there. You can find your answer in the copy that I donated to your school.
What did it feel like being a millionaire?
I had more money than commonsense. I immediately moved into a big mountainside house in a private community, with my own swimming pool and Jacuzzi. I was spending it like crazy on throwing parties, and stuff like limo rides, and trips to Las Vegas where I spent thousands buying Diesel clothes in Caesar’s Palace. I lost most of it when the stock market crashed, so I wasn’t living large for long.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Hard Time Reviews by Prisoners No. 5: Long Island
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
I received Hard Time yesterday and have finished it this afternoon. I read straight through almost all night. Bravo, my friend, well done! It was fantastic and the ending was heart wrenchingly beautiful. Your depictions of Towers jail and the Madison Street jail are superb.
Ironically sad, nothing has changed. The people you described are still here, but the names are changed.
Your description of your relationship with your fiancée, Claudia, has left me shaken and your mother’s trauma and her statement at sentencing brought tears to my eyes.
Reading your words to myself, my mind was hearing your voice. It was as if you were in the cell reading the book aloud to me. You have once again inspired me to reach within myself and pull out the best parts.
One of the things that impressed me the most was that the book wasn’t just about the jails that we live in, but the jails that the people who love us live in while we’re incarcerated. Claudia’s pain was so vivid, and you parents’ was unbearable.
The photos of you in the book look great. Freedom is definitely agreeing with you. Your devotion to Wild Man speaks volumes of your character. The photo of you two together looks great.
I’m letting my attorney read it next, then his legal secretary.
Good show, old boy!
Click here for the previous review in this series.
Click here for Long Island's previous blog.
Hard Time at Amazon UK. Hard Time at the Book Depository.
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
I received Hard Time yesterday and have finished it this afternoon. I read straight through almost all night. Bravo, my friend, well done! It was fantastic and the ending was heart wrenchingly beautiful. Your depictions of Towers jail and the Madison Street jail are superb.
Ironically sad, nothing has changed. The people you described are still here, but the names are changed.
Your description of your relationship with your fiancée, Claudia, has left me shaken and your mother’s trauma and her statement at sentencing brought tears to my eyes.
Reading your words to myself, my mind was hearing your voice. It was as if you were in the cell reading the book aloud to me. You have once again inspired me to reach within myself and pull out the best parts.
One of the things that impressed me the most was that the book wasn’t just about the jails that we live in, but the jails that the people who love us live in while we’re incarcerated. Claudia’s pain was so vivid, and you parents’ was unbearable.
The photos of you in the book look great. Freedom is definitely agreeing with you. Your devotion to Wild Man speaks volumes of your character. The photo of you two together looks great.
I’m letting my attorney read it next, then his legal secretary.
Good show, old boy!
Click here for the previous review in this series.
Click here for Long Island's previous blog.
Hard Time at Amazon UK. Hard Time at the Book Depository.
Anne Mini
There couldn't be a better introduction to the US version of Hard Time than the one written by Anne Mini. I am extremely delighted and fortunate that Anne - whose advice and blog has helped shape my literary development over the years - has taken the time to make such a wonderful contribution. Today, she has announced her contribution and posted some kind words about Hard Time to her blog here. http://www.annemini.com/?p=13486
There couldn't be a better introduction to the US version of Hard Time than the one written by Anne Mini. I am extremely delighted and fortunate that Anne - whose advice and blog has helped shape my literary development over the years - has taken the time to make such a wonderful contribution. Today, she has announced her contribution and posted some kind words about Hard Time to her blog here. http://www.annemini.com/?p=13486
Knuckle Check (by Lifer Renee)
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I was waiting for an officer to do the head count. Shadows kept passing by my door, which was not normal. I went to the door, and peered out of my window. On the lower run were dark droplets that I knew were blood. Instead of hiding my contraband, I checked to see what the guards were doing. They were making women step out of their cells one at a time. They were doing knuckle checks – and more. They were examining forearms and faces, and making the women pull their shirts up to reveal their stomachs and lower backs.
By the time they reached my cell, shirts were no longer being pulled up, which was good because I was ready to protest. It is most uncomfortable to be stared at by guards who look as if they are counting every pore on your skin.
They arrived at my cell. “Let’s see your hands!”
I held my hands out, palms down.
They checked for marks that would indicate I’d been fighting. Seeing none, they moved on.
