 And I'm going to start our YouTube live and we are officially open. We'll give it a moment for the room to fill up. Welcome everyone. And I also forgot to mention to our panelists, I created a document that I share with the folks in the audience that has links to library news links back to brothers and pen links to the anthology and that kind of stuff and any resources that come up while we're chatting I'll add those to this document so it's a live document. Welcome friends. We're going to give it the full minute to fill up before we get started. Welcome YouTube viewers. Hi everyone. Hi, it is the magic hour. Thank you everyone for being here tonight. I am. I don't know bitter and sweet that this is almost our last one city one book event it's been a lot of events in a short amount of time and I know some regular folks have been joining in the audience so I really appreciate our library community coming out. I want to talk about all the amazing people working in this field and working to help folks and all the folks getting help and all the folks coming out and all the reentry folks and all the folks still inside and showing the transformation of art and writing and literature and reading that can happen while still inside and out. So we're here to talk to brothers in pen, and they are part of the William James Association, and I will just give some other quick announcements. This is, as I mentioned part of our big one city one book which we're celebrating the work of Nigel four and Erlon Woods and their book ear hustle this is your hustle, the story behind the podcast. And it's been, like I said it's been amazing there's been so many amazing folks, and you can check most of this out on our YouTube channel if you missed any of the events including the main event with Nigel and Erlon, and then they did a separate event with us with pender is harsha and Brandon to Z also on YouTube. So most, I want to say that there was a couple in person events that we didn't have like letter writing it's the only one you can't find online. The library also wants to acknowledge that we occupy the unceded ancestral homeland of the raw mutual only people were the original inhabitants of the San Francisco peninsula. We recognize that we benefit from living and working on their traditional home space, and as uninvited guests we affirm their sovereign rights as first peoples. And we wish to pair respects to the ancestors, elders and relatives of the raw mutual community. I always like to shout out at this time the amazing sagorate land trust and all women led group from Oakland, working in land back movement and with success so check them out. And yes, so one more event tomorrow. And very excited about this. Dr genie Austin who is a librarian here at SF PL we have a jail reentry services department that serves folks in San Francisco and San Quentin, and also the reference by mail, and Dr genie Austin has a new book out. It's all the raid and library world, trust me. But the panel will be really exciting and it's about inspiration knowledge and curiosity well incarcerated. And then Wednesday night, not a one city one book but we have author no far to leave me and key to Lucas talking about their work and in relation to home and what that means. And Kija has a photography exhibit happening right now in San Francisco. So come check that out. I'm here almost every Monday through Wednesday 7pm on SF PL virtual library so you know, lots to choose from. All right. So, brothers and pain William James Association was the top of my list when I started making all the calls to people I wanted to present. And they've been at this work for a very long time. And we also had the prison arts project. Last week, I believe that was all the programs have run together but that's available very good and I'll put it in the chat as we go. I forgot to mention that I do have a document I share with everybody there is, and I'll continue to add to it. So, today we have members of San Quentin's brother and pen class along with Zoe Miller the teacher, and they're going to share some funny intense surprising and memorable short works of memoir and fiction. We now have time for a dialogue and question at the, at the after the readings. So go ahead and use the chat it is the river of consciousness and zoom land we love it. Brothers and pin is a San Quentin creative writing class through the prison arts project a program of the William James Association led by Zoe Mulery. The story has been running the workshop for 23 years, and many of the writers who have participated in it, some for over decade are now on the other side of the wall, living creative, interesting lives and still writing. 10 anthologies have produced in the classroom since its inception, seven of which are publicly available for purchase. The class has been honored to have a number of prominent writers come in as guests over the years, including Tobias Wolf, wanted to see a Diaz, sorry, and each wrote a forward for the brothers and pin anthology. And I will throw that in the chat to, but let's first turn it over to Zoe Mulery. Thank you so much Anisa is great to be here. It's great to be with these guys I wish that we could have all of the guys who are out which is now like 30 or so that I'm in touch with that I have some kind of contact with and, and the the number is growing. So you guys are here, you know, representing for all the rest of them that that aren't able to be here tonight, but maybe some of them are are watching to so I just want to say thank you to the San Francisco library for for doing this event, and thanks to and Nigel for being good storytellers and getting stories out there that people want to hear and and getting people interested in, in what's happening in in prison I think your hustle has done a great job of getting people interested in what's happening behind the walls and that that's a great thing. And I want to say just, yeah special thank you to Laurie Brooks who's the director of the William James Association who is just like incredibly tireless and her work of keeping this these programs going and it's always hard and she's, she's amazing. And also Carol Newborg who facilitates the program at San Quentin there's just so many people to thank. But I'm just really glad we're here tonight and these particular five guys have some great stories just like piles and piles of great stories. And so tonight, we're going to, I asked each of them to just choose one five minute piece which I'm sure was somewhat difficult. Each of them is going to read for a short five minute piece. And then afterwards, and we're just going to do that back to back go through all five pieces, and afterwards we'll have time for you guys to respond, you know be sure and respond what you touched what touched you what was interesting, because writers always like to hear that. And, and also there'll be time plenty of time for discussion and questions and, and all that. And I think one of the things I just wanted to say is, one of the great things about doing a fiction and memoir class, which is what we do at San Quentin is, you know, some people write about prison and some people write very powerfully about about their experience in prison or or a fictional take on on prison life. And also some people write about things that have nothing to do with prison. And, and, you know, with fiction, you can, you can be in anybody's shoes and any time or place, and you can, you know, put yourself wherever you want to be and that's also seems to be a great gift for people when they're locked up to be able to escape through the means of writing. And so, so we've got all kinds of stories, all kinds of stories that come out of this class both memoir, true stories, wildly imaginative, made up stories, and everything in between. So I'm not going to take up any more time I'm just going to turn it over to what honey what honey Steiner who's going to start us off we're going to have what honey Steiner and followed by Kenny Brighton. They, they take the award for being the longest members of the class I think they were 13 or 14 years in the class Kenny a tiny bit longer than what honey. And then we're going to have Udu Pela, who's going to follow and Joe Crowder and noble butler. So I'm going to let them introduce themselves. And I'm going to turn it over to a tiny. Thank you. Well, let me don't waste up too much more time. My way of introduction. My name is what tiny Steiner, and I was arrested in 1969 after a shoot out on the UCLA campus, in which two students were shot and killed. Although I was unarmed and hadn't taken part in the shootings. Subsequently, my brother and I were wrongfully convicted and sentenced to life in prison for conspiracy to commit murder. Five years later in 1974, my brother and I escaped from San Quentin State Prison and fled the country to South America, where I lived in exile for 20 years. In 1994, concerned for the safety and welfare of my family in a country torn by political and economic unrest, a voluntary surrender to the US Embassy in South America, and was brought back to prison to resume my life sentence. 