Listen to Keeping Time by Sonni Quick #np on #SoundCloud
Jamie sighed and blew a long, slow breath through his lips, sounding almost like a low whistle. January of the new year had begun without even the breath of a whisper. He hoped this year would be different, in a positive way, because 2011 didn’t end so good. The holidays got him down. If there had been no one in his life before this, no family, and lots of dudes in here didn’t have families, he wouldn’t expect anyone to care. But that was not his reality. His being here was too hard on them so they didn’t deal with it. Realizing no one cared if he was okay, physically or mentally, was hard. He missed his family very much. He didn’t stop loving THEM but he wasn’t sure if he mattered anymore. How could he know if they were silent? Did they miss him? It didn’t seem like it, he thought. Most of the time he could shove it into the back of his head, but Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and his birthday all came bang bang bang one after the other. Some of the dudes in here had family that constantly showed they weren’t forgotten. Of course, if they were far away it was hard to visit. Cards were passed around so others could see them. They were still connected to people outside. Their families helped them survive and helped them get some of the things they needed. The choice of clothing was limited at the commissary but he could get underwear, socks and shoes, long underwear for the winter, sweat pants, a jacket, T-Shirts. These things made a difference during cold winter nights. If he could get them on his own it would be different, but he can’t. Sonni helps as much as she can but she can’t do everything. Besides, right now she has bigger problems and she’s still there for him. Did anyone think it might be hard for him to get through holidays or his birthday, even Father’s Day because he might be depressed at not being able to see his son? Jamie never had a father he could tell, “Happy Fathers Day.” He knew by now hoping it would be different wouldn’t change anything, but the thought was still planted at the back of his brain just the same. He did receive a Christmas card from his brother. He usually sent one, and he was grateful for that, but he waited every day to see if anyone else would remember. No such luck. He should also forget about getting any cards for his birthday, too, which would come and go in little more than a week. Twenty-nine this year. His youth will not be worth remembering. Maybe he was expecting too much. Going to prison seemed about as far away as going to Mars. Mail couldn’t make it there, either. He would have so few good memories to think of when he thought about all these wasted years. He had a son, his only son, and he was special, even if he couldn’t spend time with him now. Someday he would be part of his life. Someday this would be over. Last year, and the year before, was the same as this year. He wouldn’t think any further back because he didn’t want to remember everything. Time wasn’t something that created good memories for him. It was a noose around his neck that became more painful with each passing year. His life was like a battered, rusty clock that wasn’t keeping time anymore because the batteries had long since died. It would only take a small effort to bring a little happiness into his life. It would be brief, but needed. A little something to look forward to. A simple card would do that for him; a present he could stare at on his shelf, with colorful happy things on the front. They were lies, of course, because there was no truth in wishing he would have a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Birthday, Happy Valentines Day, Happy Easter and more. Happy. Happy. Happy. He forgot what happy felt like. Was he feeling sorry for himself? Probably. He was craving the feeling of still being loved. A card was a new decoration for his residence, like hanging a picture on a wall. Whenever he was feeling down he could pick it up and look at it in his hands. It would lift him up when he was depressed. That’s what a card could do for him to help him through. The closest thing he had to human touch was holding a card. He imagined the person who sent it had held it, signed it and hopefully wrote something good inside. Once, Morgan sprayed perfume on a letter. He woke one morning to this wonderful smell. He didn’t know how or when it had been delivered. It didn’t come at mail call, so who had it? He laid in bed with his eyes closed and breathed this intoxicating smell deep into his lungs. He thought it might be a dream so he didn’t want to open he eyes and break the spell – until some dude down the hall yelled out asking what smelled so good. Jamie jumped out of bed and searched his cell. He found a letter under a t-shirt he had thrown on the floor the night before. It was near the door. Someone had shoved it through the opening under the door and it slipped out of sight under his shirt. How come this person had his mail? Someone had enjoyed his card before he did. That was disturbing. Was it a guard? Did he smell the card and removed it until he was done with it? Had it been opened? Jamie searched the back of the envelope to see if it looked like someone had opened it and resealed it again. He couldn’t tell, and probably would never know. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, holding the card up to his face, breathing it in for the longest time. It smelled like Morgan. She wore this scent all the time. What intense memories it brought to the surface. He smelled the card often through the next days. It took a long time to breath in all the perfume. A little kindness and thoughtfulness went a long way when you’re locked up. It was an unexpected thoughtfulness that brought him a lot of pleasure. The guards didn’t usually allow stuff like this to be delivered. He guessed he could add this to the small list of good things that happened over the years.
