How bestselling author Patrick Taylor became an expert in improvised explosives
Mac Cameron | CBC | Posted: July 12, 2017 1:12 PM | Last Updated: July 13, 2017
Patrick Taylor is one of Canada's bestselling authors. The former medical researcher now lives on Salt Spring Island in B.C., where he writes his Irish Country Doctor series. They've sold more than a million copies worldwide and the first book in the series, An Irish Country Doctor, is #128 on the bestselling 150 Canadian books of the past 10 years.
We asked Taylor to take the CBC Books Magic 8 Q&A and answer eight randomly selected questions from eight fellow writers.
Allan Stratton asks, "What role has luck played in your career?"
Massive. I was editor-in-chief of a medical journal. Our publisher also published the magazine Books in Canada. He read some of my short stories and persuaded Anna Porter of Key Porter Books to publish a collection in 1997. That got my toe in the door. Nick Bantock, a friend (author of the Griffin and Sabine series), asked his old publicist Sal Nensi, now a literary agent, to represent me. Sal sold my first novel to Insomniac Press. Jack Whyte (author of the Dream of Eagles series) showed the first in the Irish Country Doctor series, published originally by Insomniac, to his editor at Forge. She got me an agent and a two-book contract. I've just finished book 13 in the series.
Kate Cayley asks, "Do you talk to your characters?"
Yes. And they talk back. Out loud. First-time visitors to my study are often surprised to find that I am alone.
Rebecca Rosenblum asks, "Do you have any favourite phrases or kinds of descriptions that are always creeping into your work despite your efforts to edit them out? "
I hope not. The Globe and Mail critic said of my first effort, "characters keep taking healthy gulps of their drinks and some men have bulbous noses." I've tried very hard not to make that kind of mistake again.
Jane Urquhart asks, "If you were forced at gunpoint to give up either reading or writing, which would it be?"
Gosh. That's a really tough one. My answer is a bit oblique. So far I haven't run out of plots, but I fear with advancing years the decision could be made for me. I read for years before I started writing. I suspect that reading will still be with me long after the quill has been retired.
Heather O'Neill asks, "What's the strangest thing you've done while researching a book?"
My first novel was a psychothriller about a Provisional IRA bomb maker. I had to become an expert (in theory) in the use of improvised explosive devices and the plastic explosive Semtex. One reason was that I did not want to put anything on paper that might be of use to either side in the internecine struggle in Ulster. I'd never have made it but for help from the RCMP's chief of their bomb disposal squad.
Linden MacIntyre asks, "To what extent is Google becoming a substitute for experience, real research, and even the imagination?"
I honestly don't know. I don't think anything can substitute for real experience. In my other, pre-Google, life I spent many years in medical research. I still can't shake the habit of checking primary sources for important facts. Part of one of my works is set on a WWII battleship. I have her marine architectural plans and seven accounts of her wartime service. But Google can be very useful for things like maps of Portsmouth, where a character was stationed. I don't see how anything could be a substitute for imagination.
Jen Sookfong Lee asks, "What book do you wish you had written?"
For the money? Harry Potter or The DaVinci Code. For pure literary enjoyment? The Wind in the Willows or The Remains of the Day.
Shilpi Somaya Gowda asks, "What's your best "fuel" for a good writing session: a great night's sleep, a long walk, a strong cup of coffee, or a glass of wine (or scotch)?"
I know many writers do need to kick start their writing days. I'm a very simple man. I sleep like a brick, can't walk far and don't drink Scotch (because I much prefer Irish, but as a nightcap), so I get up, have breakfast and a shower and go to work.