After they had checked my neighbors, I jumped upon the toilet and called my neighbor through the 4”x4” vent above the toilet that connects the cells.
“Neighbor, Hope.”
She jumped onto her toilet. “Hi, neighbour.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, nothing,” she said. “Just a knuckle check.”
Usually fights in here do not happen quietly. I don’t know why, but women have a tendency to yell, scream, and make quite the scene. My door had been open, yet I didn’t hear a thing. I also didn’t understand why the blood wasn’t cleaned up if they didn’t want to go unnoticed.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I was waiting for an officer to do the head count. Shadows kept passing by my door, which was not normal. I went to the door, and peered out of my window. On the lower run were dark droplets that I knew were blood. Instead of hiding my contraband, I checked to see what the guards were doing. They were making women step out of their cells one at a time. They were doing knuckle checks – and more. They were examining forearms and faces, and making the women pull their shirts up to reveal their stomachs and lower backs.
By the time they reached my cell, shirts were no longer being pulled up, which was good because I was ready to protest. It is most uncomfortable to be stared at by guards who look as if they are counting every pore on your skin.
They arrived at my cell. “Let’s see your hands!”
I held my hands out, palms down.
They checked for marks that would indicate I’d been fighting. Seeing none, they moved on.
After they had checked my neighbors, I jumped upon the toilet and called my neighbor through the 4”x4” vent above the toilet that connects the cells.
“Neighbor, Hope.”
She jumped onto her toilet. “Hi, neighbour.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, nothing,” she said. “Just a knuckle check.”
Usually fights in here do not happen quietly. I don’t know why, but women have a tendency to yell, scream, and make quite the scene. My door had been open, yet I didn’t hear a thing. I also didn’t understand why the blood wasn’t cleaned up if they didn’t want to go unnoticed.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
My First In-Store Book Signing - Waterstone's Warrington
I just got back from Cheshire, and all was not grim up north. I did my first book signing in a book store on Friday at Waterstones in Warrington. Many people were buying the book as a Xmas present for young people as a cautionary tale about getting involved in drugs and crime. Much to the amazement of the staff, they quickly sold out of books, and my mum had to bring more to the store. They're recommending me to the other Waterstone's, and I already got booked by the Manchester Deansgate one (Saturday March 19th), which is the biggest in the northwest. Hard Time is still riding high on Amazon, in part thanks to a mention in this months FHM.
Click here for the news story about my signing: http://www.warringtonguardian.co.uk/news/8682460.Former_prisoner_tackles_book_signing/
I just got back from Cheshire, and all was not grim up north. I did my first book signing in a book store on Friday at Waterstones in Warrington. Many people were buying the book as a Xmas present for young people as a cautionary tale about getting involved in drugs and crime. Much to the amazement of the staff, they quickly sold out of books, and my mum had to bring more to the store. They're recommending me to the other Waterstone's, and I already got booked by the Manchester Deansgate one (Saturday March 19th), which is the biggest in the northwest. Hard Time is still riding high on Amazon, in part thanks to a mention in this months FHM.
Click here for the news story about my signing: http://www.warringtonguardian.co.uk/news/8682460.Former_prisoner_tackles_book_signing/
Public Speaking Videos
In the two videos below, I'm at Regents College, London talking to a group of psychotherapists. It was part of a masterclass put on by Andrew T. Austin. Double click on the videos to get the full screen version.
In the two videos below, I'm at Regents College, London talking to a group of psychotherapists. It was part of a masterclass put on by Andrew T. Austin. Double click on the videos to get the full screen version.
An Evening Meal (by the Occult Killer)
Dubbed the Occult Killer by the media, Brandon is serving 6 to 12 years in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. His crime: he killed his best friend in a drunk-driving accident. When police investigators discovered Gothic paraphernalia in his bedroom, they naturally concluded Brandon had committed a sacrificial murder for the benefit of Satan.
The kitchen is on this string of heinousness, so I’ve been hanging back and eating 7-11 cuisine. Tonight was sausage simulate with cheese-flavored snack product on Keefe cracker-flavored flatbreads, expertly sliced with my ID card. Whatever that processed garbage is made out of, it’s pretty good. On top of that I have some freeze-dried milk and Imperial Ice Cream Credits. A few nights ago I had some raspberry cheesecake ice cream. Slammin’. I swear, we eat whatever beefs it on the highway. Say if a poultry truck overturns that day, chicken dinner for a week. Same thing when the crows start to disappear. Very odd…
Click here for Brandon's previous blog.
