Бывшая заключенная Пэтти Прюитт издала книги с письмами из тюрьмы и детской книгой о материнской разлуке

During the thirty-eight years she spent in prison, Patty Prewitt wrote approximately 14,000 letters to loved ones and people she believed could help overturn her conviction for the murder of her husband, a crime she strenuously denies committing. But even after receiving clemency from Missouri Governor Mike Parson in December 2024, Prewitt kept writing: Earlier this year, she published a children’s book with drawings by formerly incarcerated artist Yellow Moon. The book, called A Little Person Like You Whose Mommy Goes to Prison, offers comfort to children facing a forced maternal separation, something Prewitt’s five children and thirteen grandchildren experienced first-hand during her incarceration. Several hundred of Prewitt’s letters are now also compiled in two volumes: Trying to Catch Lightning in a Jar (2025) and Catching Lightning: More Letters from Prison (2026). Prewitt’s books were released by Some People Press, a four-year-old publishing company based in Portland, Oregon, that specializes in printing and promoting autobiographies and other works by people who have been imprisoned. The volunteer-run operation has published ten books to date, with four more currently in production, and supports currently and formerly incarcerated authors in writing about what they know best: their own lives. Harrell Fletcher, a now-retired art professor at Portland State University, saw the need for a publisher like Some People Press after facilitating public debates on criminal justice issues with several Amherst College professors at a Western Massachusetts county jail in 2013. After returning to Portland the next year, Fletcher began coordinating arts classes with a program at the Columbia River Correctional Institution (CRCI), a minimum-security men’s prison located about ten minutes from his home. Fletcher tells The Progressive that he wanted to give the men recognition for their considerable skill, savvy, and creativity. “I wanted the class to be nontraditional, and wanted to frame it so the people inside would see themselves as artists in residence,” says Fletcher. “Many of the men were visual artists, musicians, and writers, and I wanted to help them reframe the experience of prison to be more productive.” Fletcher eventually brought guest speakers, including writers Miranda July and Constance Debré, to speak with the men at the CRCI. The program ran smoothly until the COVID-19 pandemic, when non-essential visitors were no longer allowed to enter the prison, causing the program to be suspended. Two years later, when Fletcher was able to return to the facility, many of the men he’d previously worked with had been released or transferred to other prisons. Seeking to retool the program, Fletcher began hosting a writing workshop that was focused on autobiography. “I knew that the men had incredible stories,” he says. “From the start, we had a really enthusiastic group . . . . The men would read what they’d written and be critiqued by their peers.” They also read autobiographies of incarceration, including You Can’t Win, a 1926 memoir by Jack Black that recounts his experience in the criminal legal system. “Black was not a trained writer,” says Portland-based artist Laura Glazer, who co-founded and continues to co-lead the project. “We used the book to kick off the class and get the men started on writing their own accounts.” The students have thrived, Glazer says, but the project has nonetheless faced several hurdles. She says prison rules prevent them, as teachers, from having any communication with the imprisoned men outside of their weekly class because speaking by email or phone is prohibited. Moreover, she says that while their students are eager to listen to others and offer feedback on their peers’ work, it can sometimes be hard for them to follow through and complete their writing projects, especially after they leave CRCI. “We’ve worked with about 100 writers,” Glazer says. “Some get close to finishing, but once they’re released, life on the outside takes over, and they have trouble balancing everything—probation, finding and keeping a job, their families and kids.” What’s more, a recent prison rule change that bars students from using the computer lab for anything other than GED preparation has forced them to write drafts by hand, making for a much slower revision process. But Fletcher and Glazer say the students haven’t let that stop them. “The stories we’ve published are amazing,” Fletcher says. “Our writers’ work holds up as literature. Their styles and voices are original, and publishing their work feels like an important contribution.” Prewitt is effusive as she describes the collaborative process that is at the heart of her relationship with Fletcher and Glazer. “When Some People Press agreed to publish my letters, I edited out some personal details,” she says, “because I didn’t want the letters to only be about me. I want readers to understand that women in prison are just women who were dealt a terrible hand in life. They’re not monsters.”