Interview with Jennifer Socks and Review
When did you first decide you wanted to write? My writing started fairly recently, within the last year. Writing a book is something I wanted to do but could never find the clear-cut path to do so. I guess one could say tragedy cut the path for me, causing me to dig deeper to get it to paper. Life changes made it such that I yearned for expression.
Did you get nervous the first time you put your work out there? I was nervous, still am, for the most part. But, my desires and beliefs for the success of Whiskey In The River far exceed any doubts and trepidations I might feel at times.
What is your favorite genre to write? At this time, I prefer to write in a narrative non-fiction genre utilizing a life examination pattern. True feelings are what I choose to smack down on the paper (or computer screen). I snatch a slippery emotion from the air and tack it down for others to see and experience.
What is your favorite genre to read? I prefer to read true stories about life. I also like crime fiction, suspense, chic lit. Mostly, I will read anything available. I’ve had a life-long love of reading and learning. There is not much that I will not read.
Do you have a favorite author? Maya Angelou
One superpower you would want above all others. Just one time, I’d like to have the powerball superpower. To know, in advance, the exact numbers to the Florida Lotto Powerball drawing on any given Saturday night.
Is there something you want to write about, that you haven’t yet? I am working on a second novel titled Don’t Drink The Bong Water. It is another book in the narrative vein rehashing experiences and sharing the wisdom of pulling up short of drinking the bong water in this life to avoid catastophic errors in judgement. I expect this book to be completed in the fall 2012.
What is one silly fact about you? I do not know my right from my left. Persons that know me well assume when I say right, I mean left.
Do you have a favorite character you have written so far? Not in particular. In Whiskey In The River, all characters are true to the story.
What inspired you while writing Whiskey in the River? A belief within me that this story had to be told by me.
Does that reflect anyone you know? It is a true story pertaining to my life.
Spaghetti or Lasagna and why? I love them both and I cannot tell you why. I just do!
How do you feel about Zombies? I mostly would not want to know any. I am afraid of the dark and always have been. My home is scattered with juiced-up flashlights for that reason.
You are going on a picnic with a character from any novel who would it be, and what would you bring? Well, I don’t know if the Bible is a considered a novel or not, but I’d like to go with Jesus. And, I would bring all my questions about this life and hope he would show me the bigger picture.
Anything you want to say the aspiring writers reading the blog? If you feel it, write it. Write what you know and write it well. Whatever it is that you love, be it fiction or non-fiction, it will come out in your work. And, above all, you must be the biggest believer in your books.
With shoes pinching my toes, the society given shallow skills of shame and fear so cobbled these cold feet of mine. With time, my truth-telling finally kicked off those filthy shoes. Those shabby shoes now rest on the power-pole lines in my front yard as raw emotions choke from my throat. Dangling shoes so precariously hung by tattered shoe-strings that never could tie the bows for this life. Revealing, not so much the blow-by-blow accounting of life, but the ashy remains as the last of the hurtful pebbles shake loose from the hung shoes.
A soul-jacking score tells of the fairy-tale beginning to the stomping black boots of death in the end. The beginning-of-the-end sequentially goosestepped on with expert timing in the heavy footfalls. A dark purpose delivered, one stomp to the next, black boots hit upon black dirt. Spraying pebbles of grief from under massive boot heels, the wickedness of this life hatefully kicks it upon us. The precise death march booted on as my brother, husband and father die. Heels clunked. Soles smacked. Scraping violently, black on black, jack-boots ripped across the dirt, stomping powerfully for the kickback. Rocks hurl with every step as darkness drills this march. Utter blackness hijacking our time.
Fly upon the wall to witness the battles as life stepped in with a mallet, clubbing us to bloody slivers as the very best of us just slipped away. Boxing for balance those sharp jabs black-eyed us for years. Suited in our junk armor, we fought, fighting battles, that is, until we lost the war. Won many battles, but could not win the war would be the way of it.
Listen as I seat pride at the doorstep, slam the door shut and puke up slack reasoning from a pathetically shattered heart while my screams curse out the vile catchings of this life. The vilest of catches pitched up by the lip-servers and gossip-mongers yoked to my neck. Broken now, the story has left just a grimy penny in my hand. But, oh, how shiny the penny was in the beginning.
Life on the battlefield is not for the faint of heart. And, it is true that only the strong survive. My son and I have become survivors. Not through choice, mind you, we just played the cards we were dealt. Never did I know of the big-slick hand to come. I was just expecting another hand littered with deuces. But, I was wrong. Very wrong!
My stumbling led me to the river. Soaked clothes clung to me as this river wisdom changed me into a decent human being. So much so that the semi-slant-narcissistic bitch I once was is forever gone. Wisdom I never found by chance, but, found, just the same.
Hushed topics, so often smashed down into the gut, are strung on the laundry lines of this life. Winds blowing and skirting this laundry until, finally, nothing but the truth remains. Loosed from the fabric are the choking assumptions so known as culture in today’s society. A must read that speaks to the core of every human being. This core carries tender humanity and mercy into a brutal world that so often fails. An excellent read for anyone who cares to read between the thumb-smudged lines of this life. For anyone who has fallen and needs the courage to get back up, this book compels them to believe. Smacking huge belief, front and center, for all to see, to believe in themselves and to know that they, indeed, have a valued purpose in this, at times, dogmatic and, perhaps, otherwise dog mad world.