Letters from the Inside, Sarah Jo Pender, #4

[Note: clouds drawn on outside of envelope around "To:" and "From:" address.]

Kelly,

I received the New Yorker article, thank you. I used to subscribe to the New Yorker for several years before I escaped. Oddly, my favorite part was the Tables for Two restaurant reviews. The article were good too. Long and well written, but I have a thing for food and the nuances of cool restaurants.

Anyway, I read the article twice and was so moved, I wrote the Commissioner of Indiana Dept. of Corrections a letter to thank you.

[Ed.: the article she is referring to is an article in the New Yorker called HELL HOLE. It was a ten-pager chronicling the hazards of solitary confinement. They spoke with prisoners, psychologists, wardens, etc. It was a fascinating article and seeing that Pender has to serve a year in solitary, in her cell alone without any contact for 23 hours every day, I thought the article might interest her. Specifically, the Commissioner that deals with her specific state prison is quoted as saying how dangerous it is.]

Back in December, when I was returned to DOC and charged within the institution with ESCAPE, a class "A" offense. The maximum punishment for any class "A" offense is one year in isolation, and a loss of earned time of what equates to 3 1/2 years, and that's what I got.

In January, a memo came out and effective February 15, 2009, the Commissioner reduced the max time allotted in isolation to 30 days for a class "A" or up to 60 days if it includes battery of an officer.

This is not applied retroactively.

So, despite still having to serve one year up here, I wrote to thank him for acknowledging the severity of long term isolation and for having the courage to take an unpopular stand in a political environment.

I know what it's like to take an unpopular stand. Though, of course, I won't articulate that to him. A simple thanks is enough.

Oh, and thanks for cutting off the web address. No problem coming through.

[Ed.: Certain prisons do not allow prisoners to receive articles directly from the web if they have a url listed. I have to cut those off for her. Some other prisons allow it but only 2-3 pages of an article at a time.]

I now have three books on publishing, one that includes how to do a book proposal. I decided there were probably hundreds of books on the subject for a reason: It's not a simple task, so I had a few ordered.

But I'll worry about that a little later.

Thank you for your advice about magazine submissions, though. It will come in handy.

I hear several women talking loudly down the hall, about crude subjects and one in particular whose laugh reminds me of a sinister clown, reminiscent of "Hours of 1000 Corpses." I loathe loud noise unless it's supposed to be loud. The stereo playing a kick-ass song or a live concert. A garbage truck. A waste disposal. A lawn mower. Even those things are annoying if I'm not ready for them. Like my neighbor mowing his lawn at 7am on a Saturday while I'm recovering from one too many margaritas. Mostly I enjoy quiet. Not silence, but quiet. I like it to be quiet enough that I can hear the sound of graphic over paper as I write. [Ed.: She only uses pencil to write her letters to me.] That's why I stay up until one or two o'clock in the morning to sit at my door and write by the light that filters in from the hall lights. There's no talking and lights out by 11pm, so I get time to relax and delve into my consciousness and discover what is there.

Right now it's probably one in the afternoon and I see a delft blue sky without any cloud cover, and the fresh blooms of a flower garden. There's a little fat, brown-tailed squirrel walking slowly through the garden, stopping to investigate every few leaf shoots. He stops, and digs into the earth with his tiny hands and retrieves what may be a nut. A small, black, round object that he turns and turns in his mouth until he bites down on it and beings travelling again. A dozen leaf shoots later, he beings digging with his paws and places the nut into the groud, covering it back up feverishly. Satisfied, he moves on to another section of the garden until he finds another treasure and runs off to the nearest tree, out of sight.

Hey, at least I don't have to watch cockroaches. Although, we do have numerous little black bugs that resemble miniature moths. Larger than a gnat. Smaller than a fly. [Ed. She draws one.] <---That big. And I kill off anywhere between 2 and 4 of them daily.

I thin they are attracted to the mold in the shower room, and then migrate down the hall to our rooms.

Man, I miss my queen size bed, pink fuzzy slippers, and my entire bathroom, full of hot water to sooth, make up to zazz up, and great dental products for longevity.

Oh well. Onwards with a new future,

Take care,

Sarah