PHOTO: Joe Clifford, author and musician, captured by Niki Pretti Photography with the introspective presence of a man who’s lived every word he’s written.
Stories Of Redemption, Small-Town Secrets, And Emotional Depth
Joe Clifford reflects on addiction, small-town suspense, and writing with brutal honesty, exploring the interplay of trauma, music, and memory in his crime novels and personal memoir.
Joe Clifford’s life has been shaped by the extremes of human experience—chaos and survival, addiction and redemption, silence and voice. His path from the streets of San Francisco to the literary landscape is anything but conventional, and yet it has produced work that is searingly honest, emotionally raw, and fearlessly unfiltered. Whether chronicling his own descent and recovery in Junkie Love or navigating the hard edges of crime and psychological suspense in his novels, Clifford writes with the clarity of someone who’s been through the fire and lived to tell the tale.
In novels like Say My Name and The Lakehouse, Clifford masterfully blends the sharpness of noir with emotional resonance, creating narratives that tremble with vulnerability beneath the grit. His prose is tight and rhythmic—clearly influenced by a musician’s ear—and his characters are deeply human: flawed, often damaged, and undeniably real. There is a moral weight to his stories, a sense that what’s being told matters not just on the page, but off it, too.
Music pulses through his storytelling like an invisible score, particularly in his editorial work, such as Trouble in the Heartland, a collection that draws inspiration from Bruce Springsteen’s blue-collar poetry. Much like Springsteen, Clifford is preoccupied with those living on the margins—people whose stories are often overlooked but whose truths demand attention.
To read Clifford is to be reminded that fiction, at its best, is an act of empathy. His work challenges, confronts, and ultimately invites us to see the humanity in struggle—and the fierce beauty that can emerge from it.
What inspired you to write Say My Name, and how did you approach blending true crime with fiction in such a unique way?
Honestly? I was at a professional crossroads. I’d been trying to write more female-centric domestic psychological suspense but wasn’t hitting the mark. I found myself gravitating toward … madness. I grew up with the Twilight Zone, and I’d always loved the way Vonnegut and Maugham were able to use the writer as a catalyst for their stories. I like the idea of playing with perception. Probably because my take on reality so often broaches insanity.
Jay Porter’s journey across the series is both gripping and emotionally raw. How did his character evolve in your mind over the course of the books?
Man, I love Jay. I could’ve written that character forever. And the fans who liked those books really like Jay. Problem is, Jay, like me, is rather depressed. Just how we view the world. I am highly suspect of optimists. Personally, I think they are either delusional or just not very bright. Anyway, I got sick of reading the sad-sack bashing, and my publisher (Oceanview) wanted Jay to be more upbeat. And that was never the story. I had no interest in writing that book.
Junkie Love is such a personal memoir. What was the most difficult part of revisiting that chapter of your life in writing?
The fact that I hurt so many people and wasted so many years. It’s hard because that experience led to, well, my entire career. I also needed to learn humility. Empathy cannot be taught; it must be experienced. I needed to be knocked down a peg or two. I made some wonderful friends out there. But overall it’s hard not to regret the losses. Like my friend (and fellow junkie turned crime writer) Tom Pitts says in one of his songs, “I don’t want the money back; I want the time.”
Many of your books deal with the secrets of small towns. What draws you to these tight-knit communities as a setting?
I grew up in a small town. That’s the short of it. I’ve spent most of my life in big cities but something about the insular, inherent secrecy of a tiny enclave, I find compelling. Especially for crime fiction, which hinges on secrets and suspicions.
In The Lakehouse, there’s a strong interplay between crime, local politics, and trauma. How do you balance plot complexity with emotional depth?
I really thought that was the book that was gonna break me through. I had a big agent interested. I wrote the entire thing on high-speed trains in Italy while on book tour. Looked like the ship was coming in. Or the train was on time? Then the agent passed, the publisher (Polis) I found for it eventually folded. Although since its re-release through Square Tire Books, The Lakehouse found some new life. As for the specific question? Again, I’m drawing on my hometown roots. I use the real names of people I grew up with, which I think helps create that ethos and verisimilitude.
Music clearly plays a role in your life, as seen with Trouble in the Heartland. How does music influence your writing process or storytelling?
I am a musician. I have a band (The Wandering Jews). Been playing for years. And Springsteen is arguably my single greatest literary influence. What the Boss can say in two lines, it can take authors like I three hundred pages! But, yeah, as a musician, I can tell you that every book comes with a soundtrack and I very much write my prose to a beat, both external and internal. There is a syncopation, a musicality and rhythm I consider paramount to the process.
Do you approach writing standalone novels differently from how you approach writing a series like the Jay Porter books?
Porter was one story divided into five parts (books). Which is part of what drove that publisher nuts. Or at least to terminate working with me. I think Oceanview wanted the same book over and over. They wanted a more upbeat, less dour Jay. That was never the story I wanted to tell. The Manafort family (yes, those Manaforts) killed my father, which, in turn, led to my brother’s early death. That was the story I was going to tell. My sales and career took a hit. But that’s not why an artist creates. We do so to tell the hard truths. Not that I wouldn’t love more commercial success. I am happy to capitulate, but when that comes at the expense of an author’s authenticity? It’s going to ring hollow. It’s going to play false. Standalone is a one and done, so the same rules don’t apply. Or are truncated.
What advice would you offer to other authors who want to tackle dark, complex themes with honesty and authenticity?
Good luck? I don’t want to be the cranky old writer dude, but writing is going through a metamorphosis, and I don’t see it ending well. People are reading less. Everyone wants to write a book. So few want to read one. That is not sustainable. Anytime I do an event, a book festival, a conference, a signing I get approached by folks who will casually reference my book(s), maybe. But what they really want to know is how to get their book published. I’m not faulting that desire to see one’s work in print. For me it was all-consuming! But I was always reading more than I wrote.
