One year inside. I came out with stories.

Cassie Will walked into a federal prison camp with a real estate license, a good manicure, and absolutely no idea what she was doing. Pretty in Clink is the memoir about that year — and the podcast where the women she met in there finally get to tell it themselves.

Book in progress · Podcast coming

Cassie Will Cassie Will · Author & host

Why this book

Nobody writes about the boring parts.

Every prison story you have seen was made for television. Somebody is always getting stabbed in a laundry room. The lighting is blue. There is a montage.

That is not what a federal camp is. A federal camp is waiting. It is commissary politics and borrowed shampoo and forty rules nobody ever wrote down. It is grown women crying through a fifteen-minute phone call and then laughing so hard at dinner that a guard has to walk over.

I wrote it down because nobody else was writing that part down. And because if I did not make it funny, I was not going to make it through.

A long institutional corridor with light at the far end
Mostly it is a hallway
A small barred window letting light into a dark room
You do not get to pick the year that changes you. You only get to pick what you do with the story afterwards. Cassie Will
Pretty in Clink, a memoir by Cassie Will

Cover concept

The book

Pretty in Clink

A memoir about a year in a federal prison camp, written the way it actually felt rather than the way prison is usually sold.

No redemption arc bolted on the end, no lessons the reader is supposed to take away, no pretending she was the only reasonable person in the building. Just what happened, who was there, and what turned out to be funny later.

What the book is

A year, start to finish. The phone call that began it, the drive in, the first night, the people, the rules nobody writes down, and the strange grief of leaving. Told in order, told honestly, and told with jokes, because that is how it actually sounded.

What it is not

It is not a legal thriller and it is not a redemption arc with a bow on it. Nobody gets rescued at the end. I am not going to pretend the year was a gift, and I am not going to pretend I did not laugh every single day.


The podcast

Everyone in there had a book in them.

A cluster of vintage studio microphones
The show, in production

I met women inside who were smarter than me, funnier than me, and far better storytellers than me. Most of them will never write a memoir. So the podcast is the other half of this: I sit down with people who have done time, and I let them talk for as long as they want.

No dramatic re-enactments. No host doing a serious voice. Just the conversation you would actually have at a kitchen table at eleven at night.