James Darcy was born in the summer of 1958 in Southampton, England, one of many, his childhood years shaped by compromise. Asked recently about those times he described them as ‘interesting’, adding ‘Most struggles have more than one dimension’. Refusing to let the past shape his future he has lived his life with a simple message which can be found in his wallet today, the poem by Calvin Coolidge, Persistency. Having completed his education the last three decades have been spent immersed in the world of finance providing funding for business acquisitions. Describing his career choice as a ‘contradiction’, he concedes it has been ‘good to him’ providing opportunities far beyond his early expectations and a platform to explore his artistic side while working within a profession he defines as soulless, ‘It’s all about balancing it out, it’s not something I’m particularly good at but then who is? I’m disciplined, my brother would say, ‘Jimmy, how many lists do you have on the go today?’ He knew me as well as anyone, I still think of him constantly when I’m writing, he was a great brother and friend…’
Preferring to write early evenings, his desk, an old Victorian flip lid complete with clay inkwell, can be found covered in poems, short stories and manuscripts fighting for space with a small light and a laptop that has seen better days. His writing style is driven by human observation and an emotional journey often tinged with sadness recognised and embraced by those that claim to have ‘lived a life’, be it now or in the past.
Having lost both parents, the first, his father, when he was just 18 years old, he is under no illusion that life owes you anything, ‘It’s there to be lived, no one said it was going to be easy, we all have opportunities, it’s up to us to take them’.
James Darcy lives alone writing and working and not always in that order.