My secret weapon is my anger. That’s what stimulates me as an artist. I want change. I want it yesterday. I’m pissed off at America. Society. American movies. American TV. American culture. American politicians. Capitalism. I’m a little like my old man in that way only I’m a recovered drunk. He wasn’t. I should have been dead years ago like my brother but somehow I dodged the bullet and it gave me something to say. Impatience and rage are always just beneath the surface for me.
Very saddened to hear about the passing of Dan Fante. He was one of those authors who inspired and still inspire me, for they show how good writing, literature, does not necessarily have to be this holy sacred thing.
I remember having this debate with someone, who considered that Fante among others (like Bukowski) did not write books that could be called literature. Why not? What makes literature ? No matter the form, no matter the writing, as far as I’m concerned there needs to be a sparkle. The writing needs to be about life, be it as a bum, while drinking too much wine or whatever, it doesn’t matter. It needs honesty. That’s what I found in Fante.