Click here for Brandon's review of Hard Time.
Dubbed the Occult Killer by the media, Brandon is serving 6 to 12 years in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. His crime: he killed his best friend in a drunk-driving accident. When police investigators discovered Gothic paraphernalia in his bedroom, they naturally concluded Brandon had committed a sacrificial murder for the benefit of Satan.
The kitchen is on this string of heinousness, so I’ve been hanging back and eating 7-11 cuisine. Tonight was sausage simulate with cheese-flavored snack product on Keefe cracker-flavored flatbreads, expertly sliced with my ID card. Whatever that processed garbage is made out of, it’s pretty good. On top of that I have some freeze-dried milk and Imperial Ice Cream Credits. A few nights ago I had some raspberry cheesecake ice cream. Slammin’. I swear, we eat whatever beefs it on the highway. Say if a poultry truck overturns that day, chicken dinner for a week. Same thing when the crows start to disappear. Very odd…
Click here for Brandon's previous blog.
Click here for Brandon's review of Hard Time.
Question Time
Quincy from the University of Hawaii asked the following questions:
In a Dec 2004 post you wrote “my feelings about injustice grew stronger in 2004. This blog is a platform I will continue to use to highlight injustice. To end injustice we all need to speak out.” Was this your primary motivator during the first days of your blog? Or was it less consciously politically motivated at its inception? Or was it always the goal, to expose the inhuman conditions? How did the blog’s purpose evolve over time?
From inception, the goal was to expose the conditions and human rights violations. Over time, I adopted the goal of trying to humanise prisoners in the eyes of the public. To do so, I focussed on inmates I befriended like Two Tonys, T-Bone, Frankie... The blog is still going so prisoners voices can be heard on the internet.
Regarding the logistics you had to go through to get your material online while in prison, the sending mail to help on the outside to facilitate its posting, did the fact that you were writing entries your parents would see shape the content you wrote? The material seems so candid, was it hard to open this incarcerated world up to your family? Were there some things you would have liked to tell the world, but couldn’t? Was there any degree of self-censoring at times?
These are great questions, and I probably should have addressed some of them in the book. When I was first arrested, I didn't want my parents suffering the knowledge of the full extent of the conditions and the violence. By the time I started the blog, almost 2 years after my arrest, I'd been through so much, they knew most of what was going on. There was no censorship. That would have defeated the purpose of disclosing what was really going on in there.
Describe, if you can elaborate, what it felt like when your blog started attracting an audience. What was it like to have strangers feel such a connection through your writing? What went through your mind when the Guardian first picked up your story? Did the public exposure change the nature of your writing? Or did it encourage you to keep doing what came natural?
It was amazing that all of these kind people from around the world that I'd never met suddenly started offering their support by way of comments, letters and sending books. As things progressed, it was like they were there with me in spirit, and I didn't feel so lonely. The biggest paragraph in the acknowledgements in my book is a list of blog reader’s names. When The Guardian ran excerpts from the blog, I was surprised and delighted. I couldn't believe that my written efforts had got into the media. That happened when I'd been moved from Arpaio's jail into the prison system, and my writing was beginning to focus more on the inmates. I did go through some strange writing phases after that as I experimented with various styles.
One of the interesting things I’ve noticed is your active inclusion of fellow prisoners, seeming to reflect the close confines of prison life, the communal features, sometimes posting material other inmates wrote (I’m thinking of A Christmas Eve Poem from an Anonymous Inmate). How did it happen that you opened the blog up to collaboration? Was it to give a more holistic perspective to the reader?
This was in part due to the goal I adopted of humanising prisoners in the eyes of the public. I also wanted to show how the prison experience varied for each individual, so I chose a diverse group of prisoners to write about, resulting in blogs such as A Two Tonys Day, A Xena Day…
Lastly, even though I haven’t gotten to your most recent posts yet, can you describe the transition you experienced after release, with regard to the blog’s continued existence? From writing your own experience to helping facilitate the dissemination other voices, of those still incarcerated? Did it give you a new perspective on this project? New aims? Where do you see the blog going?
