Michael Hulme

Michael James Hulme, the eldest of four children, was born at five minutes past Midnight in late June, 1974.  He was born in Norwich, Norfolk, England. Unusually for Norfolk, his parents were only related by marriage.  As befits his location in a provincial dead-end town, he still lives there, and while he has no firm plans to die there, I suspect he will. 

Tired with composing stories in his head, Michael took to the word-processer like a duck to tarmac in November 2002. Since then, he has strived for quantity and has, on rare occasions, through some quirk of fate or bizarre conjunction of planets and stars, achieved quality. Usually, it’s quantity.  He is a firm believer in throwing enough mud at the wall so that some of it may stick. 

Recently separated from his fiancee, he lives alone in a small house in a narrow street in a small suburb. He works for a large company where he is either an “Internet System Designer” or a “Web Monkey”, depending on whether you are reading his CV or talking to him about his job. 

Outside fiction writing, Michael plays acoustic guitar to a moderate standard.  He writes music reviews and carries out interviews for online magazines such as FusioN (http://www.uk-fusion.com) which keeps his CD expenditure down in order that he can spend more money on whiskey and cheap rolling tobacco. He would dearly love to be Michael Stipe. He isn’t. Whether Michael Stipe would dearly love to be Michael Hulme is a moot point. 

Michael likes reading books by John Irving, Salman Rushdie and Roald Dahl, and poetry by Larkin and Auden. His furniture is by Habitat, his hair is by John Oliver and his clothes are by the chainstore having a sale this week. 

One day, he’ll turn vegetarian.