It was 2008. I was in a federal prison quiet room with Michael Santos. He’d been there since 1:30 a.m. I’d join him around 5.
He was staring at a blank wall. “What are you doing today?” I asked.
He looked straight at the wall and said, “I’m thinking about what I want to create.”
That wasn’t a metaphor. It was a strategy. Every day in prison, Michael built. Not with excuses. Not with distractions. With deliberate, measurable actions. He wasn’t reacting to prison. He was preparing for the life he wanted to lead after prison—one line at a time.
That’s when he introduced me to John Locke’s idea of Tabula Rasa—the clean slate.
One morning, he said, “Give me your thoughts on John Locke. I’m going to build his Tabula Rasa—his clean slate idea—into Lessons From Prison.”
“Who is John Locke?”, I asked.
Michael smiled. “What did they teach you at USC, anyway?”
It made me laugh—especially because I had just finished reading Atlas Shrugged, which opens with the line, “Who is John Galt?” So I said it right back to him: “Still. Who is John Locke?”
For more than an hour, I sat back and listened to Michael describe it to me and its application to my life–your life.
Locke believed the mind begins as a blank canvas. Our choices and experiences shape what it becomes.
“Let us suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters… how comes it to be furnished? …To this I answer, in one word: experience.”
For people in prison—or going through a government investigation—this isn’t some useless esoteric theory. It’s about showing what you’re building. What you’ve learned. How you’re using this experience to create something better.
Next Monday, April 28th, marks 17 years since I surrendered to prison. And I still remember that moment with Michael clearly. What could’ve been a dark chapter became the learning opportunity of a lifetime.
But like many, I didn’t start writing on that clean slate the right way.
When I came home, I pretended I knew more than I did. I was insecure. I feared what would happen if I told the truth. I had spent one year in one camp, but I acted like an expert on all things prison. I borrowed from others, especially Michael, and passed some of it off as my own.
That fake-it-till-you-make-it mindset worked for a while. But it never felt right. Some nights, it kept me up. I was filling my slate with a message that wasn’t consistent. And I knew it. So did Michael.
Eventually, I embraced the truth—and everything got better.
Every week, someone contacts my team asking how to remove a DOJ press release. Some say they’ll pay anything. What they mean is, “I’ll pay with money. Just don’t make me do any of the work.”
But if you don’t write your slate, the government will. And trust me—they’ll write it their way: for many of us, they already have.
You can pay to suppress headlines or pretend this is not happening. You can fill your digital wall with cardboard and hope it doesn’t rain. But the rain always comes. When it does, everything collapses—and your past resurfaces.
So what should you do?
Build your slate with truth.
- What do you know?
- What do you not know?
- What skills do you need to build?
- Who’s in your support network—and how are you proving yourself to them?
- What’s your five-year plan—and how are you working toward it today?
The shortcut feels better at first. But it leaves you with nothing real or lasting.
Want to Build Your Slate with Purpose?
- Visit PrisonProfessors.org
- Watch what Michael creates daily
- Learn the strategies, then apply them
- Don’t just attend. Engage. Build. Share.
This week in our webinar, I shared a frustration: many people show up and say they’re ready to work. But they do nothing. They let the DOJ, the prosecutor, their lawyer—even strangers—define them.
Attending a webinar isn’t engagement. Doing the work is.
It’s like someone in prison saying they read 500 books—but can’t summarize three of them. That’s not effort. That’s distraction.
If you’re going to rebuild, you have to actually build. And asking for help is not a weakness. It’s the first step.
Despite my USC degree and decent education, I couldn’t do this alone. Once I admitted that I needed help, everything changed.
You can’t erase the past. But you can build over it.
That’s what Michael did recently, again, when the California Department of Corrections canceled its contracts due to budget cuts.
The Deputy Superintendent, wrote:
“Unfortunately, the state notified CDCR this morning that CDCR needs to cut millions of dollars immediately. As of today, every contract or purchase order across the institution is being canceled unless it is mission critical and I will be unable to put forward any renewals for the purchase orders for any of your materials… we will only be able to do so if you agree to donate them.”