After I was released, I contacted incarcerated women in order to get their viewpoints online and to share their experiences. Sadly, there are few female prison bloggers, and that's something I'd like to see more of. The present goals at Jon's Jail Journal are: to expose the conditions, to provide a platform for prisoners voices to be heard (and in the interests of variety that's why I opened the blog up to guest bloggers), and to document my post-release progress. I'm also hoping that the blog will enable some of our top writers like Warrior, Shane, and Polish Avenger to go on to be successful writers beyond blogging.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Two UK magazines are presently running my story: FHM (December edition) and The Word (November edition)
Quincy from the University of Hawaii asked the following questions:
In a Dec 2004 post you wrote “my feelings about injustice grew stronger in 2004. This blog is a platform I will continue to use to highlight injustice. To end injustice we all need to speak out.” Was this your primary motivator during the first days of your blog? Or was it less consciously politically motivated at its inception? Or was it always the goal, to expose the inhuman conditions? How did the blog’s purpose evolve over time?
From inception, the goal was to expose the conditions and human rights violations. Over time, I adopted the goal of trying to humanise prisoners in the eyes of the public. To do so, I focussed on inmates I befriended like Two Tonys, T-Bone, Frankie... The blog is still going so prisoners voices can be heard on the internet.
Regarding the logistics you had to go through to get your material online while in prison, the sending mail to help on the outside to facilitate its posting, did the fact that you were writing entries your parents would see shape the content you wrote? The material seems so candid, was it hard to open this incarcerated world up to your family? Were there some things you would have liked to tell the world, but couldn’t? Was there any degree of self-censoring at times?
These are great questions, and I probably should have addressed some of them in the book. When I was first arrested, I didn't want my parents suffering the knowledge of the full extent of the conditions and the violence. By the time I started the blog, almost 2 years after my arrest, I'd been through so much, they knew most of what was going on. There was no censorship. That would have defeated the purpose of disclosing what was really going on in there.
Describe, if you can elaborate, what it felt like when your blog started attracting an audience. What was it like to have strangers feel such a connection through your writing? What went through your mind when the Guardian first picked up your story? Did the public exposure change the nature of your writing? Or did it encourage you to keep doing what came natural?
It was amazing that all of these kind people from around the world that I'd never met suddenly started offering their support by way of comments, letters and sending books. As things progressed, it was like they were there with me in spirit, and I didn't feel so lonely. The biggest paragraph in the acknowledgements in my book is a list of blog reader’s names. When The Guardian ran excerpts from the blog, I was surprised and delighted. I couldn't believe that my written efforts had got into the media. That happened when I'd been moved from Arpaio's jail into the prison system, and my writing was beginning to focus more on the inmates. I did go through some strange writing phases after that as I experimented with various styles.
One of the interesting things I’ve noticed is your active inclusion of fellow prisoners, seeming to reflect the close confines of prison life, the communal features, sometimes posting material other inmates wrote (I’m thinking of A Christmas Eve Poem from an Anonymous Inmate). How did it happen that you opened the blog up to collaboration? Was it to give a more holistic perspective to the reader?
This was in part due to the goal I adopted of humanising prisoners in the eyes of the public. I also wanted to show how the prison experience varied for each individual, so I chose a diverse group of prisoners to write about, resulting in blogs such as A Two Tonys Day, A Xena Day…
Lastly, even though I haven’t gotten to your most recent posts yet, can you describe the transition you experienced after release, with regard to the blog’s continued existence? From writing your own experience to helping facilitate the dissemination other voices, of those still incarcerated? Did it give you a new perspective on this project? New aims? Where do you see the blog going?
After I was released, I contacted incarcerated women in order to get their viewpoints online and to share their experiences. Sadly, there are few female prison bloggers, and that's something I'd like to see more of. The present goals at Jon's Jail Journal are: to expose the conditions, to provide a platform for prisoners voices to be heard (and in the interests of variety that's why I opened the blog up to guest bloggers), and to document my post-release progress. I'm also hoping that the blog will enable some of our top writers like Warrior, Shane, and Polish Avenger to go on to be successful writers beyond blogging.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Two UK magazines are presently running my story: FHM (December edition) and The Word (November edition)
Hard Time Hardback Cover for US Edition
I'm curious as to what you think of this cover? The hardback just went on presale here in America.
Iron Man’s Freedom (Part 3)
Iron Man - A martial-arts expert and personal trainer whose crimes include smashing someone’s door down to collect a debt.
Yesterday I celebrated my first birthday out in eight years. It was a good day. I worked for a couple of hours and then spent time with my Mom, my youngest son Nathan, his girl and their two sons. We went out to eat for dinner, and I had steak, shrimp, and all the trimmings. Even treated myself to some chocolate cake, fudge, and carrot cake. Small portions of the dessert items as I am not accustomed to eating much sugar.