26 years of incarceration on January the 1120,015. I was finally released from San Quentin. Now, while I was back in prison, anticipating my eventual release. I always thought that, you know, the major challenge I would be faced with upon my release from prison was the technology as the cell phones computers, but my greatest challenge was not the technology. It was my relationship with my children. So I'd like to share this piece that I wrote after I was released from prison and discovered the challenges I had with the relationship with my family. So if you will this is taking this is the title this piece is called is from my memoir is called collateral damage our children suffer the most. I soon realize after my release that prison provide a buffer between you and your relationship with your children. You write letters, send cards, have occasional business and you talk briefly over the phone. You try to stay connected and in a relationship with them. So when you are released from prison, that buffer is no longer between you, you now have full access to all their emotions, their fears, their wounds, and all their pain and anger. My children, born in South America, don't seem to share my position, my passion for fighting for racial and social justice in this country. They don't even see injustice the way I do. Because of this, it throws into question my assumptions about how they thought about me when we were apart. I wondered what my children were thinking about me when they were in foster care. They were so young and knew so little of my story and why their father was in prison. After all, they didn't grow up in this country. That wasn't the context they were immersed in. They had no conception of the rising intensity of racial antagonism within this country that continues today. Before had they ever heard of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., or Malcolm X. All my children knew was that they had a loving father and then he left. And when he left, things turned into a nightmare. Young activists fighting for racial and social justice during the tumultuous Black Power era of the 1960s. I was focused on wanting to make a difference for the very reason of wanting children, my children, everyone's children, to be able to grow up in a just and safe world. I had a big picture of you, a revolutionary cultural nationalist vision, a kind of radical love for them. Would I do it again? The same way? Knowing the enormous emotional toll it has taken on my children. After all, I was not there when they needed me most. But my choice was not just about making a difficult decision to join the movement for racial and social change in this country. It was also about a racist system and the actions of this government counterintelligence program, COINTELPRO, which limited my choices. Now, I can't honestly say that there are no regrets, but if I had to do it all over again, I would. However, this time I would be mindful of the collateral damage done to my children. I would never forsake or take for granted the small picture for the big picture. In a strange way, the ironic outcome of me not being there for them is that my children don't see or understand the issues like they might have if I had been teaching and dialogue with them all those years. Sadly, but truthfully, being in prison for so many years, separating them from their children is the plight of many black and brown fathers and mothers throughout this country. Because my life was sacrificed for the struggle for the big picture, I didn't get to raise my own children to see critical issues and social issues like I would want them to. And in fact, a few of my children have some beliefs that are somewhat shocking to me. That is a complex outcome to have given my life for the struggle. I felt so poignant when one of my daughters, pregnant with her unborn son, proclaiming passionately how she would never abandon her child. She would care for him above and beyond any and everything else. Unlike me, she would always be there for him to comfort, protect and support him in all his dreams and aspirations. For my daughter, there is no issue more compelling and essential to her than raising her child. She says, I can name a million and one incident study where I would rather have had you there than you being where you were because of what you were doing for the revolution. So the price you paid was not worth it. It's not that I don't care that I just care more about my child. It's not that my daughter was just as passionate about her unborn child as I was in my passion for confronting racial and social justice in this country. But I also understand that if the society in which she lives is not just and sees her son, my grandson as less than others, then all the love she pours into him and all the protection she offers. Will not be enough. She will own for changes in this society so that he can thrive and grow in the ways every mother wants to see. It feels tenderly naive to me that she would think that she on her own can make his world. Now she can do a lot, but he will have to grow up and live in this society. She can choose him above everything else, but he and all of us still need activists fighting for justice for as long as there is injustice. My grandson also needs the racial and social justice work. I care about. If I have come to any conclusion about family and social struggle, it is this. It is not a question of either or would must be a balance of both. My hope for my grandson is that he demands and deserves a world where justice prevails in black lives. Thank you. Thank you, a Tony. That was beautiful. All right, we're going to go straight on to Kenny. Please put your, your comments and thoughts in the chat when when you're ready but also give your full attention to Kenny right now. Yeah, hi, my name is Ken Bryden. I was incarcerated at the age of 19, serving a seven to life sentence and, you know, many of the things that, you know, the, the, the mass incarceration and such things. I was a, you know, an ion person watching it all as it unfolded and grew, you know, in this industrial complex that we talk about. When I first came into the prison system in 1978, there was 13 prisons and by the time I co-rolled after serving 39 years, there was over 35 of them. And I watched all the things that unfolded in that system and how it affected everybody and anything. And, you know, and I went to, I got to San Quentin on, on April 1, what an ironic day of 1993. And I got involved in many things there but I'd been staying busy and I'd stayed and applied myself very well, and many levels I was a clerical, I had some clear good clerical skills, and it afforded me the opportunity to do a whole lot of writing. And I'm one of the first, you know, and I got to the idea of deciding I wanted to write a novel. And in a six month period, I knocked it out, and I submitted it. And I had a publisher that grabbed it and started