Jamie read his mail over and over, saving every one from the very beginning. They were his connection to the outside and were moved from cell to cell, prison to prison. At times they were taken from him as punishment but he got them back eventually. Taking away a man’s letters was one way to keep him in line. He felt their absence when he couldn’t open one and read. Letters and cards were his only connection to people and he felt lost when that connection wasn’t there. They didn’t understand. They were the most precious property a man owns when he is locked up. If they did understand, maybe they’d try harder to be there for him once in awhile. In the rare times he did get a letter no one asked how he was. It was sent to tell him someone had recently died. He hated those letters because he was left to grieve on his own. He didn’t handle death very well. Never could. Hoping for a visit was pointless, too. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He listened to names being called out when someone had a visitor, but it was never his name. Why did everybody who said they loved him end all contact with him? The thought went around and around in his head. It made no sense.
Jamiee stood near the cell door, leaning on the wall. His head was down and his eyes were closed. There was no reason to move. There was no reason to do anything. He stood slumped over like that for a long while. It was a wonder he didn’t fall down. “I’m here Jamie, I’m here,” a soft voice whispered from behind.” She didn’t want to scare him. Startled, he raised his head and whirled around. He didn’t know what to expect. “I’m so sorry,” he said, speaking softly. The words spilled out of his mouth. She was wearing a robe over a hospital gown. She looked tired. “I was being selfish, calling on you to come,” he said. “I needed to know you were okay. I hadn’t heard from you in awhile and there was nothing I could do about any of it.” He collapsed down, sat the floor and put his head in his hands. “My head is in a bad place,” he said as he rubbed his temples. “I don’t feel so good.” He quickly added, “I didn’t mean to drag you out of bed.” “I think I’m going nuts in here. I don’t know how to deal with this,” he said desperately, looking her in the eye. Sonni could see the glisten of tears. She wished she could put her arms around him, but she couldn’t. That was a barrier they couldn’t cross if they wanted to.
This is my newest piano piece – You’ll find it later on one of the chapters to my book. One by one the chapters are rewritten, music is recorded and videos are made.
Read some of the chapters. They are easy to find. They have a picture of the book cover at the top. “Inside The Forbidden Outside.”
Leave feedback! I want to know what you think. Subscribe to my newsletter and most of all – share, as I build a following. This is to help Jamie when he is released from prison, which is getting closer and closer. Only a little over 4 years to go! Also, go to sonniquick.net to hear all of the music and videos done so far.
This is the most important projects of my life. Years of learning to play the piano, performing and writing. But most of all it is for someone else – to help his life. To be there for someone that most everyone has forgotten.
How we treat people shows us what kind of person wee are. The golden rule, no matter what your philosophy or religion is: treat people the way you want to be treated. If everyone kept that in mind, the crisis America – and the world – is going through would make or lives better. That is all I’m trying to do.
For those who follow me – or find me by accident – thank you very much. Come to my other social media and say hi.
Things happen in our lives that have the potential to change everything. We have the opportunity to make these turns or we can ignore them. Either decision makes a different cause that has a different effect and can send our life down a road that has a great impact on us. Some people are afraid of change, afraid of where it will send them and choose to not move. But some people relish the change and leap into the abyss, confident that wherever it goes they will be glad they went.
That is my life and it definitely has been interesting. There is a motto I’ve lived my life by. “If you don’t like what I’m doing, don’t watch me do it.” I’ve made choices the average person wouldn’t because they care too much about what other people would think, even though most people don’t care what you do because they are too busy trying to live their own lives. It gives people a reason from taking risks. My greatest fear was waking up and finding out I was a dental assistant, or some other “job” for an hourly wage, living in a planned cookie cutter community. That type of security may work for some, but not for me.
WHEN DID YOU START WRITING?
I started writing songs and song lyrics when I was about 18, in the early 70’s. Lyrics flowed easy for me. I still write a lot of poetry that has music to play behind it, but not sung to the music. Being young has many good points, but if you are creative it gets better with age and experience.
I started keeping a journal when I was in my 20’s, long before there were computers for blogging. What turned out to be the greatest values in keeping those journals was being able to sit and read about myself decades later, reliving my life and watching myself grow up; wincing at immature decisions and reliving my children when they were young. It’s quite an experience. Decades from now when I’m gone, my life will still be there to read. Jamie’s blog and letters will also be there for his son to read and learn about his life in prison. Without a doubt he will know how much he was loved. A child with a father who is gone for any reason needs to know that. If the father is alive and coming back one day it is even more important.
