Day 9, 7/1/21 - Thursday - The SHU Pen

Actual Journal Entry:

“My nights are getting better. More relaxed; meds seem to be right. There are times this place seems like an extreme summer camp on steroids with whacked militant camp counselors. (Just don’t get too relaxed.)

Had Chicken Parm for lunch, had blood drawn for dessert. I responded with a urine sample. ‘E’ got some good news: he will be swabbed tomorrow (for COVID), and it's Camp for him on Monday… Maybe. Most of the SHU COs now call me, “Wheelchair Guy.”

Scored a Pen*! Things are finally looking up. I’ve decided to copy this journal onto regular paper, by hand, and send it home, along with my story ideas and finished stories, for safekeeping. Who knows what could happen to it in this place. We have to be ready to move fast.”

Notes for Day 9 (Four Years Later)

Even though this entry was short, I rather liked re-reading it here four years later. I noticed that I started to describe things more like a real writer. I feel this was happening because I was getting more relaxed and settling into the routine. I learned more every day about the SHU and prison life in general.

‘E’ had been in for a very long time, and while he seemed to be a “corrected” (for lack of a better word) person, we had many discussions about breaking rules in society and prison, the definition of a criminal, and whether we had ‘learned our lessons.’ I always felt like he was testing me to see if I would ‘rat’ or if I even knew what it meant to rat on someone.

But we also talked about everything in life: money, women, and, most importantly, prison etiquette—like how to properly take a sh*t in a prison toilet with someone else just six feet away from you in a very small, confined space.

‘E’ also seemed very obsessed with getting me to admit that I was guilty (even though I went to trial, and so did he, by the way) and that I was reformed after just nine days in. He couldn’t wrap his head around my case and the fact that I was fighting for better copyright law. Of course, he’s not the only one. The fact that I was unofficially offered house arrest by the prosecution, conveyed to my lawyer, really blew his mind. I felt he didn’t believe I was telling the whole story.

I later realized: nobody really believes anyone in prison. Probably rightfully so. A good friend of mine, about a year later at the camp, told me, "Doug, it’s like this: You know that old motto of the Army, 'Be all you can Be…Join the Army'? In prison, it’s 'Be anybody you want to be.'" The longer I was in, and the more people I met, the more I realized that statement was spot on.

This entry was significant for two reasons:

1. As you can see, I was starting to take journaling seriously and seeing the value of trying to preserve these records. Mailing them home became incredibly important to me. As I write this, I’m looking at a stack of about fifteen generic notebooks, filled with handwritten observations, story ideas, prison food descriptions (probably too many, but, meh, that’s prison), business ideas, a few drawings, and general info about prison life and trying to fight your criminal case legally while incarcerated. That stack of ratty, school-type notebooks is a real sense of accomplishment, and I am grateful for my mother, who not only saved and organized the journals but also my stories and poetry.

2. *The final BIG deal about this entry was something that seems small (and is), but it totally changed my ability to write and significantly increased my creative output. It may have helped me as a writer like nothing else before: THE SHU PEN! It’s a rubbery little pen, made out of clear plastic. It takes some getting used to because it bends in your hand. But once you start using it a lot, you realize your hand doesn't cramp as much because it bends in your hand! I could write for hours and hours, never having to stop and shake the cramp out of my hand.

   

   The SHU Pen, available at all your fine Federal "Special Housing Units", Price = Well that's up to you.

   Damn, where was this thing forty years ago, when I was writing all my crazy sci-fi epics in notebooks and had to stop every fifteen minutes to shake out the cramp? Those little plastic, non-weaponizing writing instruments became like gold to me. I traded everything from commissary for them during my two and a half years. At the same time, I burned through the ink quickly, as there’s very little in them. But all in all, I came home with about seven working ones, and they are one of my most cherished prison treasures.

#prisonlife #writing #SHU