Interview With Jent Garrison

Why do you write? What is your motivation ?

My motivation is my sanity. I feel that if I didn’t I would be a completely different person, bottled up with all this useless energy and emotion. For as long as I can remember I have written to make myself feel better, and get whatever I am feeling out in the open.

Besides writer’s block, what can be a challenge for you when writing?

Rewriting a piece until it becomes terrible. I try not to read things over and over again because if I do the more I change it the worse it usually gets.

How do you pass writer’s block?

Let it work itself out. I try not to force it and I focus on other things. Once I start doing other things all I want to get back to doing is writing.

How often do you write? Is it premeditated or spontaneous?
Never premeditated always spontaneous. I tend to write minimum of once a day. Whenever I feel it’s necessary to.

Within the last three years how has your writing evolved?

I think it has evolved dramatically with the events that have taken place in my life. I’m always writing loosely about my current situations in life, so given my shift in life over even the past year I’d say it has evolved into a type of writing I never thought I’d dive into.

How often do you write pieces that you don’t post/publish?

A lot more than I do post/publish. I post things I feel people want/need to hear, and I won’t post certain things if I wrote it specifically to give to someone, or sometimes I honestly can’t bring myself to post some things I’ve written. Maybe someday…

If you could put any author/writer in your pocket, who would it be? Why?

Mitch Albom, just to see what his take on everything I do would be. Have always loved his writing, wouldn’t mind a few daily conversations with the guy.

Do you prefer ebooks, paperback or hardcovers?

Paperback…for life!

Do you feel that traditional paperback and hardcover books will no longer exist?

I believe they always will. Nothing can compare to holding the weight of a book and turning pages dramatically as you race to the end of a great story.

If you were the original creator of any book and/or film, what would it be? Why?

The usual suspects. Because that is a brilliant film and a brilliant story, and always will be the film that made me want to become a writer.

Where do you want to be in 5-10 years ?

Writing televisions series and creating stories that people love and hate to get attached to.

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Keep Running

I’ve jogged the distance. I’ve ran the mile. I’ve uncovered the dark lingering figure in the corner and it still refuses to reveal itself

I’ve travelled the empty road and found nothing. I see nothing. I know nothing. But what I feel is life’s baggage of garbage; it follows me digging its fucking ivory nails into the back of my ankles, creeping up and seizing my calves, hanging on

I tend to echo insanity–I’m aware–but it mocks me with laughter that is twistedly alluring that I run faster. I keep going. Have I sold my soul? Have I saved it ? The world tells me to be calm, to keep pushing, and to enjoy the extraordinary events because it will make me stronger

It’s just life

A Shade of Beauty

I discovered Beauty in a different shade
One that had never before seemed to attract my attention
She, Beauty, is brown and beautiful and
Unashamed of her thick thighs,
Grateful of her genes.
And her dark eyes are open for an adventure to her core, her center.
Full lips that are laced with venom and seduction
Beauty has full and textured hair that’s about unmanageable as her attitude,
But with a heart as sweet as
A piece of chocolate surprise draped in a gold wrapper.

Beauty.

CupCakes

7:23 pm. I lay on my back and waited for him to finish. His sweat dripped on my face while his chest clung to mine in the heat of the moment. This moment needed to end. My eyes stayed glued to the ceiling to keep me from laughing, better yet puking. He wore a constipated look- his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth chattered. For a second I thought his face was going to sink in on itself or swirl into a pattern of colors. What was he feeling that I wasn’t? It was hard to wrap my head around the idea that after four years, some broken glass along with a few trips to Disneyland, I was bored with him and love was no longer a good reason for staying.
The room was dark like it always was whenever he was in the mood. Kids were out in the pool having a night swim. Their voices echoed in my open window as they splashed around. I wished I was having as much fun as they were. Barbeque was on the grill nearby and the smell lingered in my room. I was jealous.