vetting it out to the, you know, to the process and they took it one step away from getting it published. And, you know, and then they turned it down. And so I was disappointed as I was, I felt inspired and decided I would keep on, you know, plugging at it. And by the time I got into Zoe's class, I had finished my second novel. And, you know, and I, and I thought I thought I had arrived, but very quickly, and working in writing and stuff like that. You know, and I was getting constantly nagged on by Zoe to edit and revise and to rewrite and to revise and rewrite. You know, I slowly but surely realized that my first work had needed a lot of work in the first place. And, and I, and I continued but I but I persevered with that. And, you know, I saw the the pen America being posted up on there. And back in 2006, I believe it was, I got one of got an honorary mention for one of my short stories. It was titled San Quentin, July 4, 19, 1975. And it was a fiction piece. And thereafter, you know, and I, and I started to continue to write while I was at San Quentin, I was also teaching a Christian creative writing class. And also, I was got involved in the San Quentin newspaper. And I became the first editor in chief of that, you know, when the, when the newspaper was resurrected after 20 years of being out of print. And it went on to do some quite quite phenomenal things and, and certainly I think it opened up a whole lot of doors. And also, I think it was a big, you know, big, big opportunity from that. And, you know, I, and I just love the passion of writing. One of the things I like about writing is in the motto that I have is, is that it untangles my thoughts. And so the journaling and even fiction writing has given me a new perspective on my own life. This particular piece that I'm submitting here or presenting is, it's been published in England, and a number of other places as well in and some other short story collections and anthologies. And it's, it's about my relationship with my father. And so I've, it's titled a course in reconciliation on the, excuse me. On the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge on 101 a sign reads San Quentin State Prison. On August 31 1995. I still imagine my father took that off ramp with my half brother tie. I smelled the buttered popcorn as I came up to the entrance to where I would see them. Visit I said to the prison guard. After a quick pat search, he said, okay. And I walked into an area half the size of a football field. Three rows of knee-high tables ran its length. The noise level was the constant din of many voices. My father and tie waved from the far end. Approaching I focused on my father saw the still fresh pain showing in his face. Hi dad, I said. Hi son, he answered. We gripped each other's shoulders and looked into each other's faces. His gray eyes missed it, but he remained as I knew him. Hey bro, I said to my brother. Kenny, he said hugging me. Ty was a prison guard in Arizona. All three of us were broad shoulder thick chested and had deep voices. We picked out three seats to talk. Sitting down I faced them. How was the trip? Dad didn't hesitate. Other than tie being a pain in the ass, it was all right. Ty turned beat red. Yeah, he answered. You wouldn't stop for nothing. It was a family moment. Dad never stopped and Ty always wanted another beer. Dad said the funeral went well. His voice shifted. Mark was cremated. My stomach twisted. A body still, a body didn't really seem so dead, unlike a pile of ashes. I asked how's mom taking it? Dad took a deep breath. Not very well. I sighed and nodded before asking about my other half brother. How's Hugh? He's okay, Ty said. We talked to family for a while before Ty stood up pointing to the prison guards he'd met previously. I'm going to go talk with them. I watched him leave. I turned to look at my father and the tattoo on his forearm. Now faded, it was a black panther with his claws digging into his skin. Some veterans here at the prison had also had it. And like my father, they only give me a pain smile when I asked what it represented. I began a mentally scripted conversation. So what are you going to do? Dad said in a calm voice, I'm taking Ty home before I go back to Fresno. His face was blank. I looked away trying to remain calm. I shouldn't speak my next words, but it now fell on me. And I took in a deep breath. I don't think you want to be my soulmate. My word surprised him, but he answered, nobody does that to my son. My heart was beating fast with my 17 years incarcerated. His message was clear. Seeing past my own grief, I considered what Mark's murder would mean to my father. Dad was fearless and bold. A pioneer in skydiving, he was the first American to log over a thousand free fall jumps. A master sergeant in the Green Berets, he was a well trained killer. Two tours in Vietnam had given him the bronze star and a purple heart. My father sat across from me. His eyes were wide as he processed my knowing his intentions. I broke the silence. Let the legal system deal with him. He leaned forward and spoken a hush voice that was impossibly deep. I don't want those fuckers alive. I want them dead. He pointed a finger at the table as if it was guilty. I'm going to tie them to a tree and they're going to see what I can do with a knife. He looked around the visitor room with his jaw clenched and his strong hands opening and closing. They're going to die like dogs just like they left my son. I continued. You know, prison is full of people who've done just what you're thinking about doing. A slight sneer turned up one side of his mouth. What are you going to do? Turn me in? I said, there are no perfect crimes. I gestured around to remind him. It's just where we were having this conversation. I glanced over to see Ty and join his talk. A moment later, died side and he said, I know Mark wasn't the same, but he didn't deserve that. I extended my hand palm up and he says, I get it. I said, but there's a family out there that also hates me in the same way. I paused. Would you like them to do that to me? He nodded and took a deep breath. I hear you son, sitting erect and unclenching his hands, but I'm not promising a fucking thing. Ty returned and looked from one to the other and he says, what's up? All good, I said, looking across the table. Dad said, you two are going to stop and toast Mark with a beer. First, my father scowled, but afterwards he laughed and nodded. Of course. Thank you. Thank you, Kenny. That was powerful. I've heard that story many times and it always, always gets to me. Thank you for sharing that. And now we're going to turn it over to Udu. My name is, my name's actually Lawrence, but Udu is a family name. Everybody here is family. When I write, I certainly am not Lawrence. I'm much more. And who my family knows me as I am, I am someone who is loving who is carrying and all of these things in 2009. I began 46 year prison sentence in which I was guilty of, I committed nine on robberies. My release date wasn't until February 16 2048. That was the earliest possible time I could come home. But it was nothing short of the grace of God that on July 11 2019. I was released. I got my sentence committed by the governor throughout my whole time in prison and being incarcerated. It was a struggle. It was a day by day grind, especially because for me God had shown me so much. He had done so much in my life, but it was like okay. I can no longer just live for me. But that's not easy. And as I've come home, it still hasn't been easy. It's been like a day to day to struggle. And the piece that I'm going to read for me when I was inside very much encapsulated that struggle that day to day. I just need a victory for today. And I will know that God is with me right here today, and that will keep me that will push me through. So this piece is called Holy Night. Just make it through tonight. When I was 14 years old, Major Williams had come to believe he was an acquired taste like a black jelly bean. He had been homeless for over two years