I Sold My Company Assets to Teach the Incarcerated How to Write Novels
Issue #6: I replaced my dream job with my life scripture, and I have never felt more fulfilled.
“I chose to forgive. I chose to stay vigilant to any signs of anger or hate in my heart.
They took thiry years of my life. If I couldn't forgive, if I couldn't feel joy, that would be like giving them the rest of my life.
The rest of my life is mine.
Alabama took thirty years.
That was enough.”
― Anthony Ray Hinton, The Sun Does Shine: How I Found Life and Freedom on Death Row
Letter from the Founder
Dear Readers,
“But how do you get paid?”
In America, there is nothing more important, it seems, than money. Society wants us to believe that the American dream is the career; that it’s what you do for a living that matters. And most importantly: How much money do you make? If you make the money, you can afford the lovely house with the white picket fence.
I spent a lot of years in hustle culture, believing that if I worked absolutely nonstop, I could have the career of my dreams. And to be frank, I did get the career of my dreams through 24/7 blood-sweat-and-tears. I put everything into my company as an editor, marketer, and publishing mentor. I built it in 2013 and grew it into a successful business that bought me a house at 26. It was everything I ever wanted and so much more. Even though I was living my dream career of working with authors, I still hadn’t discovered my life scripture yet.
In other words, I may have been making the money, but I wasn’t fulfilled. It was never enough. I had to get the next big speaking gig, write the next best-selling book, and on and on.
But all of that would change when I realized my heart’s purpose.
By 2023, I couldn’t wait any longer. I knew God had called me to start Crime & Compassion, even though I had no clue what all that would entail. So, I announced that 2023 would my last year in the publishing industry as Shayla Raquel. I finalized the rest of my author clients that year, and started 2024 with high hopes of getting C&C started.
But it was hard. I was giving up a lot of financial security, and it took my husband at least two separate times at the dinner table to convince me to fully take the leap of faith. “This is what you are meant to do,” he’d told me. “This. This right here. You’re doing the right thing. Don’t worry about anyone else.”
You see, not everyone in my life understood why I’d sell all my assets and shut down a 14-year career to volunteer in a women’s prison. “But how do you get paid?” was the #1 question I’d get. And still do.
That’s the first thing that comes to someone’s mind: money. Not “What are the women learning in the novel class right now?” or “Do you need any volunteers or support?” Sometimes, the initial focus is on money, not changed lives.
I am raising my hand here, because I focused too much on it as well. Now, I quantify things very differently. I chose a career as a writer, which isn’t exactly known for producing a river of wealth! But God blessed that career, and it put plenty of food on my table. I have once again walked into a work life that isn’t known, either, for producing a comfy, cozy bank account. When I answer that question—“But how do you get paid?”—I go for brutal honesty: “I’m not. I’m funding it myself at the moment, but we can officially accept donations and can start applying for grants. Eventually, I’ll get a salary, but that’s a long ways away. But growing Crime & Compassion and working with these women has completely changed my life, and I’d give up everything all over again to do this. I have zero regrets. Zero.”
I don’t need to have seven digits in the bank to feel like a millionaire. Showing incarcerated people that they can write a great novel and hold it in their hands is seriously my American dream. No white picket fence needed.
Your Bleeding Heart,
Shayla Hale
Executive Director, Crime & Compassion Inc.
P.S. We want and need volunteers! You can volunteer to work with us inside the prison or outside. For example, we need people who can provide feedback and encouragement to our author students. Go here to contact us about volunteering.
If you love the social, follow us! I’m getting back into the groove of posting across these platforms:
Branded: How One Moment Erases Everything That Follows
In the summer of 1999, one month after my 21st birthday, I committed a horrible crime while high on methamphetamine. The subsequent years were a blur of self-recrimination, regret, and a constant fight to uncover my value as a human being. I spent a huge chunk of my life hating myself far more than society ever could.
Fast forward 26 years. I earned a college degree while in prison, and published many works of poetry, short stories, articles, essays—and more recently, novels. I have been sober, never been involved in a physical altercation, maintained a full-time job, and spend my free time writing and mentoring other women who wish to accomplish their own dreams.
I have been completely rehabilitated for many years—so why am I still looked upon as violent?
From the time I was convicted, I was branded a violent person from a single, regrettable act. A staggering number of offenses are labeled violent, not just the ones people think—the word alone conjuring visions of irredeemable monsters, spurring a visceral reaction in those who hear it. Proposed legislation giving leniency to someone serving violent time does not make it past the house. Legislation is more likely to be passed when it involves giving a sentencing break for nonviolent crimes, such as drug offenses.
As someone who is not only a former drug addict but who has spent over two decades around other drug addicts, this logic makes no sense. Prison is not a viable alternative for drug treatment. Drugs are just as easy to get in prison as on the streets, if you know where to look. Addicts sent to prison get high. When they cannot pay for their addiction, they steal from other inmates or manipulate family to send money.
Anybody who has spent time behind bars knows that drug offenders are the source of most of the violent activity within the penitentiary. They do not care about rules or about trying to better their lives because they know that whatever they do in prison will not affect their release date. The recidivism rate of low-level nonviolent drug offenders is staggering, yet these are the people whom the Oklahoma legislature deems the lowest risk to public safety.
What is wrong with this picture?
I am a “violent offender.” But committing a one-time violent crime does not make someone a violent person; a pattern of violent behavior does. Perhaps it is time to stop labeling a person—even a person who committed a crime—with a single event that happened in the past. Doing that is essentially branding them with a label they can never remove. People should instead be judged based on what they have overcome and what they put into the world.
By Crystal Avilla1
5 Quick Things
I’m reading . . . The Appeal by Janice Hallett. I don’t think I’ve read a book like this before. Probably 90% of the mystery novel is emails! You’re reading all these different email exchanges between the 15 suspects in the case.
I’m listening to . . . Crime Weekly’s series on the Karen Read case. It is certainly a very polarizing—and yes, controversial—case right now. Many layers to it.
I’m watching . . . All the Jurassic Park films with my husband. It’s so hard to beat the first one—truly a masterpiece. But funny enough, Jurassic Park III is my favorite.
I’m teaching . . . Lesson 16: Enter the World of Publishing Part II. At our last class, we learned about editing, cover design, and interior formatting. This Sunday, I’ll be answering nitty-gritty questions from the students about self-publishing as we dive deeper into this topic. Their homework that’s due on Sunday is to write what they believe it will feel like to hold their novel in their hands for the first time.
I’m excited about . . . our bunny and ducks! We have an adorable little jack rabbit who comes to our yard for dandelions and grass. We named him Augustus Leopold Charles III. And thanks to our broken sump pump that created what we affectionately refer to as Lake Hale, we have two ducks who chill out in the water. We named them Burt and Irving.
After a 14-year career in publishing, Shayla Hale said goodbye to her authors so she could advocate for the incarcerated. Now a bleeding heart, she teaches writing classes at Mabel Bassett Correctional Center in McLoud. She also enjoyed two years as a volunteer chaplain at Oklahoma County Jail.
Shayla is the founder and executive director of Crime & Compassion Inc.,
a nonprofit that gives incarcerated individuals the tools to become authors, empowering those in and out of prison to cultivate meaningful work opportunities.
Her classes on the inside encourage creativity and confidence, and her podcast and newsletter shine a bright light on incarceration. Her heart’s desires are to unconditionally love the incarcerated, to help them bring their books into the world, and to fight with and for those affected by the US justice system.
This piece was published with written permission from the author.