Thanks from Jon’s parents
As we prepare to fly to Tucson tomorrow (Thursday) to visit with our son for Christmas, we’d like to take the opportunity once again to thank all the readers of the blog for the emails, books, letters and tapes. We are constantly surprised and gratified by the kindness of strangers, who now, we feel are friends.
Our daughter, Karen, will be posting blogs while we are away. She has just had an article about our situation and the affect on the family published in the January edition of Cosmopolitan magazine. In the article, she says how, as a family, we have become closer because of what has happened. One thing that is certain is that Karen’s unflagging love and support has kept us sane throughout.
Best wishes to everyone
Derick & Barbara Attwood
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
20 November 05
Pyschotherapy With Dr Allen (part 3)
“Do you know what schemas are?”
“No.”
“Schemas are core beliefs that are the essence of you. They’re what’s in your heart and soul – what you believe about you and the world. Are you familiar with Freudian analysis, and the id, ego and superego?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should get an easy grasp of transactional analysis. With transactional analysis, three ego states are identified: the child, which is impulsive and likes to be taken care of; the parent – the caretaker or superego – which is where I suspect your anxieties stem from; and the adult – the rational and balanced thinker – the stabilizing force between parent and child.
Your drive to succeed – the ‘I have to do this, I have to do that, to get where I’m going’ – comes from the parent, the superego. To address the anxieties you are experiencing, a compromise must be found in the adult. You need to balance the parent out in the adult world. You have a need for relaxation and pleasure, for good mental health, which you are not addressing if your parent is making you believe that you ‘have to get this done, and have to get that done’ to achieve your goals. Let me take a guess: you probably spend seventy percent of your time working towards your goals, and thirty percent on relaxation and pleasure?”
“More like ninety percent plus on my goals, and ten percent or less on pleasure.”
“It’s worse than I thought then.”
“Like we discussed previously, I enter years of all-absorbing work, and the pressure builds up so much that I end up partying hard and entering a slump.”
“If you don’t modulate that, you’re going to run into the same problems. Instead of rising up rapidly in terms of success, and then having a massive need for play at the crest of your wave, you should try to obtain your goals more slowly, by letting steam out from time to time on the way up by engaging in pleasure and relaxation. It seems that you’re stuck on the beliefs coming from the parent state.”
“I can see what you’re saying is true, but, I don’t want to achieve my goals slowly. Part of my goals are the time parameters I set. I view the road you are describing as mediocre performance. I allow for pleasure when I’m beginning to feel unhinged. Isn’t that the cost of doing business? Wasn’t it Nietzche’s overwhelming use of his cognitive skills that contributed to his insanity?”
“That’s your schema. Unless you change that belief, and let out steam gradually as your stress builds, you’ll have the same problems that you’ve had in the past.”
“So how do I change that schema? I don’t understand where it comes from. I just have a permanent overwhelming feeling that I must spend all my time working hard to fulfil my destiny.”
“We need to go deeper into your psyche to find out what has shaped your core belief system.
But sadly, that might not be possible because I’m being assigned to work other prison yards, and may not be able to continue these sessions.”
“Not again. Just when I thought Dr. Bernstein at Buckeye was making progress, he got axed. Now the same’s going to happen with you?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but this might be our last session together.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Pyschotherapy With Dr Allen (part 3)
“Do you know what schemas are?”
“No.”
“Schemas are core beliefs that are the essence of you. They’re what’s in your heart and soul – what you believe about you and the world. Are you familiar with Freudian analysis, and the id, ego and superego?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should get an easy grasp of transactional analysis. With transactional analysis, three ego states are identified: the child, which is impulsive and likes to be taken care of; the parent – the caretaker or superego – which is where I suspect your anxieties stem from; and the adult – the rational and balanced thinker – the stabilizing force between parent and child.
Your drive to succeed – the ‘I have to do this, I have to do that, to get where I’m going’ – comes from the parent, the superego. To address the anxieties you are experiencing, a compromise must be found in the adult. You need to balance the parent out in the adult world. You have a need for relaxation and pleasure, for good mental health, which you are not addressing if your parent is making you believe that you ‘have to get this done, and have to get that done’ to achieve your goals. Let me take a guess: you probably spend seventy percent of your time working towards your goals, and thirty percent on relaxation and pleasure?”
“More like ninety percent plus on my goals, and ten percent or less on pleasure.”
“It’s worse than I thought then.”
“Like we discussed previously, I enter years of all-absorbing work, and the pressure builds up so much that I end up partying hard and entering a slump.”