I met Jamie before he went to prison, and writing to him happened more by chance than for the reason of writing to an inmate. I had never thought about writing to an inmate because I never knew anyone inside and nothing in my life put me anywhere near a prison. After years of writing these letters I saw Jamie’s life emerge through the words. I don’t think he ever had anyone who had shown much interest in what he thought, or how he felt. No one told him he could choose where his life could go instead of letting it slap him around. No one told him his life had value. He just went through each day as it came. His mother worked hard and raised her children by working two jobs. There was little guidance about having a future. He rarely has contact with her now. Her choice, not his. She makes no attempt to be there for him or help him with anything he might need. His family dumped him, as harsh as that sounds.
Jamie has been studying Nichiren Buddhism for the last 6 years, which is hard when you have no support inside and you are in a place that only wants to keep you down. Nichiren Buddhism is not Zen or Tibetan or anything to do with the Dalai Lama which are the only things most people think of when they hear the word Buddhism.. This isn’t the time to go into a lengthy explanation of what Buddhism means. It is simply the law of cause and effect. It is the same as the phrase, you reap what you sow, except we take that phrase very seriously. We are where we are because of the causes we make. To make a difference we have to change the causes we make. That takes a deeper understanding of your nature than you have now.
It took years of conversations and study for him to begin to understand himself. It is a fascinating process when you realize it is you, not an outside source, that controls what happens to your life. It can also be a painful process when you realize what you are going through is entirely because of the things you have done and not something that has been done to you. It is always two steps forward and one, maybe two steps back as you take responsibility for your life. It takes perseverance to work through the obstacles that keep you down.
It was at this point that he began to leave the boy behind and the man began to emerge. Obstacles never stop, but he is learning to deal with them in a different way. It is a fight, with yourself, to not react to life the way you always have in the past. This will carry over when he gets out of prison. This is why so many people who get of prison end up back inside. They want to change. They want to do things in a different way but they don’t know how to do that consistently.
Being out will be harder, in a different way, than being inside because he’ll be walking into a different world he doesn’t know, needing products and services he has never heard of before. Because his family has had zero interest in how he is doing, I expect there will be little interest after he gets out. Besides, they have done enough damage.
In the beginning it took time to develop trust. He had been hurt by people he loved. Even now there are things that are very hard for him to talk about, such as his experience with epilepsy. He thought of himself as damaged. I had to learn this was very painful for him to write about. I didn’t understand it wasn’t just a medical condition. It affected how he was treated by others. He was lonely as a child which also caused fear and depression. Epilepsy is something you can’t fix, at least not yet.
It is easy for someone else to judge another person based on their own experiences. Sometimes I would write a letter and he would tell me what I wrote hurt him and at times made him cry because of the pain of having to live through it again in his mind. It made me feel bad for being insensitive.
He blames himself so thoroughly for not having the wisdom to make better choices in his life, but that would have taken wisdom he didn’t have. Everything happens for a reason, he has learned, and it is up to him now to put that wisdom to good use. Prison is teaching him something his life probably could not have taught him on it’s own on the outside. It’s up to him now to use that wisdom.
WHY DID YOU START THE BLOG, “MY NAME IS JAMIE. MY LIFE IN PRISON”
We started writing letters in 2006 but it wasn’t until much later that I started the blog, when I realized he had a story to tell others needed to hear. There are millions of people incarcerated and many who are in the same situation as he is – without his family. There are many millions of people; wives, mothers, husbands, partners and children whose lives are all affected. Losing a member of a family has long range affects, especially on the children who most often grow up in poor households run by mothers who don’t make enough to support a family and be both mother and father. Sadly, many of these people were targeted because they were black, not because they were guilty. If guilty, many were given sentences way out of proportion to whatever crime was committed. This made a lot of money for the prison industrial corporation in an up to date slavery system.
I started the blog My Name is Jamie. My Life in Prison in mid 2014. If you want to understand Jamie go to the pages at the top of the website and the earliest posts listed by the month under the bottom of the post.
He is my grandson’s father. We met six weeks before he was arrested when I went to Tx to visit my daughter. He wrote to me once before He was sentenced. But it was write awhile before I sent him a card. He was surprised to hear from me. That was the beginning of our letters. When I realized his family wasn’t there for him, I reached inside his head and grabbed hold. He wasn’t doing very well on his own. He needed someone to be there, and he needed someone to care about as well.
I researched and read everything I could find about prisons. I was horrified about what I read. I had no idea. I was like many of the people who read something I wrote and have a sarcastic comment about him deserving every rotten thing they do to inmates, yet they have no idea about what they are thinking beyond the propaganda put out by the media. Our prison system is a very ugly part of our civilization. Surely this country didn’t treat it’s citizens like this, some people think . The amount of innocent people the government locked up, predominantly black, had to be wrong. But it wasn’t. I was so naive.
