P G McCormack was born in England but grew up in Dublin in the 60s and 70s. His career was mainly in academic libraries. His MA is in Oriental and African religions. He is interested in myths and beliefs in general and this feeds through into his stories. His latest novel is The Demon of Snow, currently with an agent.
P G started writing a good many years ago, and over the years he has become a widely published poet and short story writer. His poems have appeared in Poets Aloud Anthology, Poetry Ireland, Voices, Ireland’s Own, Freelance Writing and Photography and the US magazine Visions. His short stories have appeared in a host of magazines and he won a best writer award from the Sunday Tribune (Irish newspaper). He won First Prize in the Lewis Wright Short Story Competition and was a runner-up in a biography competition judged by P D James
P G’s novel Under a Gothic Sun is available on Amazon.
Q: If you could travel back in time, which of the great writers would you like to meet and why?
A: Mary Shelley. The life and dalliances of that Romantic group seem very ‘modern’ but in another way, we have had ‘Bohemians’ in every age, however, it still strikes me as incredible that a 19-year-old in that society could produce a book like Frankenstein. It is a profound achievement.
Q: Is there a book that you keep going back to, and if so, how many times have you read it?
A: M R James ghost stories. They’re very traditional and somewhat staid by today’s standards but he has a great ability to create uneasy scenarios (over and above the plotting). I go back and re-read a few every few months.
Q: What superpower would you like to have and why?
A: I’d like to be able to breathe underwater. This would open up marvellous opportunities. You could just wander off the beach into the sea, or fall off a cruise ship in mid-Atlantic and it simply wouldn’t matter.
Q: Who is your personal inspiration?
A: My wife.
She made her way slowly up the stairs. She had changed for the evening, though it was barely teatime. The dress in heavy luxurious blue silk flowed in opulent folds from her restricted waist. At the top of the stairs, she had to catch her breath. The action gave her some satisfaction. Her hair was …