“If you don’t modulate that, you’re going to run into the same problems. Instead of rising up rapidly in terms of success, and then having a massive need for play at the crest of your wave, you should try to obtain your goals more slowly, by letting steam out from time to time on the way up by engaging in pleasure and relaxation. It seems that you’re stuck on the beliefs coming from the parent state.”
“I can see what you’re saying is true, but, I don’t want to achieve my goals slowly. Part of my goals are the time parameters I set. I view the road you are describing as mediocre performance. I allow for pleasure when I’m beginning to feel unhinged. Isn’t that the cost of doing business? Wasn’t it Nietzche’s overwhelming use of his cognitive skills that contributed to his insanity?”
“That’s your schema. Unless you change that belief, and let out steam gradually as your stress builds, you’ll have the same problems that you’ve had in the past.”
“So how do I change that schema? I don’t understand where it comes from. I just have a permanent overwhelming feeling that I must spend all my time working hard to fulfil my destiny.”
“We need to go deeper into your psyche to find out what has shaped your core belief system.
But sadly, that might not be possible because I’m being assigned to work other prison yards, and may not be able to continue these sessions.”
“Not again. Just when I thought Dr. Bernstein at Buckeye was making progress, he got axed. Now the same’s going to happen with you?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but this might be our last session together.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
18 November 05
Bleeding Eyeball (Part 1)
In the Health Unit a battleaxe of a nurse was scowling at the three Health Needs Request forms I had submitted. “So you’re the one fillin’ out all those forms, and havin’ officers call down here every day complainin’ about a pink-eye infection?” she said.
What could I say? I was the one. Not wanting to start an argument I remained silent.
“Let’s see it then,” she said.
I stretched the skin away from my eye.
She looked and said, “That’s not pink eye, your eyeball’s bleeding.” She allowed her diagnosis to settle in for a bit. Then she said, "How did your eye suffer trauma? And don’t lie to me, I’ve got a built in bullshit detector. The truth is for your own good.”
“I haven’t suffered any trauma. I’ve been doing daily handstands for eight to fifteen minutes. They make my eyes go red. That’s all I can think of.”
“Headstands,” said a second nurse who I hadn't seen sitting out of view in a separate room. “It could be the headstands.” She rose, and headed in my direction. Confident that she was coming to examine my eye, I stretched the skin again, but, disappointingly, she walked right by and stopped at a filing cabinet. She filed some papers and approached me again. When she got close I swivelled my head, exposed my eyeball, and said, “Look!” She slowed down but did not stop. She looked at my eye momentarily, and said, “If there’s no gunk, and your eyelids aren’t red, it’s not pink eye. The ocular pressure from headstands may have caused some bleeding.”
“Does it hurt?” the other nurse asked.
"It aches occasionally.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being excruciating pain, what is it?”
“About a two.”
“It’s only a two. Did you hear that?”
“It’s only a two,” the other nurse echoed from the adjacent room.
“It’ll self-heal. No more headstands for a while. If the doctor wants to see you, we’ll let you know.”
Over lunch, I told Shane and Weird Al about my trip to Medical.
“By the time the doctor is notified, your eye will have fallen out. But don’t worry you’ll get a good DOC fake eye. I’ll start looking for round rocks on the rec yard for you,” Weird Al said. “Expect to be blogging with one eye from now on,” Shane said.
“You might as well warn your readers that you’ll soon be blogging in Braille.”
“I’ll know not to expect any sympathy from you two, if I lose my eye.”
“To enjoy the full experience of DOC you really should lose an eye or two.”
“And aquire a deadly disease or staph infection.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Bleeding Eyeball (Part 1)
In the Health Unit a battleaxe of a nurse was scowling at the three Health Needs Request forms I had submitted. “So you’re the one fillin’ out all those forms, and havin’ officers call down here every day complainin’ about a pink-eye infection?” she said.
What could I say? I was the one. Not wanting to start an argument I remained silent.
“Let’s see it then,” she said.
I stretched the skin away from my eye.
She looked and said, “That’s not pink eye, your eyeball’s bleeding.” She allowed her diagnosis to settle in for a bit. Then she said, "How did your eye suffer trauma? And don’t lie to me, I’ve got a built in bullshit detector. The truth is for your own good.”
“I haven’t suffered any trauma. I’ve been doing daily handstands for eight to fifteen minutes. They make my eyes go red. That’s all I can think of.”
“Headstands,” said a second nurse who I hadn't seen sitting out of view in a separate room. “It could be the headstands.” She rose, and headed in my direction. Confident that she was coming to examine my eye, I stretched the skin again, but, disappointingly, she walked right by and stopped at a filing cabinet. She filed some papers and approached me again. When she got close I swivelled my head, exposed my eyeball, and said, “Look!” She slowed down but did not stop. She looked at my eye momentarily, and said, “If there’s no gunk, and your eyelids aren’t red, it’s not pink eye. The ocular pressure from headstands may have caused some bleeding.”
