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I read the Iliad in three days. The reading launched me into a fever dream, where instead of binge-watching Netflix, I lost myself in the familiar and unfamiliar world of Homer. I read while lying in bed, while riding in cars, while sitting in restaurants. Though there were parts of the story I knew, the Fagles translation was a wholly new landscape of sound and layering of ideas that I’d only glimpsed. The book-length poem that asks a reader to sit with an entire world on nearly every page teeming with the dead, the men they were on and off the battlefield, and the homes that war would prevent them from returning. The book became my companion. I didn’t read while sleeping but read while walking nearly 30,000 steps one Sunday afternoon. I read instead of eating, instead of sleeping. When Priam knelt beside the man who’d killed his son in combat, and kissed his hands, and begged for his departed son’s body, I wept.

Taking the train from New Haven to Grand Central Station for the first time was the first step of my journey to Tribeca. Then again, maybe my first step was getting out of prison last July. Or maybe it was two years earlier, when I was granted a commutation and my 48-year sentence became 30. Being outside gave me access to a kind of freedom that Dwayne talks about throughout March Forth, a documentary about his incarceration as a juvenile. The film also raised questions that I still cannot answer: When does freedom truly begin for those of us released from prison? And what does it mean to be free when you carry prison with you wherever you go?

We are so excited to welcome this year's incredible cohort of interns to the Freedom Reads family. Each of them brings a unique perspective, a passion for storytelling, and a deep commitment to the communities they come from and the ones they're building. Get to know them below!

I had to learn the hard way that you just don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. And not just gone for a little while but for decades. Had to learn then, relearn some more, that there are freedoms so common that most people walk past them without ever noticing their radiance.

The thing about suffering is that when it’s over, you sometimes forget the depth of the cave you’re still emerging from. And by suffering, I mean depression. By depression, I mean 2024 when I found myself spiraling down a staircase that led me through all of Dante’s hells. A different way for me to admit this is to confess again: the best thing that you can do when hurting is find someone to talk to, but sometimes, the need to ask for help masks itself. You believe you’re asking for a life raft, but never articulate the word help. You emote. You weep. You learn what taciturn means. Around you, too often, people see your pain and it troubles them. They run to their comfort.

The dashboard clock glows a soft 4:15 am as I navigate the pre-dawn streets. At this hour, the city belongs to the early risers and late-night thinkers. Most passengers are content with the silence, but occasionally the conversation takes a turn towards the things that actually matter. We'll be cruising along when a rider will ask a question, "How long have you been Ubering?" "Do you enjoy Ubering?" "Have you met your fair share of weird riders?" That's usually the "tentacle" which can lead us into a deeper conversation. It's the perfect opening for me to share where my heart is during the daylight hours: Freedom Reads. I share my experiences working with Freedom Reads and the mission we're pursuing. The responses are a kaleidoscope of genuine curiosity. People lean forward, their faces illuminated by the passing street lights, asking the questions that show they are truly listening: "What do the libraries look like?" "How do you decide which books they get?" "What are the libraries made of?"

Autumn is a storyteller and brand champion — and as Freedom Reads' Senior Communications Associate, she puts those talents to work every day through branding strategy and oversight. From crafting press releases and media advisories to shaping our editorial strategy, her days are spent making sure the voices of people Inside reach the world outside. She brings years of storytelling experience to every piece of content, always keeping the people transformed by books at the center of the narrative.

He looked at me and said, “Thank you. Thank you for looking me in the eyes. No one looks me in the eyes. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to connect with the outside world.” This is how Dy’shawn, Inside Literary Prize judge at Shawnee Correctional Center, shared his appreciation for the opportunity to participate in the only US literary competition judged exclusively by incarcerated readers. This is how he shared his appreciation for the opportunity to simply be seen.

I have been out of prison for just over two decades, and in that time I have gotten at least three honorary degrees. Not once have I had my sons or my mom or any of my closest friends come and listen to me address a class of graduates. Such a huge honor, one that I'm deeply grateful for, and one I realize now that I might not have believed I deserved. That's the strange thing about prison: it makes you question what you deserve. And yet there's also something profoundly beautiful about what men, women, and children create in prisons.

The 15th annual National Conference for Higher Education in Prison was held in Cleveland, OH this year - and I was there. I went to prison in January of 2000 and got out in July of 2025. In 2011, while Inside, I joined Wesleyan University’s Center for Prison Education Program (CPE) - I had been in college almost since the first NCHEP.

Sometime in the 1980s, a friend of mine had just been denied parole and was in need of an uplift. I thought of giving him a book to help take his mind elsewhere and chose Claude Brown’s Manchild in the Promised Land. I felt that reading Manchild following his denial would cut through the disappointment with something steadier and more defiant. Provide proof that despite missteps, life and growth continues even when it feels stalled.

Meet Ben Bruce, the Chief Financial Officer of Freedom Reads. On any given day, Ben is the steady hand behind the organization's financial operations, reviewing transactions, approving expense reports, closing the books each month, and steering longer-term projects like the annual budget and year-end audit. He describes his work as balancing a dual objective: advancing the organization's mission while staying true to sound financial policy and legal requirements.