By Ken Preston in Books — 20 May 2026

Going Back to Prison and Other News

I Made a Lamp

This week I realised what I was going to do with the sheep skull. It finally found its purpose in life.

Yes, I turned it into a lamp.

Now I've just got to decide which way up I want it.

Chapter Six of Le Grande Mystérieux — A Mysterious Mirror

I found the lecture theatre at the end of the main corridor, its double doors standing open. I paused at the threshold, the familiar reek of carbolic and tallow, and something else, something no amount of scrubbing would ever shift, taking me back to my training as a journalist. I had attended many places like this, watching a public dissection for a piece I was writing.

Rows of wooden benches descended in tiers to a stage below. The gaslights down here burned a little brighter, and by their light I saw the mirror. It stood propped against the back wall, tall enough to reflect a man from head to foot. It seemed to me that the frame moved in the light of the gas lamps.

I took the steps down to the stage slowly, unable to take my eyes off the mirror and the movement at its edges, a restless, relentless shifting that could only be a trick of the light.

But no, the frame was alive.

The title of the story, Le Grande Mysterieux, in a swirl of magic

Le Grande Mystérieux is a serialised story for paying members.

You can read a preview of Chapter One here:

Back in Prison

On Monday, I ran two creative writing workshops in a category C prison, with an inmate population mainly composed of men convicted of sex offences.

In the days leading up to the workshops I was asked by a few friends, ‘How do you feel about that?’ And since visiting the prison I’ve been asked a similar question. ‘How did it feel being there, with those people?’

It felt great.

The prisoners were eager to learn and participate. They listened and asked intelligent, pertinent questions, they wrote, and they shared their work. There was a lot of discussion and some laughs, too.

I started the workshop by asking their names, but apologising in advance that I probably wouldn’t be able to remember them all. Actually, I surprised myself and did pretty well with most of the names.

I then talked about my childhood, growing up in a working-class town where creativity wasn’t valued. This part of my talk, before I go on to discuss my author career, always lands well. I think many people can identify with that sense of alienation, of being different.

Then I took them through a free-writing exercise, using this poster as a prompt.

The free-writing exercise is a creativity warm-up. There is only one rule: Do not stop writing for five minutes.

Don’t stop to think about what the next sentence might be, do not stop to edit or cross out the last word or sentence. Just write.

Continuously, for five minutes.

‘But what if I’m stuck and I don’t know what to write about?’

Then write the words, I don’t know what to write about. And repeat, until something else drops out and lands on the page.

I told them we are not sharing this, it’s just for you, a warm-up. Just feel free to write and let the pen do the work.

After that I gave a talk on showing versus telling, and how to write a scene that draws a reader in using the five senses of sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell, and using specificity. One prisoner asked me, ‘If I’m writing about a man leaving his house and going to the shop, won’t it be boring for the reader if I include every detail and specific of his journey?’

What a great question. This is where telling is useful, because you have to reserve the showing technique for the scenes that are dramatic. The scenes that are important but mundane, for example going to the shop, can be told.

But when the man gets to the shop and the werewolf bursts through the door and starts attacking, then the writing needs to turn from telling to showing.

And the man who asked that question got it.

Then they wrote for twenty minutes (actually more like twenty-five as they were so busy writing at the twenty-minute mark I decided to let them carry on).

Finally, the time came for the braver ones to share their work.

One prisoner read out the best piece of writing I have ever heard in an adult workshop setting. He started the piece with a breath fogging a window, and then a smiley face being drawn in the condensation. But then he pulled the rug out from under us, transforming that light beginning into a gangland scene of nasty violence. It was brutal but without being explicit, and gripping.

Another prisoner demonstrated how he had listened and taken in my advice on showing and telling by rewriting the free writing piece using the tips I had given him, by reading out both pieces of work.

Wow.

And then we finished, and all the prisoners filled out a feedback form, and there were handshakes and plenty of ‘thank you’s and they were escorted back to their cells. I got to read the feedback forms later, and I was surprised and pleased at how many prisoners had noted that their mood had been elevated because of the workshop. They felt better leaving than they had when they arrived.

For me, that’s precious, a feeling I’ve made a difference somewhere.

So, I spent the day in a room full of convicted sex offenders. That will make some people feel uncomfortable, and I completely understand that.

But I wasn't there to judge them. I was there to engage them in creative writing, to inspire them to write, to encourage them, and hopefully be a part of their journey towards rehabilitation.

And that is something worth doing.