I remember when I first tried my hand at writing-over 20 years ago. I remember how much joy it brought me. Just writing a few pages and reading it out loud to a few fellow inmates. After, we would talk and laugh about it if it was a funny story- This would bring more talk. I can still remember and see those faces. Not all the writings were funny, some were sad. Some still are.
I always carry something to write on. I can write wherever I am on the compound. I remember even using a guy’s back as a desk to “pen” on while in the chow line; reading what I wrote when we sat down with our so-called food.
Now I write all kinds of stuff, some real, some really real. I try to write stuff I can have John put up here on the blog-some of it is just too real, and he refrains. I get people asking me all the time to help them with a book, a letter, or their personal diary. I get questions of how to get publshed while caged. I try to help as many as I can. It is not easy to do in here, but I try. Lord knows I try.

It is night now, and I have my back up against the wall as I sit on my prison bunk writing this. It is not easy, but knowing that when I finish and send this out, I can rest and hope that the free world will read and listen. Hopefully someone will see it for what I am.
I hope to be free one day. I hope to write one day from the desk of small room, with a view of a stream or brook, shade trees, and no fences or bars. I hope because that’s what I have; Hope and a Pen.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 25th, 2009 at 3:31 pm and is filed under George Martorano. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.