Today's interview is with Western Fictioneer Member James Ciccone. James' debut novel "A Good Day to Die" was released on August 26, 2020. Please join me in welcoming James Ciccone. I know I learned a lot and look forward to his next story.
When
did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
I’d
like to begin by thanking you for giving me the opportunity to share
some of my experiences writing my debut novel, “A GOOD DAY TO DIE.”
I am busy writing the third draft of “MORE THAN ENOUGH WOMAN,” a
Western, and the first few chapters of the third novel in the Western
series, which remains untitled, so the request to reflect on the
process is timely. Furthermore, your questions are framed in a
thoughtful way. The prompts are really more than decoration. They
trigger expansive responses. The simplicity of open-ended, direct
questions, at least for me anyway, tends to confront, challenge, and,
finally, haunt. I spent many years as a trial lawyer, so I like to
believe I am a fairly good judge of effective direct examination.
Congratulations. You’ve hit the mark.
Now
to address your first question, I have always fantasized about seeing
my name in print, and the idea of achieving the permanency or
finality of published writing began to wash over me as a teenager.
You have to realize that I grew up in the rural areas of the
Northeast. There was so much about the world that came to us in
published writing. The spot where the publications ended is where the
imagination took over. The imagination played a role in forming our
group reality. This was exciting. I could go to all of those faraway
places we read about in the newspapers, the places that were shining
with excitement and possibility, by simply letting the imagination
take over. Then, of course, I was influenced by the immediacy of the
things I was immersed in growing up, too. I began to realize early on
that these things all could become the stuff of published writing,
especially among the poets. I tried my hand at poetry, all forms. I
began publishing bad poetry as a teenager. Furthermore, I began
publishing awkwardly written newspaper articles as a teenager as
well.
Is
there a writing routine you follow or do you write when the muse
strikes?
There
is a mysterious inner voice that does the writing for me. I am just
the person who is present to strike the keys on the keyboard. The
voice tells me where all of the connections or linkages are in the
story, reminds me of certain things, like the rules of grammar and
stylistic tricks and where the arc of the story is going. It is a
weird trance. It is not just a case of the characters speaking to me.
We have all heard that one. This voice is the writer’s voice. I
absolutely do see the scenes in my mind, and this is entertaining.
However, the more I write, the more aggressive the voice becomes in
taking over the process. Then, when the voice gets good and ready, it
makes me take notes or launch into a sit. The notes are narrative
outlines, bits and pieces of dialogue or descriptive prose, and the
sits can go on for hours, many hours. If you want to call the
mysterious voice a “muse,” so be it. I guess I would have no
objection. However, I think calling this a “muse” is a way of
politely referring to a mental defect. It is a euphemism similar to
the way people use euphemisms to avoid talking about death and dying.
Anyway, I don’t profess to understand it at all. I am not even sure
it is wise to begin speaking about this topic in detail. I am sure
all of your writers understand exactly what I am talking about. The
issue, and it is an issue, stands somewhere at the crossroads of
fraternizing with a third party and navigating a mental defect,
doesn’t it? The next steps in the process involve the rewrites. I
found that switching the type of the manuscript helps create an
editorial distance. I spot mistakes that way. Then, if you are as
fortunate as I was with “A GOOD DAY TO DIE,” your manuscript is
discovered by a small group of consummate professionals, wonderfully
angelic figures who are expert storytellers and editors, reliable
eyes and ears, like the editors in residence at Sundown Press. Those
gifted editors, Cheryl Pierson, Livia Reasoner, and Michelle Reed,
stood at the final stages of the rewriting process. They suggested
changes that ranged from peripheral changes or marginalia
to substantive or sweeping changes involving POV, etc., etc., etc. In
the case of “A GOOD DAY TO DIE,” the rewrite covered the
spectacular period of one year. Finally, historical accuracy is
paramount in Western fiction, so research plays a key role at each
step of the process. Research, of course, influences the outcome.
Are
you a plotter or pantser?
I
am a hybrid. I am both a plotter and a “pantser.” This is the
first time I’ve considered explaining what is going on. It is
definitely not a formulaic, rigid process. The fluidity of the
process essentially follows the story’s intrinsic momentum, and I
am not entirely convinced the word process is the right word here.