I spent the day reflecting over the past 8 years and over the things l have accomplished in the last year, and particularly in the last 8 months. Also evaluating the current situations, circumstances and relationships that I am exploring.
My workout program is paying off. I've gained 18 pounds of muscle mass since I came home. Still hitting the gym 3 to 4 nights a week.
Seizing the day and enjoying the present moment.
In truth, things couldn't be going much better.
Love and Respect,
As Always,
Iron Man
Click here for Iron Man’s Freedom Part 2
Click her for the fight story, Iron Man v Snake Eyes
Our prison friends appreciate your comments
Post comments for Iron Man below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity
Shaun Attwood
Iron Man - A martial-arts expert and personal trainer whose crimes include smashing someone’s door down to collect a debt.
Yesterday I celebrated my first birthday out in eight years. It was a good day. I worked for a couple of hours and then spent time with my Mom, my youngest son Nathan, his girl and their two sons. We went out to eat for dinner, and I had steak, shrimp, and all the trimmings. Even treated myself to some chocolate cake, fudge, and carrot cake. Small portions of the dessert items as I am not accustomed to eating much sugar.
I spent the day reflecting over the past 8 years and over the things l have accomplished in the last year, and particularly in the last 8 months. Also evaluating the current situations, circumstances and relationships that I am exploring.
My workout program is paying off. I've gained 18 pounds of muscle mass since I came home. Still hitting the gym 3 to 4 nights a week.
Seizing the day and enjoying the present moment.
In truth, things couldn't be going much better.
Love and Respect,
As Always,
Iron Man
Click here for Iron Man’s Freedom Part 2
Click her for the fight story, Iron Man v Snake Eyes
Our prison friends appreciate your comments
Post comments for Iron Man below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity
Shaun Attwood
Another Day in a Women’s Prison (Part 2 by Lifer Renee)
Renee – When only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
My day started at 4am. I got up from a restless sleep. Depending on who works the yard on the graveyard shift will determine if you get to sleep the night through. Tired, grouchy, not wanting to go to work, off to work I went. I took a ChapStick, cup, glasses, Sweet ’N Low, and creamer.
Me and Sara walked to the 21 area. Jokingly, we said, “Is it Friday yet?”
When we got there, it was like every other day. Our boss was late. We waited.
Sergeant Hart walked out of the yard office, and screamed, “I don’t wanna hear no lip. If I hear it, I will write you up, and you will lose your job. Get into the pit, and line up.”
Everyone looked slightly confused. We had hardly conversed amongst ourselves, let alone to any of the officers. We lined up.
“Now empty your pockets! Everything on the ground!”
We emptied our pockets. I put my personal items on the ground in front of me. Great, I thought to myself. Our boss already thinks we’re a bunch of troublemakers, and is completely submissive when it comes to the Department of Corrections and sticking up for us.
The sergeant was walking in front of us, looking at our items. The expression on his face was as if we had each put down a kilo of heroin. We looked at him as if he had lost his damn mind.
“Sarg, come over here and make sure they do not pick anything up.”
Another sergeant came over. Sergeant Hart went into the yard office.
Our boss finally showed up. We protested, our voices overriding one another.
“Not today!” he boomed. “I do not care! You are not allowed to have anything today, but a water bottle and Maxi-Pads. Take it back to the yard.”
We walked back to the yard, everyone whispering.
At the yard, everyone was staring at us as if we were aliens. My friends were in the smoking section.
I told them, “Just so you know, if you have anything in your room, you might want to take care of it, and don’t try to take anything to work with you. I think they may be shaking down the yard.” I dropped my stuff off in my cell, and returned to work.
Sure enough sometime later there was a call initiating a lockdown for quarterly searches. When I returned to my cell from work, all of my belongings had been dumped on the floor in a big mess. I had to start picking things up at the doorway.
We were locked down for the evening at 8.15pm. A guard went from door to door doing a formal headcount at 8.30pm to ensure that everyone was in their proper place.
