Their eyes grew big like saucers.   “Mr. Spence, you want us to do what ?”   I told the boys that they had heard me correctly. 100 things. Not 10, not 50, but 100 .   Moans filled our classroom. Eyes rolled.   Torey sat in the back, smiling. He stood up and encouraged them in his thick Latino accent.   “When I was a juvie just like you Spence gave me the same assignment. I thought I couldn’t do it. But I did. And you can too.”   I thanked him. I thought back to those early da

I recently read an article about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) being used by nonprofits in Chicago to prevent violence. Murder rates are falling nationwide and sociologists are trying to figure out why. Some believe CBT programming might be one of the reasons. I filed the article away in my mind, thinking that CBT might be worth trying in prisons one day. We are always looking for “what works”.   Later that week, I was at Burruss Correctional Training Center for a gradua

“Yo Mr. Spence, can we speak in private?”   His name was David. A young Hispanic kid with a marijuana leaf tattooed on his neck.   We walked to the corner of the yard.   “What’s on your mind, David?”   He spoke quietly. “You think you could get me one of those poem books? I’m trying to write a letter to my girl. I want to use big words and s***. Oops, big words and stuff.”   I laughed.   “Sure thing, man.”   You see, a month ago, I’d printed out four different poems and broug

“Wiggle your toes,” I said. Ahmeze laughed nervously.  “Come on, try it,” I implored.  He took a deep breath, then proceeded.  The assignment was simple – write a poem, one page or less, and incorporate at least one of the plants we’ve learned this semester. You see, every week when I teach horticulture, I bring a USB with me that has a PowerPoint slide that contains our “Plant of the Week.” The students look at pre-loaded images of a plant – its flowers, leaf shape, and habi

“Dear Old Me,” H. said. I was confused, the assignment was supposed to be a poem. It appeared that this student, H., had mixed up the assignment with an old one where the class wrote letters of wisdom to their younger selves. I wanted to stop him; he was supposed to be reading a poem he wrote to the class, but I let him continue. I think God was telling me to shut up and listen. “Dear Old Me,” he began. Afterwards, I asked for a copy of his speech, which is below. I know you

Ana Ivey, our creative writing instructor at Coastal State Prison, shares a beautiful message for us.***The Enemy’s Lies or God’s Truths “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” 1 Corinthians 5:15 ***He held the pages of his story and said, “I am a total screw up.” ​ I was teaching my creative writing class at Coastal State Prison. We were discussing the concept of “false beliefs” in literature. False belief