now accustomed to the brittle blankets and oxen like musk of Motel rooms, deeming them more manageable than the frigid experiences that tent city. I got a piss. The husky voice was like ice cracking on a frozen lake. Easing the heavy arm away, Major let thick fingers glide across his back. I won't run. His reply came not because he didn't want to, but rather because there was no one or nowhere else to run to wrapping himself in the still sheets. He lost himself in the silver lettering of the blue book laying upside down on the nightstand. Holy Bible. That word was just an idea that passed by but never stayed. Holy was like the women who had the nerve to ask why he was out alone so late handing him all the cast they could find in their purses before wishing him farewell. Holy was like the restaurant owners tossing him scraps after kicking him off their premises or scaring away customers because of his filthy jagged tooth smile. Holy was like the social workers, leaving him wearing freshly creased clothing and homes with liquor cabinets larger than their refrigerators. It generated a beautiful sound in his mind. Yet whenever it came near that's when it was sure to vanish. You asleep. Major forces eyes open as the side of the tattered mattress was kicked. Don't get comfortable. I stand too much longer this time. The doors were cold, like outside hands were slipping themselves under the covers. But the room was so warm, warmer than any life major had known this far. You said we'd be here all night. Major's concern was not with affection, but being out in the brisk air. I got a life to tend to. I'm not staying with you all night. Keeping the covers from the bed. Major raised his malnourished midnight colored body. I got nowhere else to go. I don't give a damn. Major was right and sure footed now on the thin green carpet. Major protested in his dingy tube socks. They're blue. They're two blue stripes magnifying as she needs. If you don't sit down. A fuzzy forearm sent the boy crashing into the AC unit. Major reached for his pants, pulling a blade from the pocket. Don't you ever touch me again. Are you serious right now? Major felt the chill of his grim condescending eyes. Clasping the white cross engraved on the blade's handle. The slender boy transformed from frail to ferocious. I swear to God, I'll kill you. You ungrateful little sewer rat. I feed you. Give you money. A warm bed. Major was more from fear than fury. Being far removed from the hunt. It ain't free. Major defended. What? You think you're special? There's a million of you out here. Major resisted his soldiers desire to relax. Fixated on the cunning core of the man. Don't forget how it was when I found you. Freezing, pale and putrid. My parents would sell anything for it. Major twitch. Planting in the corner of the room. That's the future you got without me. Which we both know ain't no future at all. I don't care what you think. I don't need you. As long as I'm right here. I can make it. You know what? I'll let you stay here tonight. Because this night's the only thing you'll ever have. Ever in life. Come tomorrow. On your own. You ain't going to have nothing. Not even a future. Long after major dead bolted the door. Demands hefty capital radiated in the toasty room. Major still bathed in the wet heat. Sputtering from the rough spotted shower head. His future of no concern. Those hateful sentiments holding as much weight. The only proof to be had. Was this moment. And it he would seize. Feeling holier than the priest. Who provided him warm shelter and CD motel rooms. Wiping away the steam. Fogging the chip midsize mirror. Tears stream down majors glittering cheeks. From the other room. The blue book. Partially reflected in the room. The blue book. Partially reflected in the glass. It's letters on the movie. Thank God. I'll make it through tonight. That is just a heartbreaking story. Beautiful. Thank you. Thank you for sharing that. And we're going to move on to Joe Crowder. Got a handful of heavy stores for you here tonight. Hello everyone. My name is Joe Crowder. I served a 15 year to life sentence. And parole from San Clinton. The last leg of my journey in September of 2019. Through God's grace and dumb luck. I crash landed into Zoe's creative writing group. With the help of our mutual friend Paul. And it was fantastic. I had been writing for several years before that. But had no real direction or education. In my experience. And joining that class really helped me. Organize. My. Very overpowered imagination. I discovered like I've. I suffer from nightmare. Wake in nightmares. Sleeping night. Everything. And I discovered after I was. While at 10 point and I was diagnosed on autism spectrum. Part of my traits. Is. Intrusive imagery. My imagination gets hijacked. And blasted with all kinds of very. Incredible. And extreme forms of. Imaginary. Not all of that. But. I was able to take. That. Like tornado. Of imagery. Of just coming and hitting me at the time and be able to. Write it down. And thankfully the whole my classmates and the Zoe I was able to. Guide it into the format the right. And so that being said. This is an excerpt from my novel in progress. The novel's title is called walk like walking down the road. So. It is a post apocalyptic horror story. This excerpt is called first watch. And it is through the eyes of one of the main characters trench coat. And I will answer why their names are strange. In the in the Q&A. This is first watch. I took first watch. My watch says to 45 am. I'm reading by flashlight. It's pitch black night outside. It took over two hours to butcher the demon dog for dinner. Nothing like brimstone barbecue. Just like mama never used to make. With a little sadness that pulled my last sick out of its safe little red and white box. A small strip on the side of the box told me that once upon a time. That if I saved enough of those strings. I could win a jacket. Or a damn pool table. Oh Marlboro. You're my only friend in this craziness. And I've got nine packs left. A twinge of addicts panic twist my guts for about a second. But what can you do? I'm sure I'm. Lighting up. I'll smoke that sig when I get to it. It's darker than a black holes rectum outside our Greyhound bus. Can't even see the scrub or the hills. Grims lying on his back snoring quietly. He's got a rag near his cheek to catch his drool. I wonder if he's ever water bordered himself. I look the glasses. He's laying on his right side face to the wall. In 20 he'll roll over flopping out an arm like clockwork. He calls it pancake time. Because you have to flip a pancake several times before it's done. And I don't get it. I burst my lips in front of him. All is quiet. Blessed to be. I wanted another cigarette but never got another pack for my stuff. Dang. And I just took off my shoes and socks. I got up as quietly as I could and moved to my knapsack. As I looked would have it right near glasses in front of the pack. The bus's carpeting was rough with who knows what. Grims crashed out behind me near the toilet. Glasses founded an MP3 player jacked into the wall. They played a bunch of pop rock. Lady Gaga was on it right now. I wonder what she thinks of all these new little monsters now. The world is quiet. No noise safe for the snores from Graham and the occasional fart from glasses. I don't know how his pants and boxers survived that nerve agent. Thankfully there's a cross breeze moving through the bus. I patted softly past glasses without problem until I heard a very quiet but distinct. The metal. Break. Glass is this damn sword. It creeps me to hell out. I think it's alive. And if told glasses is such. He just looks at me and doesn't say anything. Dick. I kept an eye on the weapon like I would a dangerous snake while I grabbed my pack. Shit. Easier to grab the whole pack than root around with a damn thing close to me. I turned the creep away, knapsack in hand and it happened again. Louder in the bus's stillness. Jesus. Damn sword. I swallowed and got back to my seat. My heart beat in a little harder. That changed with a fresh smoke. My watch beeped with the last drag. Alien head. Airplane. Brownie face. Dick. Time bubble. I pulled out a fresh Marlboro and matched to prove my theory. Struck the match and waited. One apocalypse. Two apocalypse. Three apocalypse. Three apocalypse. The match flared weekly to life. To die by cigarette. Last time this happened, I smoked one cig for nine hours. At least it felt that way. My watch beeped again. 