“Does it hurt?” the other nurse asked.
"It aches occasionally.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being excruciating pain, what is it?”
“About a two.”
“It’s only a two. Did you hear that?”
“It’s only a two,” the other nurse echoed from the adjacent room.
“It’ll self-heal. No more headstands for a while. If the doctor wants to see you, we’ll let you know.”
Over lunch, I told Shane and Weird Al about my trip to Medical.
“By the time the doctor is notified, your eye will have fallen out. But don’t worry you’ll get a good DOC fake eye. I’ll start looking for round rocks on the rec yard for you,” Weird Al said. “Expect to be blogging with one eye from now on,” Shane said.
“You might as well warn your readers that you’ll soon be blogging in Braille.”
“I’ll know not to expect any sympathy from you two, if I lose my eye.”
“To enjoy the full experience of DOC you really should lose an eye or two.”
“And aquire a deadly disease or staph infection.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
16 November 05
Shanksville
Yard 4 has been locked down (no rec or showers) for two-and-a-half days because some shanks were found in a porter’s closet.
“I don’t get this lock-down shit, man. Someone was stabbed in the face in Yard 3 last week, and those fools didn’t even get locked down – they were out playin’ softball all day,” Long Island said into the vent, to our young Chicano neighbour, Flaco.
“I saw a jura [guard] find a big-ass shank behind our building this morning – the piece went from his hand past his elbow. It was huge,” Flaco said.
“I guess they’re trippin’ 'cause there’s some table legs missin’. A cop said the ADW thinks there’s more shanks on the yard,” Long Island said.
“Aw shit, here comes a shitload of juras to toss our houses,” Flaco said.
Fifteen guards – a dozen uniformed, wearing rubber gloves, and three CO3s in plain clothes – began searching D run's cells.
The jingling of keys announced our turn.
A brawny guard with a neat moustache entered our cell. He placed his arms akimbo, putting his massive arm muscles on display.
“I’m gonna strip you guys out one at a time. One of you wait outside,” he said.
Long Island exited.
I gave the guard everything I was wearing. Shrinkage commenced – my reproductives expressed discomfort by puckering up.
“Put your arms in the air.” He inspected my armpits. “Open your mouth. Good. Now fold your ears forward. OK. Now raise your balls. OK. Turn around, bend over, and spread 'em.”
I pitied the guard for having to examine dozens of behinds that hadn’t been showered for three days.
“Show me your feet. Alright. Now get dressed.”
“Alright.”
“Is there anything in here that shouldn’t be in here?”
“Of course not.”
“Where’s that accent from?”
“England.”
“What the hell are you doin’ in here?”
“It’s a long story. Stockbroker gone wild.”
“Stockbroker – is that what all the charts on the wall are about?”
“Yeah. The Dow Jones, NASDAQ, the S&P 500, gold and oil. I’m teachin’ my celly how to trade.”
Outside, I joined the crowd of inmates watching the guards search their cells. Nearby, a Chicano guard with slicked-back hair and a pronounced dimple was digging up soil with a shovel, looking for buried shanks. None were found in the search, but contraband was confiscated. Guards took water bottles (used for weight lifting), cardboard backs from writing pads (used to block air vents), empty pens (for making tattoo guns), and a TV from a two-man cell that had three TVs in it.
“Alright, Dog 11 return to your cell.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Shanksville
Yard 4 has been locked down (no rec or showers) for two-and-a-half days because some shanks were found in a porter’s closet.
“I don’t get this lock-down shit, man. Someone was stabbed in the face in Yard 3 last week, and those fools didn’t even get locked down – they were out playin’ softball all day,” Long Island said into the vent, to our young Chicano neighbour, Flaco.
“I saw a jura [guard] find a big-ass shank behind our building this morning – the piece went from his hand past his elbow. It was huge,” Flaco said.
“I guess they’re trippin’ 'cause there’s some table legs missin’. A cop said the ADW thinks there’s more shanks on the yard,” Long Island said.
“Aw shit, here comes a shitload of juras to toss our houses,” Flaco said.
Fifteen guards – a dozen uniformed, wearing rubber gloves, and three CO3s in plain clothes – began searching D run's cells.
The jingling of keys announced our turn.
A brawny guard with a neat moustache entered our cell. He placed his arms akimbo, putting his massive arm muscles on display.
“I’m gonna strip you guys out one at a time. One of you wait outside,” he said.
Long Island exited.