I had been like everyone else. My knowledge came from TV and movies, not realizing I only knew what I was allowed to know. The underbelly of the prison system, the involvement of our government and prison corporations shocked me. How could I live all these years and not know this?
There are many people like Jamie. His case isn’t special. The fact it is ordinary is frightening. He could be anyone; a member of your own family. The response people have had to this blog helped him realize the picture the media puts out of black people he is just a poor, black, uneducated man who is going nowhere, who some believe was born with the genetic inclination to be a criminal; the false picture many people believe about the black race, was not the picture he had to believe of himself. He is his own individual person. Jamie became real to many people all over the world in the past couple years. Many people have written to me about their own experiences, or experiences of people they care about who were also stuck in the profit motivated circumstance of prison.
For the first time in his life Jamie realized he did have value. His family still has very little contact with him, but he has made a few friends through the blog who write to him and have been very supportive of him – and me, too.
His family really don’t know him anymore. Jamie the man is different from Jamie the boy. For so long he was not important to anyone and it crushed him. But he is important to me. I became his friend, his teacher and his mom; someonewho showed him love and caring. His family never noticed when he matured from a boy to a man – a man with a voice.
GOALS FOR THE BLOG
The first draft of the book on Jamie’s life is done, “Inside The Forbidden Outside.” There is still a lot of work to do. I found out there was a lot I didn’t know about writing a book, too. One of those things is I need a mailing list. Books that are listed at Amazon or Barnes and Noble and others don’t sell themselves. That is another skill set that needs to be learned if I want it to be successful. I started a monthly publication called ITFO Newsletter. There is an update on the book and snippets of chapters to gain interest. The newsletter has a variety of articles about the prison system. People who subscribe will have the opportunity to downloading the ebook version for free when it is published.
There is a Facebook page, Jamie Life In Prison, twitter and others. When the book is published my goal is to speak – at schools and communities to start, and when I get my feet wet I want to work as a paid speaker. It’s important to dream big. Reach for the stars. This way if you fall short you will at least land on the moon!
This book is only part one. Jamie will not be out of prison yet when I’m done. Groundwork must be laid for him to have a life. How does the book end? Part two will be awhile coming. It will be about what happens from here, the process of getting out and what happens when he does. A lot can happen in six years. He will not be going out into a welcoming society. In between I will write another book and am mulling over some different ideas. Possibly a book of short stories of actual inmates or break away to a different idea?
DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR FIRST TIME AUTHOR’S?
Where do I begin to answer that since I am also a first time author? I can pass along the things I have learned up until now. A person says to himself, “I have a great idea for a book.” Not too many years ago it was almost impossible to publish a book unless you were already known or very lucky. But book publishing went the same way as music publishing. You don’t need a record contract to get your music out there anymore. There are ways through social media of gathering a following. There are many good musicians and many good authors that never had an alternative. Now there is.
A book publisher who offers you a contract owns your book and can change it, including the title, any way they see fit. It will then take another two years to see the light of day. You get less profit per book because the publisher needs their money, too. Also, they won’t touch a book without an agent, who also gets a cut of the sale. There is little or zero up front money unless you are a well known author and you are still expected to market your own book. Many good editors lost their jobs because the industry changed.
Self publishing companies began springing up all over the web and many ads also started appearing to teach people the ropes. If you ever click on one of these ads be prepared to have every book publishing business follow you around the internet forever. Be careful of these companies. They are like snake oil salesmen. If an author doesn’t do their homework they are going to pay through the noise and likely be disappointed with the product. They also realize they haven’t laid the groundwork to market their book and feel overwhelmed. They may not have the skills to learn the marketing that is required our they are tired and need a break. I’ve talked with people who at this point just took what sales they could get and crossed their fingers. The average self published book sells less than 100 copies
Many people who write a book get scammed by one of these companies who take your money, tell you how great your book is, then puts out a sub par product with lousy editing, charges you for things you don’t need, and when it’s done and you find problems, they won’t answer your calls. I talked to many of these salesmen and they are very convincing. There were several I wanted to go with because they sounded so good. I researched them and was glad my internal scam meter was going off at full tilt.
This is the best piece of advice I can offer: Pay an editor; one for content (story) and a copy editor for grammar, phrasing and much more.. You can not edit your own writing no matter how good you think you are with the English language. There are things we can’t see in our own writing but other people will. Sometimes we make the same mistake over and over. I read a lot of samples at Amazon from self published and well known authors. Study what works and what doesn’t work. Find out what feels wrong when you read and don’t repeat it. It is a free way to study writing. Poorly edited books will only sell to people who love you and the rest you’ll give away for free.