1245 a.m. Breeze. Grim Russell sitting over. What time is it French? I took a deep drag of my cigarette making the cherry glow breathing out. 12th alien head and all's well. He had a tired pain to look on his face. Tag off French. I got watch. I stood stretching out the kinks from too long in a molded plastic seat and moved two rows to my sleeping spot. Glasses as MP3 player was playing a song by one republic. All the right moves and all the wrong places. Yeah. We're going down. In a world of craziness. What good things fuel you to go on. Even Lady Gaga. One republic. I flicked the butt out the window. The cherry got swallowed by the night and burst in sparks when it hit the ground. And at least I have my life. My soul. My honor. My friend. My code. I didn't have a home before the breach. But getting glasses and grim home to theirs might let me make one for myself. And that's an even better deal than what we've got now. Traveling south. We're all being sad that we've survived. I stuffed my transcode into a pillow. Lay down. Pray. Let me wake in the morning. Let me live another day. Let me repay my life that glasses. Let me never be dishonored. Let me find happiness in the south. Thank you, Joe. Thank you, Joe. That book has such a feel to it. Like it's just such a. Vivid world that you created there. Thank you for sharing that. And for our last reader, we've got noble butler. Hello, everybody. My name is a noble butler. Some of you might know me as that. I am a. In a nutshell, I'm a former gang member. From Los Angeles did 30 years on a 15 July. 15 year life sentence for second degree murder. And I was just like all the other brothers that. You heard from tonight. Was blessed to be allowed to. Have a second chance at being a member of society. So. And during the course of my incarceration. I had a pretty. Big paradigm shift in my thinking and I went from. Being a self-absorbed. Kind of a weird thing. I was both self-absorbed and self-destructive. And I became very conscious and aware of. A lot of the different things that were going on in the world around me. And I can attribute a good portion of that to. The man that. That anchored us this morning this evening. And started us off by Tony start. Steiner. For kind of like helping me to become. More understanding of. Not just my consequences in the world, but my place in it. And the things that are going on around in it. And so this piece that I'm going to read is kind of reflective. Of. My conscious awakening to. To the world and the. Injustices that are done to. Black people. In this country. In this title that I am. Shots ring out. Echo through his head. He struggled to wrap his mind around what was going on. Where he was. What was happening to him. It was night. It was night. And it was cold. Dearly beloved. The preacher begins. We are gathered here today not. To mourn but rather. To celebrate the life of. His rich baritone voice is somber. But it's old school Southern Baptist cadence is beckoning. A heart sick. It's a. Sour for well rises up from the front of the sanctuary. Reminding some in attendance of a wounded animal. The preacher continues. We didn't have to be here. And gather here today. Under these circumstances. Oh no. We should be here celebrating. Good times. We should be here celebrating. Good times. We should be here celebrating. Good times. Commemorating blessed. Events. Instead. We must be that village that comes together and lends our strength to a grieving mother and father. And lay to rest. One of our own. Children. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be this way. We were all alone from the store after getting a snack of Skittles and a Snapple. He didn't realize that in between the time that he stepped out of the front door and the time that he started back. That the laws had been changed to state that. It was a capital offense to be a young black man. Wearing a hoodie in that. Neighborhood. The people who lived there. Had been given posse comatata status. To carry out the punishment. On site. This child was loved. The preacher blasted full volume. By now he had raised the congregation to a fever pitch. Some would say the Holy Ghost had come and laid hands on folks up in there. There was even episodes of laughter in between tears as funny anecdotes are shared. Do you remember the time when. Girl. There was this other time he. Child. I can think of the time she. But even in the midst of these lighter moments. It is impossible. To forget. That this congregation is missing one of its members. That one of the most important stars in the constellation. Had fallen from the sky. Occasionally. Some were the steel. Someone was still a clandestine glance toward the gleaming treasure chest. Resting at the foot of the altar up front. And be reminded of its contents. The totality. Of one woman's most precious prize. The fulfillment. Of a man's bloodline. And somewhere in the back of their minds. They swear. They can hear. The sound. Of that wounded. Animal. She was just going. About her business. Hanging out with her girls kicking it in the park. And during a mild February evening. Her friends never tied up her stories about her trip to DC. Or performing for the president. And not just. Any president. The first black president. And he was from Chicago with that. And he was from Chicago with that. The. That the inauguration was also in the same year. As the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King's. I have a dream speech. And the 150th anniversary. For the emancipation proclamation. She connects them to a rich history. Reminds them. They are more than just some South side projects. Infuses them with dreams. Of tomorrow. Until chaos erupts at the other end of the park. Moving faster than the speed of sound. And with no concern for who it stings. Strays from its intended path. And instead. Bites her. Once. Giving her sleep. But stealing away those dreams. It was just after midnight. January 1st. New Year's Day. The world held promise for him and his friends. As they rode the barb back home. To the fruit they are lying. As they rode the barb back home. To the fruit they are lying. At 21 life was just beginning to open up for. He chatted with his friends and watched the world pass by out his window. As he pondered at all the possibilities the New York the new year would bring for him. But promises and possibilities would forever remain unfulfilled. When it came time to explain. What the devil said. He couldn't tell the difference between the weight of a taser. And a Glock. Something any 12 year old kid in the hood could do. Blindfolded. But it's alright though. You know, cause he said he was sorry. But it's sorry enough. The preacher asks. Employing the crowd. The mother no longer able to suffer in silence. How's in pure agony at the question letting that be her answer. Hell no. Someone yells and leaps to his feet turns and storms out the church. Others turn to look. And follow. Soon. The whole congregation is in the streets. One by one. The residents of the neighborhood all. Open their doors. And join the gathering crowd. They create a mighty procession. A sea of people. Deeper than any ocean form since time began. And press forward. They arrive at the grave site. And the sea parts. Allowing the mother to come forward. With the treasure chest. With the treasure chest. And the first clumps of dirt began to fill the hole. A chant rises up. Soon. It is echoing through the crowds. I am. Oscar grand. I am. Hadia. Penitent. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. Travis. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. Thank you, noble. We pulled that off even on zoom. It's hard to do. Well that was a bouquet of a very painful. And beautiful stories. be quite so painful, but I think that's a lot of what happens in our class as people share, you know, a wide range of the colors of emotions, and this is what we got here tonight. So that was a beautiful representation of the work that all of you have done and many of the writers have done in the class. So I just want to open it up now to all five of you to share what, you know, about your life as writers about your experience in the class or in the arts or whatever you guys want to share and we'll also open it up to questions and comments from the audience. And I'll get out of the way. I don't got much to say right fast, I'm going to come steal the show real quick and just say I had known anyone in prison personally before I went to prison and it's still like as I'm here tonight like listening to all of my brothers read like it always reminds me of how when I got there, how shocked I was about how talented, how exceptional people are incarcerated. And it's not like it's just some old like, Oh, it's just a gang number guy who was the evil guy, who was just this criminal that's who's in the that's why I'm going to go and count her right now. And I am blown away by all man, and I, and I love y'all I love how y'all aren't afraid to be who you want to be, I like how you write and how you'll express all of these different emotions, like y'all, y'all always have always like just kept me encouraged. And so I thank y'all for, for just being who you are in spite of our circumstances you know that mean like and I really appreciate our class Zoe, of course, thank you. I cannot say enough about us having advocates people who are willing to spend their time to come in and sit with us and allow us to have a place to grow and to really like home these skills that we're trying to build. So thank you Zoe, thank you, everybody like that nige, everybody like you say Carol so many people who was coming in doing these programs, so that we could do what we wanted to do. Just to be us. So that's it, that's all I got. So I definitely want to make, you know, give a Zoe acknowledgement and what she's done and what she's doing in that program. She is no, no, no slouch herself in writing. She's brought in a number of her stories to to share with us and and she has definitely been published on a number of different different venues and and I've really appreciated what she's shared there and you know the opportunity to get her get to read her writing is as much as this is a great thing. Somebody asked in the thing is what kind of writing is a reading. Do I do? I did a lot of science fiction back in the day, some fantasy, but I also really enjoyed Tobias's Wolf's work and I did did a lot of reading out of Joyce Carol Oates and what she did. So, you know, there was a lot of different things that I did. I can't say that all of my writing was was particularly, you know, what you would call classic, you know, literature or anything like that. But I did a fair share of that as well. And, you know, more than anything else, you know, you know, Zoe made it perfectly clear, you know, shortly after I got into the classes, is that if I'm looking for for mass amount of money coming out of this particular, you know, field of endeavor, I could really, really just just, you know, count myself, you know, you know, almost certainly disappointed. So, you know, being able to be there and to do that, you know, more than anything else, it was cathartic and it gave me a release for my own thing and it gave me an opportunity from an incarcerated position to reach out into the world outside, you know, and I, you know, I mentioned one of my stories, another one that was of mine, the stories were picked up by Pan America was, you know, a consensus of death and that that was another one. And as I mentioned in the chat there that I've been published by Joyce Carol Lowe's and those are great. But, but, you know, there are nothing compared to the value of what this did for my own life on a personal level. So thank you, Zoe. And what Tony needs to unmute. Yeah. Yeah, what Tony? Tony, you're muted. All right, got it. There we go. Yeah. Yeah. I don't want to, I won't repeat what everyone else says because I'm definitely in sentiment with with the words that were spoken. I just want to give a little, a little, a little context about the type of class that we have inside of San Quentin. Is that really, so it doesn't run the class as a sort of a traditional writing class is more is operate more out of a workshop where we each bring our PC and the things that we are passionate about and, and that's what we, we use and the type of, you know, brotherhood that we created inside of that created writing classes been really, really motivational. It's been inspirational. We learned a lot about, you know, each other's their lives, their family. It afforded us an opportunity and a space where we could share things that we won't normally share in, you know, on the yard or in the cell blocks. So that's, that's, that's something I, I, I want to bring up. Also, we are also doing a creative writing class that we started outside here at this place and I'm at now chemical farm. But anyway, I just wanted to add that part is to, to try to give some sense of what type of creative writing classes being conducted inside of San Quentin and all of these men here have been really inspirational to me. I've learned so much from them. We, we share, we not only talk inside the class, we also walk the yard together. We talk about stories in terms of how it's structured noble. Yeah, I remember him when he, when he came in, he was off the hook. But he's, you know, morphed into this beautiful, really powerful writer who had a lot of, a lot of things to, to share. So I just wanted to add that. Yeah, well, Tanya, I want to just piggyback on that by just saying, I feel like my favorite thing to do is sit in a room full of people who are reading their stories and sharing that. I mean, it's like such such a great way to get to know people. It's not like sitting down face to face and saying, so tell me, tell me all about yourself. But it's like this beautiful, like rich and full way where you hear what how their imaginations work or what's in their history or what kind of details they notice or what kind of humor they have. You know, you just it's just such a beautiful way to get to know someone and especially in a group like that, you know, because there's all this banter and all of this attention. It feels like a kind of love. Like I always feel like sitting in a circle of writers is a special kind of love because you're listening, you know, and you're you're you're you're feeling it. But you're also thinking, how can this grow? How can it become something more? I don't know. It's just it's just a beautiful way of being human beings together. It's like it's one of my all time favorite ways of being human beings. Yeah, I agree with that. Being being able to get invited to. The group when I was in that thing, but it really helps me focus. Focus my thoughts and feelings and things like that really kind of start helping me get my stuff together to avoid the nonsense and shenanigans that the prison offers and to be around positive people and positive influence. It was it was a really great opportunity. And I was so very happy that I was able to do it. It's got a question for one of these people. Hi, everyone. No, did you want to say any words on how you found the class? I actually found the class because I had. Like I said, Watani was a very big influence in my life when I was younger. I had and I transferred from San Quentin. I went to another prison and when I came back, Watani, one of the one of the first people that I that found me was Watani. And he said, hey, you need to you still writing? Because we it was me and Watani and a couple of other guys had did had started our own little group where we