This had already been a stressful day. The two hour drive to pick him up from his mom’s house had emptied my gas tank. The only money that occupied his pockets was a wrinkled dollar bill, which barely bought me a mini burger; a burger with no cheese. In the process of standing in line for that, a tall wide woman cut me in front of me. If there hadn’t been a long line I may not of cared. If there hadn’t been little kids screaming and swarming around everywhere, I may not hadn’t of cared. All these elements were present which I desperately wanted to escape from.
The wide lady, who had a quite dangerous look on her face, looked back at me when I cleared my throat. She had something white smeared on her arm. I remember wondering if it was deodorant. But it couldn’t have been because it was flaky and slightly yellow.
-Yea excuse me, I was in line, I said
-Didn’t look like it, she said. But she didn’t move. I sucked in some air for courage tapped her again.
-What the hell do you want? She raised her voice.
I decided against replying. Her crushing me or breaking my skinny ass would have been a nightmare that I didn’t want to have.
When I exited the burger joint, he was sitting in my car with broken glass on the in the driver’s seat. And, my window was missing. He got out to explain that he had gotten into a “disagreement” with a homeless man, with dreadlocks, who had asked for a cigarette while I was inside the restaurant. The dreaded man got upset when he heard no. So, in return he smashed in my window
-Aww it’s ok. Chasing him down wouldn’t bring the window back. I’ll get it fixed, he said
-You don’t even have 39 cents so that I could get cheese on my burger, so how do you plan to pay for a window, I asked.
-Don’t worry about it. I love you babe.
He kissed me, and swirled his smoke flavored breath in my mouth.
Ugh.

He needed to hurry up finish, quickly. I was eager to get up and cook a nice meal. Baked chicken and green beans. That would be better than a mini burger. He didn’t have enough for a slice of cheese. It was sad, really. I wanted to bake some red velvet cupcakes. My mom had finally given me her secret recipe. She would give me one of her recipes every year for my birthday since I was eighteen. For my twenty first I was blessed with the red velvet. My stomach was in turmoil from teasing myself.

The bed was still in motion, with all the squeak squeaks, but I felt myself fading out into a well needed sleep. Yes, sleep. That is until a heart wrenching squeal erupted in my ear and his body trembled. I opened my eyes and his mouth was near my ear.
-I love you babe, he breathed.
-Yep you too.
I rolled away from him. 7:27 pm. Great. Longer than usual. Excited, I went to make my cupcakes.

In a Nutshell

I’m chewing my nails all the way down. They refuse to grow anyways.
Too much whiskey last night or maybe not enough.
There’s only seven minutes left before I have to be out of that front door, on campus
printing. Three of those minutes I need to edit this theory paper
that’s only 3 out of the 6 required pages. Fuck it,
spell check, quick scan, alright done. Two of those minutes
I’m scrubbing my teeth while questioning the purpose of unscented
deodorant as I put it on under my arms.
Who bought this?
Now I only have one minute to kiss the sleeping man in
my bed, uhm, maybe two. He pays the bills.
I’m out the door, wishing I didn’t put on flip flops
that can snap at any second. I’m halfway to campus and I realize
I didn’t send the essay to my email. Here we go. Full sprint all the way back home.
Alright, sent the document and I need to change shoes.
I think I’ll do the Uggs. They’re nice and warm. Perfect.
I’m back out the front door. I can’t run as fast, my boots are too heavy and
I’m not wearing a bra. Surely people can tell through this
thin sweater. I keep running anyways because
goddammit I am not staying in this infested valley with
all these people lowering their consciousness level
conversing about Kim K’s greasy ass and believing that
the police are here to protect and serve, not a semester longer!
I refuse!
It will not be the death of me!
So here I am, printing, digging for change in
my backpack. 44 cent, some shake, and a Slim Jim wrapper.
The change is on the counter, my paper in hand, with fourteen seconds left to spare.
O’ theory, O’ theory, it will be the death of me. I know it will.
I squeeze through the desks, reaching to hand the professor my paper,
with a smile, satisfied that I didn’t give up
or let my unrestrained breast stop me.
He looks at me now with my thin sweater and damp forehead.
“Next Thursday for this. Today…midterm”.
Now finally I am aware of the nervous chatter of the class and the green books.
O’ silly girl O’ silly girl.
I’ll be the death of me.

The Ultimate Woman

The Ultimate Woman

This is for the Woman

That shines through darkness’s

Crippling chokehold on the world.

And breaks free of its insecurities.

This is for the Woman

That keeps running when she’s broken,

Accepts her struggles as challenges,

Achieves the power of greatness.

This is for the woman

That has been a target of ridicule

by others who couldn’t accept their failures

Nor understand her strength.

This is for the Woman

That enjoys her glass of wine before slipping under the covers

After a day’s work, running around

Taking care of others.

This is for a Woman

That whispers shit twice a year

Followed by “excuse my French” and a ramble of apologies

This is for my Mom

the Woman who continues to give advice

Even though I didn’t listen the first time.

For my mommy

 Who listens to my sobs and

 Catches the tears I shed

Over the stupid boys I waste my time with.

This is for my Mother who still laughs with me

Despite my temporary disbelief in God

And Moses parting the red sea.

These words here is for the Woman

 That never raised a hand to punish only to soothe,

Pointed a finger to encourage not scold.

She deserves everything beautiful in life.

Mom, this is for you.

Happy Birthday