Reader, Every few months, I lead a pair of workshops in an old mobile building with rackety air conditioning and thin walls. It sits on the campus of a local ministry that helps men re-enter society after a stint in prison. (Multiple stints for many.) For ninety minutes, we gather around plastic folding tables arranged in a broad circle. The men aren't showing up to improve their writing. They're showing up to do some expressive writing. I doubt any of these men knew these workshops were part...