1. Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion. As a fellow labourer in the nonfiction vineyard, I appreciate the direct and straightforward way she crafts a narrative without resorting to the kinds of stylized writerly flourishes that are more about calling attention to the author's technique than to the story she is telling.
2. Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. This is the book of essays that first made me aware of Sedaris, a very funny writer who is also capable of being heart-warming and compassionate.
3. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Crime reporting taken to the highest level by an accomplished novelist using the techniques of what is nowadays commonly referred to as creative nonfiction.
4. The Luck of Ginger Coffey by Brian Moore. I read this book in 1966, shortly after immigrating from Ireland to Canada in search of a better life. I enjoyed it immensely, mainly because the central character is also an individual who immigrates from Ireland to Canada in search of a better life. I like to feel I did a bit better than poor Ginger in the sense that I eventually found a way to earn a living from my pen. The best he could find were two demeaning jobs: delivering diapers during the day and proof-reading for a newspaper at night.
5. Puckoon by Spike Milligan. A laugh-out-loud comic novel about a sleepy Irish border village by one of the three comedy geniuses (Peter Sellers and Harry Secombe were the others) who gave the world BBC Radio's popular The Goon Show, generally acknowledged as the inspiration for Monty Python's Flying Circus. My favourite line from the novel: "You can fool some of the people all the time and all the people some of the time, which is just long enough to be President of the United States."

iPad

Interviews I have done with newspaper columnists, radio and television hosts.

I use two desks, placed side by side in the shape of an "L." One holds my computer, scanner, fax machine and printer. The other holds my research material and reference books. The combination makes for a most efficient working environment.

I grew up in Dublin, Ireland. My parents were great storytellers, as were many of my uncles and aunts. If I didn't inherit my storytelling skills directly from them, I'm sure I acquired the ability through osmosis.

I first writing as a child of about 10 or 12, making up stories to read to my younger brothers and sister.

My latest book, "Leaving Dublin: Writing My Way from Ireland to Canada," published by Rocky Mountain Books in 2011. It's my autobiography. I figured that if I didn't write down my story now, I'd soon grow too old to remember.

When one of my books, "Songs of an Irish Poet: The Mary O'Leary Story," went out of print, I acquired the rights from the original publisher, The Collins Press, and published it myself.

Smashwords, through its Premium Catalog, has placed my books with online sellers around the world, without any particular effort on my part.

Bringing pleasure to people through my storytelling.

They mean the world to me. Without readers, a writer is nothing more than someone whistling in the dark.

The story of a successful Canadian businessman who established a charitable foundation to give back to his community, and involved his wife and children in the operation of the foundation.

David Sedaris, Joan Didion, Truman Capote, Anthony Burgess, Alice Munro, Brian Moore, Margaret Atwood, and hundreds of others.

The fact that my computer is waiting to receive my latest bit of writing.

Playing jazz piano, listening to music of all kinds, playing Scrabble, practising Tai Chi, cycling.

I read about them in the New York Times and other newspapers.

Not specifically. But because I wrote it as a child for my younger siblings, I expect it would have involved Desperate Dan, Roger the Dodger, Dennis the Menace and other beloved characters from our favourite children's comics in Ireland: The Beano and The Dandy.

I ask a professional designer to do the job for me because I have no talent in this area.

The New York Times and books about Ireland, its history and its politics.

To learn as much as possible about a particular topic, whether through interviews or research or both, and then write down what I know.

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I was about ten years old when I first read it: a great adventure tale about pirates, buried treasure and coming of age.

Not really, unless you count my leaving Ireland to become a wandering minstrel in Canada. But my friend and writing comrade Bob Bott has actually been on the road with a troupe of clowns, puppeteers and jugglers, as seen in a charming NFB documentary that you can view here: https://www.nfb.ca/film/horse_drawn_magic.

In Dublin’s fair city (“where the girls are so pretty”).

University College Dublin. Majored in English, drama, satirical revues, Guinness, and pretty girls.

Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Albertans are my raw material. I write about them. I immortalize them.

The first one, Building a Province. It opened the gate for me.

Check calendar. Check upcoming deadlines. Check e-mail. Check Twitter. Check Facebook. Check LinkedIn. Check the International New York Times. If all’s right with the world, I drink chamomile tea and start writing.

I always check my e-mail but rarely answer the phone.

A crisp shirt.

Blue Nights, The Year of Magical Thinking, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. All by Joan Didion. One of America’s best nonfiction writers.

Mavericks by Aritha van Herk. She’s an Alberta novelist who turned her hand to history and did it better than those of us who profess to write history for a living.

Go for a long walk and daydream.

Shut off radio. Close shutters. Drink tea. Write lead. Check e-mail. Write second sentence. Check Facebook. Write third sentence. Check Twitter. Rewrite lead. Check New York Times home page. Finish ‘graph

See answer to previous question.

A shillelagh. Don’t ask.

I never really notice. The shutters are always closed. Sometimes I think it may be snowing outside, but I never know for sure.

Check Twitter. Check Facebook. Go to Tai Chi.

See answer to previous question.

I believe that if I finish my day’s writing in the middle of a sentence, I’ll be able to pick up tomorrow where I left off and never miss a beat. If I finish with a full stop, I’ll get writer’s block for sure.

My credit card. Even when I’m walking around the house. You never know when a buying opportunity might present itself.

The pizza slice I put in the fridge after last night’s supper.

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

I wouldn’t work. I’m too old to do anything other than write.

I made it into the Guinness Book of World Records (1981 edition, p. 212) with the shortest book review ever written.

“He never ate his vegetables.”