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At Freebird Publishers, we offer an impressive selection of prisoner publications like resource books, guides, newsletters, and more. We invite you to check our blog frequently for featured publications. Choose from a selection of publications specifically for inmates to publications written by inmates. If you have any questions, please call us at 888-712-1987

Dysfunction Junction

“Good times….bad times…you know I’ve had my share.” Good Times, Bad Times by Led Zeppelin When someone asks me casually, “How ya doing?” or “Are you doing okay, today? I always answer curtly, “Not good, not bad.” The rationale for my stubborn and practiced response is simple. If I reply, “I’m doing good,” then, of course, I would be straight up lying because who in the F could truthfully be doing much of anything good while serving time and life in the joint? Conversely, if I self-servingly whine about the reality of my station in life, then, I would only be crying when I admitted I wasn’t doing okay. I am not into lying. And, I am not into crying either! On top of those considerations, toda

Caught In the Net

My name is Adam Jennings. I am 38 years old. Four years ago, I was an IT professional with a steady job, a beautiful wife and two small children who filled up my world. Today, I am F.B.O.P. Inmate No. 16652-078. I am serving a ten year sentence. I have lost my wife, my children, my house, and my career. My crime? Recklessly (and stupidly) downloading explicit material from the internet. While I worked as an IT professional, I had powerful computers, considerable amounts of computer memory, and a very large amount of internet bandwidth at my home. Like many Americans, I became enamored with the Internet, the various file sharing programs found online, and the seemingly infinite amount of medi

The First O. J. Book

I got the idea for an O.J. Simpson book long before all the others came out. The inspiration came in a flash at three in the morning as I lay awake on “B” row in L.A. County Jail’s “High-power” section. The only sounds on the row of twenty-five, one-man cells were cockroaches scurrying across the concrete floors . . . the same floors worn smooth by the thousands, perhaps millions of feet that have tread there. I was absolutely certain that I wasn’t the only one in High-power that wasn’t able to sleep that night. There had to be at least one other inmate whose conscience wouldn’t allow it. Over on “G” row the Juice had to be having at least a twinge of nostalgic remorse. That’s if the guys go

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