I first met Arron Magar in a writing workshop at the Columbia River Correctional Institution, where he read aloud from his autobiography in progress. The class met weekly to share work, record memories, both sweet and harrowing, and shape the raw material of their lives into stories. I was struck by their honesty, how they listened to each other, and the care they took when giving feedback. Despite stereotypes about prison, here was vulnerability — a space to share the best and worst of themselves, free from judgment.

Magar worked on his book, “How Long is Five Minutes?”, for over a year and finished it after his release in late 2023. It was published this year by Some People Press, an organization founded by Laura Glazer and Harrell Fletcher to develop and publish autobiographical books by formerly incarcerated writers. I recently sat down with Magar to learn more about his experience.

Laura Moulton: Were you already interested in writing, or was the workshop your first real chance to experiment?

Arron Magar: It wasn’t my first inclination. I think everybody wants to write their autobiography — who wouldn’t, right? So I just put in for it on a whim, like hey, maybe this will help me write my book, my autobiography. I had no idea that it would actually pan out.

Moulton: It’s a good book, too.

Magar: Oh, thank you.

Moulton: I’m curious about you and your experience, having served several stints in prison. How does incarceration shape the way you think about time?

Magar: I don’t know how many times I look at how many hours I have left on a shift, or minutes. Last night, it was eight minutes till 11:10, when we could abandon our posts. And I was like, man, I’ve done so much time. Eight minutes is nothing. Or two hours is nothing. I’ve had coworkers say, “How’s your day going?” And I’ll say, “I’m just doing my time.” I can’t help it. It’s part of me. I don’t wanna run from it.

The prison experience is like putting yourself in a small box, physically and mentally. You are … I don’t know if “anesthetized” is the right word. Like everything is right within four feet of you. That is your life right there. There’s no phones, no nothing. And you have to live in your own world of “I am restricted from everything,” but there’s the chance to move on from that, and you have to maintain yourself and keep your mind focused on where you’re gonna be in your future so you’re not bogged down about where you’re at right now, while you’re incarcerated.

Moulton: Your book doesn’t shy away from the rough parts of your life, but as I read I also felt the beauty that you saw in the city at night, in the rain. There’s a lot of description, and I just wondered what you have observed about the city since you got free?

Magar: Portland is a beautiful place. It really is. Portland has all of the seasons. Leaves and rain and sun, and every part of it is so wonderful. I don’t know. I remember talking about The Toll House (a group home for youth near Edgefield) and I know the roads up there are covered in trees, and the leaves are falling and there’s greenery and it’s green and yellow and teal. Yeah, Portland is just beautiful.

Moulton: Do you think back on when you were not your best self? Have you come to an easier peace about it?

Magar: I regret the way I let myself go on my addiction, what I was willing to do for drugs or for money. Selling drugs to anybody and everybody. And I have regret about crimes that I committed against people’s personal property, cars, homes, stuff like that. As a whole, I have an issue with peddling a drug that now as a sober person, I see is so destructive. So yeah, I regret those sides of me.

I just parked down in a very troublesome area and if somebody broke into that car… I have to be at work at three, you know? It would be devastating for me. Windows aren’t cheap, and people are struggling as it is, so when you break into their little Toyota, you know, it’s horrible.

Moulton: What’s the process been like writing a book and having the book in the world?

Magar: I went to the first class. They didn’t have a real huge plan, like how are we gonna make these inmates write books? But one of the things they said was, try to make a bullet point list. So I made a bullet point list of my earliest memories, which honestly didn’t end up in that book. Not many of them. I think maybe three or four out of 20 of those bullet points. But it gave me a place to start.

I’ve always been wordy, capable of remembering words that I thought were cool. So I began to form sentences that I thought were a good structure of words. So when I presented them every week, I could show off like, I’m a cool writer, bro. I’m like, exceptional. Look at this. Every week I was motivated to write again. Kind of cheesy, but it was what broke the mold because I’ve wanted to write my whole life and there’s been times when I wrote chapters or things.

But the experience of learning how to dumb down how wordy I am in every paragraph, how showy I was seeking to be, kind of fell away and I began to focus on “What is the story here?” and “How do I catch the heart of an idea?” Words became less important and ideas or feel or vibe became more important for a chapter or an idea or an event.

There’s plenty of times in my book where I was like, I really want to tell how beautiful Portland is in this scene. And then it just became an experience. A year later, I was like, holy cow, I have like 20 chapters. Is this a book now? This is an actual book. But weekly, I wasn’t planning it. I didn’t know that I would actually write a whole book. 

Moulton: I was struck when I came as a visitor what a great circle of people that was and how well people took care of each other, how attentively people listened to each other, gave good feedback and supported each other. That’s not what people imagine when they think of prison, right?

Magar: Well, imagine each one of those people in that group have very little else to do or that every day we are in a generally worse environment, and they’re like, “Dude, I get to go to writing class.”

The motivation is high. You get in there and you’re like, “I just get to focus on writing and I don’t care who’s gang-banging a room over.”

 Moulton: And you get the opportunity to share your story. Maybe we don’t spend enough time, in or out of prison, listening to one another, you know?

Magar: Yeah, that’s right. Part of the reason why writing Book Two has been such a struggle is I end Book One with my daughter being born. The last words of Book One are, “I’m pregnant.”

Writing a book with characters in it that are still alive to this day is an adventure, and with a nine-year-old daughter who’s eventually going to read these books, how do you write about the people you maybe don’t always get along with? And that applies to every character you portray.

One of the things Mr. Harrell (Fletcher) talks about a lot is that if you’re always the hero in your book, you might lose your audience a little bit. So there’s definitely embarrassing moments in my book — it’s easy for me to not be the hero. I prefer the rugged side of things, the honest truth of a thing. I wrote a whole chapter about bedwetting. At 14! It’s one of my favorite chapters. I describe the warmth of the pee in my bed.

I read that chapter one time in the class, and I was getting a little bit bashful reading it, but it creates authenticity. It creates something that people can get on your level with. And I think if people can get on your level, then they’re gonna stay there a lot more if it seems like you’re willing to share a vulnerability.

To anyone considering writing books, one thing I would tell them is to just tell the whole truth. Write it like you’re writing your own journal. Write to yourself.

I also want to say that I’m so grateful for each person that spent so much time making sure that every word was spelled right in the book or that every paragraph made sense. Each person’s help and support was immensely appreciated. The whole process was amazing.

For more information about Some People Press and “How Long is Five Minutes?,” visit somepeoplepress.com


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