An italian dude with chronic gastritis and the habit of eating more or less contemporary fiction and publishing the intellectual farts that derive from it. I also write for the gastritis of others. I study Medicine, 6th year, and I envy those who invent stories as a profession. As soon as I have a slowmo photo with an explosion behind it, I’ll put that on.

Novels

Tulipani (2021, selfpublished)

(Available only in italian, for now)

Forced by his parents to spend an entire day with his grandfather, the young Federico snorts and gets depressed. He never liked that elderly and sick relative, always so taciturn, sad or distracted. But his grandfather, that day, wants to chat: he wants to tell Federico about his distant youth, and to involve him he is also willing to dust off intimate memories of his tumultuous sentimental past. A charming woman, professional lover, is the recipient of romantic sighs of nostalgia. Through those musty and unstuck memories, grandfather and grandson confront their opposite lives, separated by two generations, and recognize themselves as human beings.
Tulips is a short novel, a little pink and a little black, full of irony and melancholy reflections on the inevitability of feelings.

This was the back cover. It’s not the first novel I’ve given birth, but it’s certainly the first I’ve taken out of the hospital. Wait, it sounds like a shitty presentation. I’ll rephrase.

Tulipani is not my first writing, but certainly – despite its visible brevity – at the time of publication it was the most ready to be read. If you arrived here, or you found me through a persistent ad on Facebook, or you are my mother and you have succumbed to my MOM, SEE MY BLOG AGAIN.

If you haven’t read it yet, I’ll explain in two more words why you might like it or not. Two precise words, heh, the novel is so short that if I told you four I could write a longer presentation than the manuscript.

Tulipani tries to address three topics: generational confrontation, inadequacy given by the physical appearance, the need imposed by the world to end up between the sheets with someone as soon as possible. It speaks of an old grandfather now forced into loneliness, and of a grandson too far behind in the years to face certain speeches, even if slobbered with petty irony just to make them digestible. And it speaks of a woman, poised between the memories of a story told to steal the time that’s left.

If you are here after reading it, well, thanks. I’m not a writer, just a guy who writes, so the fact that you made it through to thanks fills my heart. If you have the time, an Amazon review would help me a lot. Otherwise, no problem, and in all cases I hope you will read me again. In order not to miss the next books I would tell you to subscribe to the newsletter, but I got so much on my plate between life and university, that I’ll public very occasionally. It’s faster if you take a trip to the blog every now and then. Or more often, if you are interested in the other sections. See you soon!

Short stories

• Scavare (2021), on the literary magazine La Nuova Carne.

Contact me

• To tell me how disgusting is what I write: francesconicolocontatti@gmail.com
• For complaints, sending me your inheritance and other official things: francesconicolo096@pec.it
• Facebook: @francesconicolowriting
• Instagram: peristalsinarrativa