Mark Hayes is a UK novelist who was born in Yorkshire on the same day that Julius Caesar was murdered. These two events were clearly unrelated, separated as they are by 1926 years. This said when people ask him his birthday and he replies ‘Beware the ides of March…’ in a vaguely ominous tone, he often ends up rueing the standards of classical education in the latter years of the twentieth century, despite never having one himself.
He now lives in Teesside close to the river and next to a bird sanctuary he has never visited due to a lack of interest in the ornithological. He occasionally uses big words in the vague hope people might mistake him for a man of education and refinement. This rarely happens.
He shares his home with a collection of guitars he can’t play, a ukulele banjo he cannot play either, top hats he only ever wears in publicity shots, a great many books, most of which he has read, two swords for no good reason, and a black cat called Boomer he rescued from the RSPCA, and hopes someday will be rescued from him.
He is also, for reasons that escape him, currently doing a degree in Politics Philosophy and Economics, with the Open University. Probably this is in the vague hope people might mistake him for a man of education and refinement, a desire to know what the people in charge of the world actually think they are doing with it, but mostly because it’s never occurred to him how utterly useless the degree will be to him when he finally finishes it.
|Mark in official writers hat,
not sure why its an official hat ,
but he seems to think it is
If he can manage not to procrastinate too much he even manages to get essays written in time.
In-between writing, reading, and generally failing to study hard enough he has endless obsessions with everything from Doctor Who to steam punk to Cthulhu.
Cider lane was his first novel, and it won an award form a web site that then folded, he is proud of that award all the same
Passing place is his second novel, much of which he wrote first,