CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with Nick Caccamo

Rappahannock Review Fiction Editors: We’re interested in the protagonist’s character development in “I Believe in Something.” How did that come together for you as you wrote the story?

Nick Caccamo: Actually one of the main reasons I was reluctant to send this story out for publication over the years is what I perceived as a lack of character development—for a long time, I felt the character was a bit one-dimensional and the story was sort of locked in on this tunnel-vision of the character’s eating disorder. As I would come back and edit it in recent years, I tried to add some elements that would shore up that aspect—the internal dialogue regarding control and discipline and allusions to religion to help explain the character’s motivations and reasoning. This ultimately results in the character evolving from shame and low self-esteem to feeling a sense of pride and strength by exerting control over her circumstances, even as her body is destroyed by the process.

RR: How did you decide to explore the theme of control through their relationship with their diet and body?

NC: When I initially wrote this story many years ago, I spent a lot of time reading online “pro-ana” content to understand the topic better; basically, online communities where people discuss anorexic behaviors. Some of these sites are genuine support groups for people to discuss their situations and/or their recoveries, while others exist as a source of inspiration—members giving advice and encouragement for others suffering from eating disorders, providing guidance on ways to lose even more weight, to hide their behaviors from friends and family, framing it all as a lifestyle choice. The main connecting theme I understood from reading this content was that people’s motivations were not necessarily a desire to lose weight or attain some ideal of beauty; the primary desire seemed to be control and discipline. In this chaotic world where we have very little control as an individual over larger-scale forces beyond our personal sphere of influence, personal consumption is an area over which one can assert authority and feel empowerment.

RR: Do you have a specific approach to the editing and revision process? Can you describe it?

NC: I’m someone who likes to get words on the page as quickly as possible. I’ll sometimes write an entire first draft of a story in one night—the overall plot and theme might be there, but the language is raw and unpolished. Once I write that draft, I typically take some time away from it—sometimes a couple of weeks, but sometimes months or even years. I don’t try to hurry it. After some distance from it, I feel like I can evaluate it better, more objectively. But space and time are the main drivers of the revision process. This story is a particularly extreme example. It’s one of the first stories I ever wrote, the original version written when I was a nineteen-year-old sophomore in college taking my first writing workshop after switching majors. I was proud of the story—it was the first one I ever did any real “research” for. I never really knew how to improve on it though, and like many other stories I’ve written over the years, it resided in a folder on my laptop unedited for a long time. Some of these stories I abandon—maybe I’ll go back and try to edit or revise, but sometimes I can tell it’s just not going to work, or I get bored with it and move on to something else. But this one I always really liked—I just didn’t know what to do with it. Earlier this year, I decided it was time to commit to rewriting it—I liked it too much to just let it sit there unread and unedited. I committed to a theme—control, discipline, religious fervor. So I guess my takeaway should be: never give up on a piece, no matter how long it’s been. You can always revise and rewrite. It feels great to have this story that I wrote the first draft of twenty-plus years ago now out there in the world—this one is special to me.

RR: You have other stories with similar themes of loss and grief with emotional disconnection. How do you think writing can help process or understand loss and grief, if at all?

NC: I like this question, as I’ve never really thought of my stories altogether as being thematically connected before. “Emotional disconnection” is a great descriptor and very apt—my stories certainly have some similarities across them. But to your question, like any form of communication or expression, whether it’s music, writing, or simple conversation, it definitely can help to process or understand loss and grief. Everyone needs an outlet for stress or pain relief. For me, after a tough day or week, writing and exercise are a great stress reliever—a good run or getting some words on the page is an excellent way to unwind and end the day. About fifteen years ago, I lost a very close friend of mine and in the weeks after, I wrote a story about it while in the moment. Like this story, it has sat in a folder on my laptop for years. I’ve edited it and polished it, but never felt like it was quite ready to send out anywhere, even though like this one, it’s always been one of my favorites. But whether I ever share it or not, it was absolutely worth writing—that writing process was invaluable in those days and weeks afterward.

RR: Do you see setting as being significant for this piece, and what role does place have for you in your writing?

NC: I’d love to write an elegant exposition on the significance of setting in this piece, but I’d be lying if I did. I think for this piece, this character could exist in almost any setting—it’s the character and their motivations that are important here. Setting and place can for sure be essential to a certain piece though—there are stories I’ve written that wouldn’t make sense anywhere other than the place/setting in which they occur. And often, there is a very specific reason for that setting. But in the context of this story here, I feel like place is secondary—some stories can exist anywhere.