Fueled by a burning crush on the bowtie geekdom of Bill Nye the Science Guy, PBS fast became one of the staples of my television diet. I would like to defend myself by offering an unyielding love for science as an explanation for my fondness for Bill, but it would be remiss if I failed to admit I actually would not have been adverse to a personal anatomy lesson from the fellow. Of course, you say. It's perfectly understandable that a child would harbor fascination with a television personality. But then it would again be remiss if I failed to mention that I was, in reality, a freshman in college when this crush was cresting. Shortly thereafter, however, Bill Nye the Science Guy became sullied by the spoils of Disney, and his show disappeared from the PBS lineup, taking with it the frequency with which I tuned into public television. Most unfortunate.

Admittedly, I'm not a big beholder of the television, and my current regime of SportsCenter, the Daily Show and ubiquitous Law and Order reruns keeps me fairly sated. But I had forgotten just how captivating public television can be until one night last December as I sat, afloat in a sea of tacky, metallic ribbon scraps, in the floor of my living room bedecking Christmas gifts. Having turned on the television for the sake of noise and the batteries in my remote having crapped out, the tele rested on the first channel of the cable listings-my local PBS affiliate. Two words-a name-caught my attention, mid-ribbon-coiling: Eve Ensler. Ensler, the notable playwright and activist responsible for the Obie-winning and off-Broadway hit The Vagina Monologues, would be featured along with her new creative writing project in a film enticingly titled What I Want My Words To Do To You later that evening. I was so there.

The opening sequence of What I Want My Words To Do To You revealed Ensler, frocked in her signature page boy hair and hipster frames, leading a creative writing workshop of 15 women, all seated in a circular arrangement of desks. The women, earnestly attentive to Ensler's instructions, were a diverse collection of all walks of life. But for their differing ages, socio-economic statuses, and ethnic heritages, there was a unifying thread amongst them: each and every one was an inmate at New York's Bedford Hills Correctional Facility and nearly every one of them had been convicted of murder. Some had trials that received (and continue to receive) much media fanfare, like Kathy Boudin and Judith Clark, former members of the 1960's radical activist group Weather Underground--about which a recently Oscar-nominated documentary was made-as well as Pamela Smart, whose case was sensationalized by a handful of made-for-TV movies and the Nicole Kidman flop flick To Die For.

Starting in 1998, the workshop gathered weekly with Ensler giving the women seemingly simple writing exercises such as "Tell The Facts Of Your Crime" and "Describe An Experience In Prison Where Someone Surprised You With Kindness." Ensler demanded nothing less than honest and raw introspection from her participants, often challenging and redirecting those who appeared either unsure just how or unwilling to penetrate the dark cores of their character and their crimes. Each meeting, the women would share aloud their creations, always provoking riveting and complex discussions where they openly contended with the grievous truths of their actions, actions that inexorably marred the lives of so many. In writings so articulate, emotive and colorful, they courageously confronted their feelings of guilt and fostered those of empathy. Spellbound, I drank it all in with an odd amount of admiration.

The project culminated very similarly to that of the Vagina Monologues, with an impressive list of actresses--Glenn Close, Hazelle Goodman, Rosie Perez, Mary Alice, and Marisa Tomei--performing the writings of the workshop participants before an audience, giving a different dimension and voice to these women and, indirectly, to their victims.

It was not until the end of the film that I actually learned the garish nature of the women's crimes. Clever and effective was this in having the viewer identify first with the fluid and fleshy humanity of the women because, as I lay in bed later that night, I was struck with a sudden sense of conflict. There I was celebrating the self-discovery that these women had sought and found, yet they had done the irreversible: they had extinguished the spirit and breath of another human being. Would I still be celebrating their discoveries had it been my husband or sister or niece forever silenced by their actions? If so, could I still find value in Ensler's workshop? Is having a celebrity perform a murderer's essay my definition of justice?

I doubt I will ever be able to truly reconcile these conflicts unless I actually find myself living those circumstances, and I pray that never comes to pass. Attempting to coral my feelings simply served to stir up the same old debates about justice and prison. Is the purpose of prison to punish or rehabilitate or warehouse? Is capital punishment ethical? How critical is the need for prison reform and how do we, as a society, affect that change? "The reason to make the film is to say, 'okay, we have two million people in America in prison, that's the size of a Third World country'," offers Ensler. "'What are they doing there? What are they thinking about? Why are we sending more and more people to these places called prisons, and what happens in those prisons?'" Long story short, I found only more questions when trying to answer my initial questions. I suppose therein lies the fun of good media: it is ripe with such provocations. The same can be said of life.

In the end, though, what I did come to realize is that each and every one us deserves freedom in our souls, a type of freedom not easily garnered. If you have the boldness and resolve to seek it, may your search be fruitful.