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For every writer who loves to write, starting is an easy point. You start and see where the journey leads you. Sometimes you feel dark, and the story becomes dark, but at one point, the writing will light up, and the story will become brighter. Writing is a way to express yourself, a form of art. For some of us, it is a way to crawl into the skin of somebody else. Be a darker person, be a better person, be a criminal, be a hero, be the impossible version of fantasy. On paper, everything is possible. As a beta reader, I had the chance to join Louis Romano in his journey to create his new book, John Deegan. I know the character from his Vic Gonnella books, and I love the character. A Serial Killer, but in my opinion, still a good person. When Louis told me his new book was about John Deegan, the story told from his point of view, I became directly enthusiastic. What makes John Deegan tick? We all know some of it, from reading the Vic Gonnella series, but what are the triggers, his thoughts, or even his wishes? Yes, it is fiction, but is that not the beauty of the story and the art of storytelling? It’s a dark story, a thriller story, but I ask you, how often does a writer take the time to introduce us to the backstory of a serial killer? We are taught that they are monsters and that there is no humanity left. Is this really the case? John Deegan, while being fictional, shows humanity? It makes us cheer him, almost crawl into the book to help keep him out of the hands of the police. John Deegan intrigues me, and I want to get to know him; Louis Romano brings him to life brilliantly.  I can’t wait to read the full story…

I love the internet. I am constantly amazed at how much information is at our fingertips. Important stuff like how old is William Shatner or how old was Raymond Burr when he died?  You never know when this kind of stuff comes up in conversation. It’s very important to know how many World Series rings Yogi Berra had.  What day of the week did Hitler invade Poland? How many episodes of The Honeymooners were filmed? But, most important… at least to me are the annoying women who try to meet an old bastard like me online or texting on the cell phone.  Every day, I mean it, every single day of my life, including Christmas and Thanksgiving and Holy Days of Obligation (you thought I forgot them, didn’t you?), I get women who like to send their breast-filled pictures, usually with a puppy or golf clubs in their grasp. I swear one had such big boobs it looked like an upside-down baby’s ass on her neck.  “Hi, I’m Silvia; you keep coming up in my feed. Please send me a friend request.”  I often do it just to play with them, and within an hour, I’m blocking their ass. They are always in service, deployed to Yemen or somewhere similar. Their husbands were recently killed in a motorcycle accident, leaving their 8-year-old daughter, who is living in the States. Within the hour, she is asking for money for the kid, and she can’t wait to go on leave to meet me. BTW, they are always gorgeous. Then there are the Asians. Always Chinese, all with big tits. When do you ever see Chinese women with big tits? You can walk around Chinatown in Manhattan every day for a week and not find one. My tits are bigger than most Asian women. So, the texts generally read, “Hi Nancy, are you coming to pick me up?” Or “Hi Anne, what time are we meeting for dinner?”  To be affable, I write back… “Sorry, wrong number.” Then, the text torrent begins.  “You sound like a nice person. May I know your name?” Then they send a photograph. Let me tell you something…they are so beautiful I would kill a blood relative to be with them.  When I say I’m an old man in his 70’s, they all, every single one of them, who, by the way, are no older than 26, say the same exact thing. “Age is just a number. I can learn a lot from you.” I get naked photos every day of my life on Instagram. And, because the young ladies think I’m so handsome I can get more shots. Or even get them to meet with me if I cover the airfare, pay the babysitter for the two kids, and cover the electric and gas bills, rent, car insurance, and car note. Oh! And then she needs some clothes and luggage.  I know, I’ve done it four times!!! 

I just had a major flashback. I'm writing on my second story deck in New Jersey. No one can see me. The house is surrounded by oak and pine trees on one side, huge bushes on another, and big evergreen trees right behind me.

I was one of the lucky few who was allowed to read Trust and Betrayal before it was published. While a true crime book wouldn't be my first choice, I took the opportunity to read it. I was pleasantly surprised.

Today, lovelies, I offer my thoughts and simultaneously introduce you to a unique and interesting story. One sure to leave you in awe upon completion, when the realization truly sets in that it is a tale of truth rather than fiction.