The idea of momentum is probably much closer to the truth.
I
start out as a “pantser.” The inspiration to tell a particular
story in a particular way hits me, and I start writing it from the
seat of my pants. However, as the writing is underway, the
inspiration begins to move things around. I take notes and record
bits and pieces of inspiration as I am writing the story. The
narrative in my notes begins to assume a chronology or sequence or
arc of the story. These notes ripen into something resembling an
outline. However, I do take notes.
I
started writing poetry years ago. That is where the habit of
notetaking got started. I’d write these little notes. The little
notes would begin blossoming into lines, counting syllables, stuff
that typically contributes to the process of writing bad poetry, that
is, perfecting the art of writing bad poetry. I have been told that
character development and dialogue are my strengths. This interests
me, since I had to work hard at those things. The descriptions and
figurative language should have been much easier, given all of the
bad poetry I have written and all of the outstanding poetry of have
read, but I guess this is not the case. I am not sure.
Is
there a process where you find your next story or does the idea just
hit you?
Yes.
I wrote dark, psychologically complex, Dostoevsky-esque, epistolary
novels filled with plenty of gore and more and more surprising ways
to involve a body cavity in a murder scene. I am not sure where all
of that imagery came from in the first place. It may have had
something to do with all of the startling crime scene photographs and
morgue shots I dealt with throughout my career, especially the ones
involving children. Who really knows? My sister, Diane, read this
epoch, cavernous piece of catharsis and advised: “Jimmy, why don’t
you just write books people might like to read?” Did the idea just
hit me, you ask? Yes. That idea hit me right between the eyes.
The
idea came from my sister. She inherited all of the brains, good
looks, and money in our family. I got whatever was left over. I am
afraid all that was left over for me after the estate inventory was
tallied was the idea that I could write stories people just might
like to read. Do you think I was shortchanged in life? Perhaps.
That is how I came upon the idea to just
write entertaining stories, hopefully stories of value, stories
people might like to read. The operative word, of course, is “just.”
I
would argue Western novels hold the potential to become stories of
value on many levels. The historical accuracy of a well-written
Western reminds us that history cannot be “un-lived.” The genre
gives us so much space to invent and to deliver messages. For me, it
creates the situation for satire. It challenges the reader to observe
the many things in society that evolved rapidly while, pointedly,
distinguishing those things from the many other things that remain
paralyzed, fixed in time.
There
is something mystical about capturing the sitz
im leben of the
Western novel, the audacity of the Old West and the Western
expansion, the audacity of Mr. Lincoln, for example, to take his
philosophy to the doorstep of the South, and the audacity of the
South to resist. In my
view, audacity is what made the Old West tick.
Audacity
doesn’t need an introduction. Folks recognize it when they see it.
Audacity is what the world admires about the Old West, the gunplay,
the settlers, the ranchers, the farmers, the cattle drives, the
bandits and stagecoach robbers, the relentless will to brave cruel
winters, the courage to just keep going West no matter the odds and
no matter the obstacles. All of it boils down to audacity.
Audacity
describes the spirit of the Old West better than all of the other
words put together. Audacity is the quality historians bump into when
they are trying to make sense of it all. Audacity built the
railroads. Audacity possessed Mr. Lincoln to insist upon change, and
audacity possessed the South to resist. Audacity encouraged formerly
enslaved people to rise up, run away, and confront their captors.
Audacity rushed for gold. The characters of the Western novel, and
the Old West, display plenty of audacity. I find the idea to write
stories somewhere in this notion of audacity. I think many other
Western writers do, too. I think delving into the psychology of
audacity is one of the keys to achieving stories people might like to
read.
Do
your life experiences influence or hinder your writing?
I
certainly think growing up in the rural areas of the Northeast,
borderline Appalachia, influenced the foundation of these stories.
If
you had a choice, which is your favorite to write, short stories,
novellas or full-length novels?
All
of the above. I don’t agree with the premise that these forms are
mutually exclusive.
You can follow James on his Amazon page here: James Ciccone - Amazon
I find there is so much to learn from other authors. Please keep an eye out for future Western Fictioneer author interviews. Until then, stay safe, warm, and keep those stories coming. The world needs them, even if they don't realize it, yet.