I gave the guard everything I was wearing. Shrinkage commenced – my reproductives expressed discomfort by puckering up.
“Put your arms in the air.” He inspected my armpits. “Open your mouth. Good. Now fold your ears forward. OK. Now raise your balls. OK. Turn around, bend over, and spread 'em.”
I pitied the guard for having to examine dozens of behinds that hadn’t been showered for three days.
“Show me your feet. Alright. Now get dressed.”
“Alright.”
“Is there anything in here that shouldn’t be in here?”
“Of course not.”
“Where’s that accent from?”
“England.”
“What the hell are you doin’ in here?”
“It’s a long story. Stockbroker gone wild.”
“Stockbroker – is that what all the charts on the wall are about?”
“Yeah. The Dow Jones, NASDAQ, the S&P 500, gold and oil. I’m teachin’ my celly how to trade.”
Outside, I joined the crowd of inmates watching the guards search their cells. Nearby, a Chicano guard with slicked-back hair and a pronounced dimple was digging up soil with a shovel, looking for buried shanks. None were found in the search, but contraband was confiscated. Guards took water bottles (used for weight lifting), cardboard backs from writing pads (used to block air vents), empty pens (for making tattoo guns), and a TV from a two-man cell that had three TVs in it.
“Alright, Dog 11 return to your cell.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Friday, December 9, 2005
12 November 05
Question Time With Ogre
Alba asked if the conflict over my Cheerios between Ogre and Druid was resolved?
Just when it was looking as if there would be bloodshed over my cereal, the move from Buckeye to Tucson occurred, and now I no longer have breakfast with Druid or Ogre.
Yard 4 is split into four buildings: A,B,C, and D. Other than early-outs lunch, or when there are poor chow turnouts such as spaghetti nights, A eats with B and C eats with D.
I live in D. Ogre lives in A and Druid is in B, but they do not sit together or talk to each other. I usually sit with Shane and Weird Al , and sometimes with Xena. Presently, Weird Al is the beneficiary of my cereal.
JC asked why Ogre is in prison. I put the question to Ogre and he revealed the following about accidentally stabbing his wife:
“How did the accidental stabbing of your wife occur?”
“I’d been up for days on tweak [crystal meth] workin’ on my boat. I was on my bed, naked except for a towel wrapped around me, cleanin’ my nails, when some of my wife’s friends stopped by to buy a couple of ounces of dope. The dope was hidden in my boat, and I didn’t really wanna get it, so my wife started yellin’ at me, ‘If it was your fuckin’ friends you’d be out there by now!’ So I said, ‘Fuck you bitch’ and threw my Gerber knife at the dresser, but it missed and stuck in the side of her knee through her pants. She pulled it out, and there was a little fingernail-size hole. It was gushing blood, and a little bit of meat came out. I pushed it back in, and we had fun making butterfly stitches. Her friends buyin' the dope wanted to call the cops, but my wife said she was alright, and we partied all night long. That was on April the 11th, 2003 in Lake Havasu.
After that I thought everythin’ was all good. We took a trip to L.A. with her daughter because I was gonna donate a kidney to Brian Davidson – the owner of Hot Boat Magazine – and they had to run tests on my blood at Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills. We did more dope and then took off for L.A. I missed the appointment, so we stayed the weekend, and I gave seventeen vials of blood on Monday. By now I hadn’t slept for a week, and I’m fucked up worse because of losing so much blood, and my wife hadn’t slept, and we get in a fight over Taco Bell.
Her kid wants to go to Taco Bell, and there’s no Taco Bell in Beverly Hills. The kid's in the back screamin’. I’m tryin’ to drive, and my wife attacks me, so I stopped, grabbed her, and threw her out of the truck, but she gets back in. Shit just got crazier after that. I’m drivin’ home, my wife’s flippin’ out, and I start hallucinatin’. The first troll I saw - "
“Troll?” I said.
“Yeah, troll. Look, it’s made my nipples hard just thinkin’ about it. The first troll was at the side of the road, puttin’ a chain on a bicycle, goin’ he-he-he-he. It was an evil little bastard.”
“What did the troll look like?”
“About two foot tall, wearin’ a green flannel jacket, with long brown hair.
Drivin’ home the trolls started rippin’ up those yellow lines that are painted on the roads – tryin’ to trip my truck up.
Back in Lake Havasu, there’s trolls everywhere, destroyin’ cars, and I imagined – it seemed real at the time – that our neighbours were screaming and yellin’ at the trolls.
My wife took off. I went lookin’ for her at her dad’s house, and he called the cops. I was seein’ trolls everywhere. I hadn’t slept for over a week by now.