WHAT PART DOES MUSIC PLAY IN MY LIFE?
I am first a piano player. Not a pianist, because I equate that with classical. My dream from very early childhood was to compose the most beautiful music in the world. A childish dream but I one I have never forgotten. I didn’t play well at the age of 7, but I could hear it inside me. I didn’t know how to get it out. Even as an adult, through years of playing professionally and practicing every day it still wasn’t there yet. I have stacks of songs I’ve written with lyrics and piano arrangements but it still wasn’t what I heard inside.
Then I lost it all. I thought I was done. I ruined my vocal cords. My ego wouldn’t let me be someone’s side man. If I wasn’t gigging I had no reason to write music. I had nowhere to play it. No one to hear it. My piano gathered dust for 12 years except for a few students. I lost my identity. At least I thought I did. I didn’t know who I was. I had always known, “I am a musician.” If anyone asked what I did I felt I had lost the right to call myself a musician. A part of me had been amputated and it was a painful blow to my life.
Then Jamie entered my life – the man in prison I write about at My Name is Jamie.My Life in prison. Through years of knowing him, his pain struck a deep nerve inside me. In 2012 I nearly died in need of a liver transplant. That pain was like none I’d ever felt before. The recovery was very long and some of the damage done is repairable. Pain and I are good friends. It lets me know every morning I didn’t die in my sleep.
Something changed inside me. I needed a way to express the pain. I feel emotions deeply. Not only what I was feeling about me, but the pain I carried for Jamie – his pain and his loss. It was palpable. No one who should have been there for him treated him like a human being, recognizing his pain. It is a horrible pain when you realize the people who should be caring about you – don’t, and you are left to rot.
Without any love at all you begin to die inside. Family told him, “I don’t write to you because it hurts ME so much that you are in there.” That doesn’t make any more sense today than it did the first time I heard it. He and I understood each other. Even through the hell he lived in, he worried more about me than about himself. Where does a friend like that come from? How could I let him down, no matter what people thought?
It made me want to play music again. I can’t it explain, but instead of creating music from the outside by developing a chord structure and building a melody around it, I crawled inside the music and let it play itself. My fingers know what to do like a typist knows a keyboard. I knew what I was feeling so I mentally get out of the way and let my fingers express what I felt. Because what I feel is pain, physically and emotionally, there is pain in the music. I don’t listen while I play. I just play. I hear it in the background like it comes from somewhere else. I record everything. I sometimes don’t listen back for days so I can hear it as a stranger. I can never replay anything because it is all free style – I improvise. After that it is gone.
When I listen to music I recorded two years ago and those recorded recently, I can hear a change and it is getting closer to what is inside. I’m know I’m not done yet. Where is it going? I don’t know. The process and progress is exciting. There ARE advantages to aging – experience and wisdom. The more I immerse myself in the emotion I want to convey, the more that feeling emerges. Yes, there is, technically, an occasional wrong note – but are they really wrong notes or part of the process?
I enjoy sharing my music. You can find all of it at Sound Cloud. There are a couple hours of recorded music. Leave a comment. Add a like. Stats are the name of the game for anything online. Who says a 62 year old woman is too old to keep creating something new? I’ve had about 10,000 pieces listened to. If it went no farther I’d be happy, but I don’t think I’m done.
My favorite way to play is in a completely dark room or even blindfolded. When you listen, dim the lights and close your eyes. Put your head back. This is dream music. What does it make you feel? Play it again. Where does it take you? What do you hear? I have asked people these questions. Strangely, I often get the same answers. What do you hear? These two pieces are two of my favorites and completely different. Picking up Broken Pieces Brings Tears to my eyes. A newer piece is K’lee written for a man whose words affected my Life. On my other blog watchandwhirl.com is a post, “Talking to my Younger Self.” It was written because of him.
ONE WORD TO DESCRIBE MYSELF
I thought about this question and saved it for last. That one word for me is “passionate.” I do everything intensely. I often push myself through a wall of pain that is there every day. I could give in to it, but no one could ever understand what it means anyway. But it helps me see and understand the pain in others and it allows me to be there for them. That requires passion.
Some people want to leave a legacy when they are gone so they aren’t forgotten. They want to do something great or pass on a lot of money. But a true legacy is how you have affected other lives. Because of you, did you change someone’s life in a positive way, and then they, too, have affected other lives? This is how you live on. This is the only way we can truly change the world. If people can’t manage that on a small scale we will never see great change.
“The change in a single human being can change the world”