The shift change from swing to graveyard happened at around 10pm. Around 11pm, when I was well into dreamland, I was abruptly woken up by the banging of keys on the door, so that the officer could see my face. Then again at 1am. I don’t know why they need to wake me up for a face-to-ID check twice every night. My cell was locked at 8.15pm and no one was let out. Sleep deprivation wasn’t part of my sentencing.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog in which she answered some of your questions
Click here for Another Day part 1
Download my jail book, Hard Time, for FREE
Renee – When only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
My day started at 4am. I got up from a restless sleep. Depending on who works the yard on the graveyard shift will determine if you get to sleep the night through. Tired, grouchy, not wanting to go to work, off to work I went. I took a ChapStick, cup, glasses, Sweet ’N Low, and creamer.
Me and Sara walked to the 21 area. Jokingly, we said, “Is it Friday yet?”
When we got there, it was like every other day. Our boss was late. We waited.
Sergeant Hart walked out of the yard office, and screamed, “I don’t wanna hear no lip. If I hear it, I will write you up, and you will lose your job. Get into the pit, and line up.”
Everyone looked slightly confused. We had hardly conversed amongst ourselves, let alone to any of the officers. We lined up.
“Now empty your pockets! Everything on the ground!”
We emptied our pockets. I put my personal items on the ground in front of me. Great, I thought to myself. Our boss already thinks we’re a bunch of troublemakers, and is completely submissive when it comes to the Department of Corrections and sticking up for us.
The sergeant was walking in front of us, looking at our items. The expression on his face was as if we had each put down a kilo of heroin. We looked at him as if he had lost his damn mind.
“Sarg, come over here and make sure they do not pick anything up.”
Another sergeant came over. Sergeant Hart went into the yard office.
Our boss finally showed up. We protested, our voices overriding one another.
“Not today!” he boomed. “I do not care! You are not allowed to have anything today, but a water bottle and Maxi-Pads. Take it back to the yard.”
We walked back to the yard, everyone whispering.
At the yard, everyone was staring at us as if we were aliens. My friends were in the smoking section.
I told them, “Just so you know, if you have anything in your room, you might want to take care of it, and don’t try to take anything to work with you. I think they may be shaking down the yard.” I dropped my stuff off in my cell, and returned to work.
Sure enough sometime later there was a call initiating a lockdown for quarterly searches. When I returned to my cell from work, all of my belongings had been dumped on the floor in a big mess. I had to start picking things up at the doorway.
We were locked down for the evening at 8.15pm. A guard went from door to door doing a formal headcount at 8.30pm to ensure that everyone was in their proper place.
The shift change from swing to graveyard happened at around 10pm. Around 11pm, when I was well into dreamland, I was abruptly woken up by the banging of keys on the door, so that the officer could see my face. Then again at 1am. I don’t know why they need to wake me up for a face-to-ID check twice every night. My cell was locked at 8.15pm and no one was let out. Sleep deprivation wasn’t part of my sentencing.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog in which she answered some of your questions
Click here for Another Day part 1
Download my jail book, Hard Time, for FREE
Shaun Attwood
Hometown Launch Party for Hard Time
Thank you everyone who attended both the hometown launch party and the London launch! The events went extremely well - a credit to the great people that showed up and gave support. The hometown launch attracted over 100 people and was broadcast on local radio.
Pics below (in the previous blog post):
1 Tommy Noone (radio presenter)
2 Mum
3 Amy (my former secretary) from Phoenix, Arizona
4 Tommy Noone
5 The policeman from my hometown who locked me in a cell at age 10 when he caught a group of us trespassing on the grounds of a chemical manufacturing company. We were all crying when our parents picked us up at Widnes police station
6 Dad's best friend and his wife
7 Doing my talk
8 Cousin reading from Hard Time
9 Cousin reading from Hard Time
10 Talking about jail tattoos
11 Signing a book for the raffle winner
Thank you everyone who attended both the hometown launch party and the London launch! The events went extremely well - a credit to the great people that showed up and gave support. The hometown launch attracted over 100 people and was broadcast on local radio.
Pics below (in the previous blog post):
1 Tommy Noone (radio presenter)
2 Mum
3 Amy (my former secretary) from Phoenix, Arizona
4 Tommy Noone
5 The policeman from my hometown who locked me in a cell at age 10 when he caught a group of us trespassing on the grounds of a chemical manufacturing company. We were all crying when our parents picked us up at Widnes police station
6 Dad's best friend and his wife
7 Doing my talk
8 Cousin reading from Hard Time
9 Cousin reading from Hard Time
10 Talking about jail tattoos
11 Signing a book for the raffle winner
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