I’m drivin’ home past a cop. He looks at me, hits his lights and does a felony stop. ‘Driver, pull the keys out, put your hands in the air’ – all that shit. I asked him why I was being arrested and he said, ‘For assault and battery of your wife.’ I told him, ‘She ain’t chargin’ me, that was over a week ago,’ and he said, ‘She doesn’t have to charge you, her dad did.’
So I got busted for no reason, and she got busted for drugs, and they threatened to take her kid away if she didn’t testify against me, so she did for one and a half hours, and I got sentenced to five years for aggravated assault.
I’ve lost two wonderful marriages because of crystal meth.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Question Time With Ogre
Alba asked if the conflict over my Cheerios between Ogre and Druid was resolved?
Just when it was looking as if there would be bloodshed over my cereal, the move from Buckeye to Tucson occurred, and now I no longer have breakfast with Druid or Ogre.
Yard 4 is split into four buildings: A,B,C, and D. Other than early-outs lunch, or when there are poor chow turnouts such as spaghetti nights, A eats with B and C eats with D.
I live in D. Ogre lives in A and Druid is in B, but they do not sit together or talk to each other. I usually sit with Shane and Weird Al , and sometimes with Xena. Presently, Weird Al is the beneficiary of my cereal.
JC asked why Ogre is in prison. I put the question to Ogre and he revealed the following about accidentally stabbing his wife:
“How did the accidental stabbing of your wife occur?”
“I’d been up for days on tweak [crystal meth] workin’ on my boat. I was on my bed, naked except for a towel wrapped around me, cleanin’ my nails, when some of my wife’s friends stopped by to buy a couple of ounces of dope. The dope was hidden in my boat, and I didn’t really wanna get it, so my wife started yellin’ at me, ‘If it was your fuckin’ friends you’d be out there by now!’ So I said, ‘Fuck you bitch’ and threw my Gerber knife at the dresser, but it missed and stuck in the side of her knee through her pants. She pulled it out, and there was a little fingernail-size hole. It was gushing blood, and a little bit of meat came out. I pushed it back in, and we had fun making butterfly stitches. Her friends buyin' the dope wanted to call the cops, but my wife said she was alright, and we partied all night long. That was on April the 11th, 2003 in Lake Havasu.
After that I thought everythin’ was all good. We took a trip to L.A. with her daughter because I was gonna donate a kidney to Brian Davidson – the owner of Hot Boat Magazine – and they had to run tests on my blood at Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills. We did more dope and then took off for L.A. I missed the appointment, so we stayed the weekend, and I gave seventeen vials of blood on Monday. By now I hadn’t slept for a week, and I’m fucked up worse because of losing so much blood, and my wife hadn’t slept, and we get in a fight over Taco Bell.
Her kid wants to go to Taco Bell, and there’s no Taco Bell in Beverly Hills. The kid's in the back screamin’. I’m tryin’ to drive, and my wife attacks me, so I stopped, grabbed her, and threw her out of the truck, but she gets back in. Shit just got crazier after that. I’m drivin’ home, my wife’s flippin’ out, and I start hallucinatin’. The first troll I saw - "
“Troll?” I said.
“Yeah, troll. Look, it’s made my nipples hard just thinkin’ about it. The first troll was at the side of the road, puttin’ a chain on a bicycle, goin’ he-he-he-he. It was an evil little bastard.”
“What did the troll look like?”
“About two foot tall, wearin’ a green flannel jacket, with long brown hair.
Drivin’ home the trolls started rippin’ up those yellow lines that are painted on the roads – tryin’ to trip my truck up.
Back in Lake Havasu, there’s trolls everywhere, destroyin’ cars, and I imagined – it seemed real at the time – that our neighbours were screaming and yellin’ at the trolls.
My wife took off. I went lookin’ for her at her dad’s house, and he called the cops. I was seein’ trolls everywhere. I hadn’t slept for over a week by now.
I’m drivin’ home past a cop. He looks at me, hits his lights and does a felony stop. ‘Driver, pull the keys out, put your hands in the air’ – all that shit. I asked him why I was being arrested and he said, ‘For assault and battery of your wife.’ I told him, ‘She ain’t chargin’ me, that was over a week ago,’ and he said, ‘She doesn’t have to charge you, her dad did.’
So I got busted for no reason, and she got busted for drugs, and they threatened to take her kid away if she didn’t testify against me, so she did for one and a half hours, and I got sentenced to five years for aggravated assault.
I’ve lost two wonderful marriages because of crystal meth.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Sunday, December 4, 2005
08 November 05
Feeding Time
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Feeding Time
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Thursday, December 1, 2005
06 November 05
Friends
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
Friends
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.
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