 I had no intention of writing a Gino Ranno series—none whatsoever. I had written and self-published two poetry books, poems that I started writing when I was around 18: Anxiety’s Next and Anxiety’s Cure. I published them on a lark and enjoyed the process of breaking the ice by seeing my name on a book. I recall seeing my first book when it arrived in the mail from the printer. I stared at it for a long while.         A year or so later, I was in Amagansett, New York, in the Hamptons, and was told there was a nice place to have a lobster called The Fish Farm. They also bred these wonderful dogs. Rhodesian Ridgebacks are a large dog breed known also as the African Lion Dog.        The place was a fish farm where they grew fish for retail and wholesale.         The workers at the fish farm reminded me of fishing people who were unique and, in some cases, rather strange. As it neared dusk, a family of South Americans came by, and suddenly, I made up this story in my mind that we could have easily been killed and fed to the fish, with no one the wiser. So, I decided to write my first crime novel which would include a brutal Colombian drug dealer.        Enter Gino Ranno, a legitimate guy with family ties to the fictional Miceli crime family in New York City. I used the Gambino family as a guide. Gino Ranno was me. Gino for Luigino (Little Louie) and Ranno as a fake name I used when I didn’t want to use my real name when I was younger. I made up the characters from friends with nick names like Joey Clams Santoro and Charlie C and other guys I grew up with in the Bronx.         The book took me forever to write. I had lost interest in Fish Farm and abandoned it for 6-8 months. When it was finally finished and published, I got a lot of decent reviews from friends and family, many of whom said it would make a good mystery-crime movie.         A couple of years later, having put the author on my list of paltry accomplishments, I befriended a group of Albanian clients to whom I sold heating oil. When I showed interest in their culture, one of the Albanians gifted me a large, hard-covered red book, The Kanun of Leke Dukagjini. The Kanun is basically the old code of behavior that Albanians have used for hundreds of years and codified by its author.         So, now Gino Ranno returns, and circumstances in the plot get Gino’s mafia family involved in a deadly dispute with the Albanian mob. BESA was the title of the book. BESA is a word of honor, among the Albanians, and I pulled much of the behavior of the bad guys from the Kanun.         It was my first successful fiction book, allowing me to do book signings in New Jersey, New York, Detroit, and other places. Lots of publicity and even more important were reviews from people other than family and friends. The writing was better than Fish Farm as I was learning how to weave a story that held the readers' interest from page one. Fish Farm was criticized for the first 30 pages being not so interesting although I really thought it was. I learned quickly to have a thicker skin.  BESA put me on the map I like to say, and the rest of the series was fun and challenging.         Not as commercially successful as the Vic Gonnella series I am pulled to do another book in the Gino Ranno series.         Like anything in life, I like to think my writing has improved as I went along, but who am I to say?

      I met John Gojcaj more than a few years ago when I was hanging out at the J & R Cigar store in Paramus, New Jersey. Now called the Monte Cristo Lounge.  I was smoking a cigar, and he was rebuilding the place. Always fascinated by people who can use their imagination and hands to build things I struck up a conversation.         John is Albanian from Montenegro. When I told him I wrote the book BESA about a fictitious Italian and Albanian mob war he knew who I was. We began talking about New York Albanians and it was evident that I knew so many of his friends and family from my travels in New York City and BESA. From Detroit, John often says I know more Albanians in New York than he does. While it’s true that I have an affinity for Illyrians, every Albanian I know seems to know the Gojcaj family.        As we got to know one another, I quickly discovered that John was passionate about films, acting, and the written word. He had a few stories that he wanted to bring to life in print.        “Lou, I had a dream twenty years ago that I would like to write but I don’t know where to start,” was all I needed to hear.        His dream was of twin boys who were separated at birth. The dream was so profound to John that it stayed with him all those years.         The thought of twins being extracted from each other, while not a new concept became intriguing to me. We started running various scenarios past one another and came up with characters and a plot that takes place in the 1980’s in Barranquilla, Colombia. A mother must decide to sell one of her sons so the three of them would literally not starve to death. I chose Colombia and the drug world to dramatize the plot.        John and I unwittingly jumped on an emotional roller coaster.         We worked together daily for months going back and forth with the characters and their lives.         There were a few disagreements with the direction of the book, but we always compromised our positions while working together on the finished product.         After we published On the Side of the Road and began getting great reviews and doing a few small book signings, John was convinced that our story had merit for a feature film. We hired my cousin, Michael Miceli, a screenwriter. He fell in love with the story.         Mike did a few renditions of the screenplay. I’m not the most patient writer, which has been a problem on almost every project of mine, but John kept working on the screenplay until he was satisfied that it was worthy of passing around.         John also insisted we have the book done in audio. I’m glad he did.        We are soon conducting a national campaign to promote this book and hope the film gets picked up. At the risk of sounding self-serving, On the Side of the Road is a really good book that, in the right hands, will make a great movie. Let’s see!