Michael’s response:
“I understand. Our country is going through some strange times. But I am very grateful to CDCR, and I would like you to consider me as a partner during this time. I am visiting Folsom on Thursday of this week and look forward to contributing. If you do not have a budget, I will donate the materials and I hope that you continue to count on me to contribute in every way possible.”
No press. No applause. Just another brick in the wall of that clean slate.
If you’ve hired us, you’ve helped fund that work because WCA helps fund Prison Professors Charity. You’ve helped us keep showing up.
You don’t need 100 stories. But here are a few:
Tracii Hutsona built a release plan, documented her growth, and got 12 months in the halfway house.
David Moulder heard a federal judge say, “If you break my window, don’t just say you’re sorry. Show me how you’ll fix it.” David fixed it—week by week.
Glenn Hudson opened a boxing gym. Completed RDAP. Launched a nonprofit. Mentored others. He shared his progress on Prison Professors Talent.
They’re not perfect. None of us are. They asked for help, did the work and began to fill their slate.
History is full of examples: Frankl created meaning in a concentration camp. Epictetus taught emperors—after being born a slave.
They didn’t choose the crisis. But they chose their response.
Here is our challenge to you!
Don’t just build your slate—build it in public on PrisonProfessorsTalent.com, like Ryan Patterson is beginning to do. Look at the support he is generating!
Let the world hold you accountable. When you make a commitment out loud—when your family sees it, when your network sees it—you’ll keep showing up even on the days you don’t want to. Because now, it’s not just about you. It’s about who’s watching to see if you can follow through with your clearly defined commitments.
By documenting your progress over time, you create a new record. One that speaks for you. And you never know who’s paying attention.
In a recent webinar, the FBI agent who arrested me told us that he followed my daily blog and bought Lessons From Prison. That work led to an invitation to speak at the FBI Academy–the first of 10 training events I have done with The FBI.
On my first date with my now-wife Sandra, she said she didn’t judge me by my prison record. She judged me by what I had done since. She read my work. She realized my experience was an asset, not a weakness.
My daughter is 10. She knows about my prison experience. Honestly, she knows more about prison than any 10-year-old should. But when we talk about it, she talks proudly. She knows, “Uncle Michael.” She’s seen what we’ve built and can even recite the mission for the non profit. She hears her Nana say how proud she was to watch me recover, build a new life.
It all started because I asked for help. I got it and started filling the slate, not always perfectly. But I started.
And yes, it was humbling. I remember creating those first YouTube videos. Staying up all night editing and refining, convinced this one would take off. Three days later—22 views.
But prison taught me perspective. Gratitude. Twenty-two is better than twenty-one. And I realized: of those 22 views, a few were people who called. Who needed the message. Who joined our community.
That’s the slate. That’s how it grows. Not with perfect videos or polished posts—but with honest effort, shared openly.
Do what so many don’t: build your slate. Honestly. Relentlessly.
What will you write?
Justin Paperny
P.S. Michael did build Locke into Lessons From Prison. Read the excerpt below:
Chapter 19, Moral Codes
I found hope in the timeless debate over human motivation encapsulated in the work of Thomas Hobbs and John Locke. Both men lived in the 17th century, and their work influenced the shaping of modern civilization. The work of Hobbs instructed us that man was a selfish beast by his very nature, and that laws were necessary to keep him in order. Locke, in his brilliant essay on human understanding, argued a contrary position. Locke insisted that man came into the world with a blank slate, or tabula rasa. He said that man was not inherently evil or good, but that our behavior had roots in what we had learned from our own experiences and perceptions.
I agreed more with Locke than with Hobbs. As a child, I was influenced by the good role models around me. Through sports, I learned and lived by the virtues of good citizenship. After graduating from USC, however, I moved in a different crowd. By immersing myself in the world of money management, I became exposed to values of a lower order. The potential threat of laws did not stop my slide into behavior that violated the laws of ethics and the criminal code. As Locke had written more than 300 years before, I learned bad behavior from the environment in which I had submerged myself. The good news was that through lessons from prison, I armed myself with new knowledge. They would help others and me going forward. My challenge would be in helping others learn these lessons before they felt the pull of pressure, opportunity, and rationalization.