would meet every Saturday in the prison library and we would write and we would do writing. So he was asked so he asked me, did I still write? I said, yeah, I'm still writing stuff like that. And he said, well, I'm going to come get you on Saturday. And I want you to go somewhere with me. So I mean, Wednesday, he said, I'm going to come get you Wednesday. I want you to go somewhere with me. And I was like, when is it after dinner? I was like, OK, I had no clue what he was taking me. What he was doing. He just said, come on. But this was Watani. So I was like, hey, you say so. I'm winning. And that's how I got introduced to Zoey's class. And I stayed there for when I started in two thousand and ten. No, two thousand and nine started in two thousand and nine. And I stayed there until my release in. Twenty eighteen. So I was there for like nine years. And it was probably one of the most. It was one of those. It was one of those things that I could not. Not do. It was it was a way of, you know. Being able to express yourself and say. I mean, because in prison, if you you can't. Scream, I know, I know they have those people that say, you know, if you get frustrated, go somewhere and just scream into the air. And it feels so cathartic. And you can't do that in prison. You can't respond to people that are. Literally. Mistreating you. Physically, emotionally, mentally. And there's a lot of things that. You know, you can't get out and being able to go to this writing class every Wednesday and share something. That you just, you know, wrote because you just needed to get this. Whatever out and you knew it was in a safe spot. So that was one of my that was the thing that was most important for me. And I see the question is, are you still writing? And not as much as I used to. Not as much as I did when I was in in San Quentin and truthfully, just mainly because, you know, in San Quentin, you have a lot of time. I mean, you, you, you, you sit in that cell and there's a lot of time to think and. Contemplate in and figure out all the little intricacies. And since I've been out, it's been me trying to survive. So, but I still, I still write here and there. There are things that I've done and it's got a head talk out there. Yeah, I do. Yeah. But, you know, so we saw. So I do still, I do still write as not as much. I'm not as prolific as I used to be, but I do still write. Yes. So I'm writing now and I have a should I say this? I married an English teacher. So I kind of like got the gun to my head and, you know, and mostly a good way. But no, she's, you know, she's she's a great writer herself. And this certainly inspired me on many ways. I'm involved in other programs and and I wrote and wrote my story out for a particular book that that it may get published in. And the opportunity to just, you know, express myself and get these things out. One of the things that, you know, certainly, you know, caught her attention about me was my writing. And so, you know, we're looking at, you know, doing some more of that. And and then, you know, I've had the fortunate situation to be retired now. So I'm definitely getting more involved in it as well. You know, like, like, like, Theta was talking about, you know, you come out of the prison system after decades of incarceration and it's literally like like a culture shock. You know, you're coming into a new world and having to deal with all of that. And then everything, you know, Zoe was on me from day one to keep writing and journaling and everything else. I just didn't find the time more, a lot of times. So I'm grateful to kind of be able to slow down a little bit and do a little bit more of that and try and get some of my stuff published. And fortunately, I have a great editor right in the house with me. Yeah, the questions for everybody still writing. And then I'll just throw this question in. Since I'm on is someone is asking, what are you reading? And what is your inspiration when it comes to writing? So I am still writing. I'm currently enrolled in the bachelor's program for creative writing at San Francisco State. Which is kind of it's not done to done to the head. Enforced writing, but it definitely. Like to fire under under my nethers to get me to write. And are you going to teach to? Yeah, I was asked to teach a poor fiction class one of these semesters coming up. So. There's a. I suffered from like writer's block, like I barely scratch out a paragraph for like three years. I would die if it was to fall. And I started taking this course, which is a one on one directed writing program with the professor. And he. He was we were working on my novel and he was just like, he's like, why are you stuck? And I said, I have no idea. And then he just started to ask questions, the easy question, you know, like, what do you want to be done? What is the end result of this scene? You know, what are these things? And all of a sudden, like the spark just like exploded in my brain. And you just got muted somehow. I'm sorry. Can you hear me now? Yeah. Yeah. I so anyway, yeah, the professors used to ask me these questions and it broke me loose long story short. And I finished the chapter I've been cursing for three years and was able to knock out like two more chapters and finally like gaining some momentum to finish the same book. Which I'm so happy about the follow up. Like, what's my inspiration? I put it in chat also. But my inspirations came from like Stephen King, I started reading Stephen King when I was in like third grade. And that man has a mouth on him that just is bar none. And the way that his snark and stuff like that. I mean, the horror, the horror besides Oh, someone's asking why is my care. Okay, well, anyway, yeah, Stephen King, Jim Butcher and basically anybody that's got a sarcastic view but still tries to like, you know, win the day and be a good person. Those are like my inspiration. So why is my character named trench coat? So in this, in this universe that I've created the end of the world was called the breach where a dimensional tear opened up and monsters came out. It's, you know, it's an old formula. But the monsters that came out were, were formless. They were made out of pure energy. And that energy resonated with the human brain specifically the parts of the brain that were fear, faith, belief and things like that. You know, well, those parts of the brain. So when they resonated with those parts of the brain, the monsters were forcefully shifted into a physical form. One of those and then all these other reality altering things started happening like magic and stuff like that. So the characters are named glasses, grim and trench coat because they can be affected by magic. And one type of magic is that, you know, someone's real name. You can find them anywhere. You can do anything you want to them to slave them, kill them, transform them into whatever, you know, so they protect themselves by naming them, giving themselves these things. And that's why their names are trench coat, grim and glass. Thanks, Joe. Bartani, do you want to say anything about whether you're still writing? I knew that's coming. Yes, I am. It's a little technical after I got out after so long. But one thing, well, I started writing my memoir, as you know, Zoe, for many years inside. And it kept changing. Twenty-two years ago. Yeah, quite well. And so the writing process to me has shifted during my incarceration. I started writing when I first started writing. I started writing out of anger because I was mad at the government. I was mad at them crossing me on my children. I was just, I was just writing out of anger. And I, so all of my writing was, was, was around there. But then when I got into Zoe's class, then she started writing these annoying little comments in the column of my, in my writing, which used to annoy me and used to go back and forth having a tug-a-war. But I also realized in the class that what was happening that my story started moving from my head into my heart. And I started looking at things from, you know, from