 Maybe one day I will try my hand at l’amore but for now I can say my mind tends to go toward criminal activity. My Sicilian family can’t be blamed for any of this. In my family tree, there is not one person going back to the 1700s that was a criminal, to my knowledge. None of the Miceli family and the many other family surnames did in jail or prison one day, so far as I can tell. They were all hard-working family people with little or no education who suffered greatly as any of the millions of immigrants had.  My book Carusi, the Shame of Sicily, has a love story within the weaving of the history of the sulfur mines in western Sicily. That’s as close as I’ve come to a true love story.        However, my Italian side of the family had a couple of criminals. From what I can garner, my biological grandfather was a bad guy who fled from New York, likely to save his life, deserting my dad and his own family. One of his brothers was in Sing, Sing prison, likely for armed robbery back in 1930. I’m working on finding out the details. Perhaps this part of my DNA is why my writing goes to the rough stuff.         I can say without a doubt that my true crime books—and I will admit they are the most difficult to research and write—have fueled my fascination with the criminal mind.        When I met Gene Borrello, a mob enforcer and turncoat whose life I wrote about in Born in the Life, I was taken by his want to beat up people, shoot them, and torment them to collect debts owed to the Bonanno crime family in New York.         When I sat with John Alite, another mafia informant, I was intrigued that he had killed dozens of people.  A seemingly nice man who made murder his stock in trade. He seemed to enjoy his work.         My new book, Trust and Betrayal, will be out soon. Levit Fernandini, the subject of the book, had a similar attraction for me. Here is a family man who seems calm and reserved. Underneath his placid demeanor is a drug dealer who was given a life sentence for murder and trafficking.        I killed a turtle when I was a teenager, and it literally has haunted me for over 60 years. How can these men commit these heinous acts for power and money and, in Alite and Borrello’s case, at the behest of others?        Having spent countless hours on the telephone, in person, at lunch or dinner, on Zoom calls with these three criminals brought me as close to pure evil as I ever wanted to be. Writing about my fictional character, John Deegan, in the Vic Gonnella series is just what it is.  It’s fake out of my imagination. No one in real life gets hurt, not even a paper.   Friends and family have told me I was crazy to be with these characters, but the more time I spent with them, the more they intrigued me. Perhaps growing up in Catholic schools with a sense of guilt and morals and heaven and hell has made my psyche long to know about what makes a person intrinsically bad.  I have turned down 5 or 6 criminals who want their story told. They are not looking to cleanse their souls in a mea culpa but likely looking for a TV. series or movie. I’ve decided to sit it out, at least for the time being.  Instead, I’ll stay with fictional characters who seem to write their own dialogue. 

 There are so many experiences in life that I find it impossible to say what my favorite anything is. For example…when someone asks who my favorite baseball player has been, my mind flashes so many players before me. Sandy Koufax, Mickey Mantle, Aaron Judge, Derek Jeter, Willie Mays. But an absolute favorite? I like them for different reasons, and I find it difficult to say just one.        The same is true with books. Someone asked me today what my favorite book is… A flash of dozens of books crossed my mind (none of them mine) out of the thousands I’ve read. And I liked them all for different reasons.         The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson captivated me. I didn’t want it to end. Mario Puzo’s The Godfather may be the only book I’ve ever read twice. Richard Ben Cramer’s Joe DiMaggio: The Hero’s Life is a masterpiece. I like Nelson DeMille a lot, and his books flash in my mind. I absolutely devoured Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons. Go ahead…ask me which was my favorite, and I can’t tell you.         The first book I remember reading was Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. That always flashes in front of me for some reason.        It’s the same thing with Italian food. Which is my favorite of all the food I grew up with and have experienced in Italy and Sicily? My mind shows me a menu from Peas and Macaroni and Pasta Con Sarda, which I grew up on, which today is considered poor man’s food.  Veal Marsala, Ravioli of any kind, my mother’s eggplant parmigiana or steak a pizzaiola. My wife has her renditions, which are close. My grandma's stuffed calamari is in the flashes. But no absolute favorite. I can actually recall the aroma and tastes.        Similarly…who is my favorite actor or actress? I see the faces of Al Pacino, Anthony Hopkins, Sean Connery, Denzel Washington, Humphrey Bogart, Giancarlo Giannini, Sofia Loren, Ingrid Bergman, and Charlize Theron. The flashes seem never to end.         My favorite vacation spots? There I go again! The flashes are like a movie playing in my mind: Rome, Taormina, Sicily, the Amalfi Coast, Florence, Venice, Paris, Montauk, and Long Beach in New York. The funny thing about these places is that I can close my eyes and think of any of them and be instantly brought back to the fabulous experiences I had in each city.         I suppose I am a lover of life and have been blessed to have been to many wonderful places, read many great books, eaten many fabulous foods, and seen great plays, films, and sporting events. I cherish everything I’ve done and am looking forward to more if it's in my cards to do so.