all sides. I started to, well, it's sort of that prepared me for, you know, for what I understood, was to learn about restorative justice. You know, so much, it was a sure. So one thing that I'm glad, and I'll call you that, I'm glad I did not, Zoe, finish my memoir while I was inside. Because once I got outside, I found out that my story was incomplete. And that there was, you know, there was a lot of complexity to it. Like, you know, what I just shared about my relationship with my children and what that was like, and there's a big watch to that story. And so I'm glad I didn't finish the inside because I would miss so much of the complexity in the story. And so being out now, I'm writing from a different perspective. I mean, I wrote while I was inside, but outside seeing the world, you know, the whole thing, the movement, because when I left prison back in the 70s, when I escaped, at that time I had a whole different, you know, I was 20 years old, 21, 22 years. I was young. I was young, you know, but when I came back on 46, I have a different way of looking at the world. I have a different conversations I have with people. So for me, the writing process inside shifted once I got outside. And I'm still writing. And I have to, as a matter of fact, I had to call the book up into two books instead of one book. The first book I have, I titled something more precious than freedom. And that title covers, you know, my growing up in the Jim Crow South. It covers my movement, my involvement in the movement. It caused the reason I came to, I got in prison. I had to escape. So that was the first book all the way up to that. But then once I got out, I knew that there was a more to the story and so much things that I had to tie, so many threads I had to connect together. So the second book that I'm working on now, Joey, and 2023, I will have published. I will have it published. But that's on record. That's where I know. And the title of that one is, is, is to stumble is not to fall. And it comes from an African proverb that says to stumble is not to fall only to move forward faster. And I think that that is something that captured my, my life in a sense, you know, I, I, I learned I fall down. I get back up. I'm struggling and I keep learning from my mistakes and moving forward. And for me, so that's, that's why I had to break up the, the, the second book. So, yeah. Yeah, and so, so he would maybe write the, the annoying prompts when I would speak out annoyingly to him as well. And point out things that, and I definitely heard a lot of, no, no, well, I think I know I heard all of. What Tani's story as it was written back then. One of the things that Zoe does or did back in the day, I don't know if she still does it. I presume she does is just bring in prompts. And these little, little pieces that she wanted to put. And, and, and as a result of that, I wrote an entire novel based upon those prompts. And that was, that was quite an interesting journey on many levels myself. And the reality is, you know, it was about a guy who was doing life without parole. Only now I got to finish that story up and talk about him actually getting out and how that worked out too. And, but it, but, you know, there was a whole lot of, you know, camaraderie that we definitely did. And more importantly, there was trust. And it was this, this, this mutual, mutual respect for each other's work and stuff that, that went on in there that really helped us to get down and sometimes, sometimes the critic criticism was, was, was a little bit or quite a bit annoying. But, you know, the reality was, is that, you know, more often than not, when I took it to heart and, you know, and there's no question about it as far as I'm concerned. Anyways, it's always class. You did not have, you could not have a thin skin. We had a lot of guys that come in there and they thought, well, I'm going to come in here and I'm going to show you what a good writer is about. They only, they didn't last very long. More often than not, you know, unless they toughened up and really just was willing to listen to what was being said. And then in the critiquing that was going on there. And, you know, we got some good writing coming out of there. Hey, I wanted to ask you, I know you haven't your life has not allowed you to do much writing since you've been out of prison, but I remember having a conversation with you a while back. And can you talk at all about just like how the writing lives in you, even when you're not able to write it down? I remember you just sharing about how you're, how you feel your creativity and yourself as a writer, like it's still live, you know, you're not writing. Yeah, I mean, I don't really want to say you kind of said it, you know, like, um, like life for me right now has very much just been about like providing for a family, you know, and so that's certainly something that is very new for me. However, like, I think I just need to be better at like managing my time because I think the stories someone had asked like, like the motivation and what is all that stuff, like what are people's inspiration. And I'm not somebody who reads much at all really like I do not read for nothing. And I think like the biggest thing that has inspired me right like it's just experiencing other people's lives and looking at people and being like, wow, you have a close story and having like some type of idea about how it goes. And then I got a crazy imagination, letting my imagination kind of just go with the rest and fill in the rest. And I think like just because of how life is it will always bring you more than enough stuff for me anyway, it brings me more than enough stuff to write about. I think my heart's always on a lot of like different things. My faith always keeps me in the place where I'm just like, all right. Think about this stuff from somebody else's perspective, not just my little small mind and how I do things, but how would somebody else do it. And so like that stuff very much inspires me to do stories and keeps me like, oh, how would I write this little story if you were going through, you know, this type of thing, which I don't know nothing about, but what would that possibly look like to them? And so then that stuff kind of just always boils up in my mind. I just got to do better at putting it down to paper. And or, you know, we got Apple, MacBook Pros and laptops. Now I don't have to worry about pen and paper or that little crazy tablet we have. What was that tablet thing? What was that thing called? The Neo. Oh my God. The Neo. No. So as close as we could get to a computer. But I hope you've all been like reading all the other comments that are coming through. It's a lot of love in the audience. And this was really, I mean, just like a perfect panel for like library world. I mean, you are all are so inspirational and your writing is great. Get the time management of control because I definitely want to read some more from you. So beautiful. Those descriptions were gorgeous. Oh, she has it. No, that looks awful. It looks like a label maker. That was gold inside of San Quentin. They were gold. Or writer anyways. So when you all have your books out. You have my email. We have a spot waiting for you at SFPL. Come on through. Let's do an author talk and an hour of each of you. Sounds wonderful. Thank you everyone so much. There's so much love in the chat. I hope you all saw that as it was coming through. Even someone from the East Coast who's like way past their bedtime. It's worth staying up. They said. I'm so glad that you got that inspiration. And tireless work. So thank you so much. And panelists. Wow, thank you for being part of the library community. You were the, the most perfect library panel because. You love writers. I write library community. Thank you, everyone. Thank you everyone. Thank you everyone for coming. Thanks you guys. And thank you all. Yeah. You guys are wonderful. I'm so happy to be here with you. Thank you very much. is waiting it was good to see everyone all right