Mark Liam Piggott

Delighted to announce my short story, "Waterlow Sunrise", has been published in issue 5 of the "Literary Commune" - the Brits issue. As you can see from the contents list this is a really special issue and I'm proud to be included. The Brits issue - contents: Televisions in Heaven by Ewan Morrison Arcadia Planitia by Joe Hakim Remembrance by Jeremy Young White Field Green Sheep by Jeremy Young Funny Money by Thomas McColl Open Mic by Thomas McColl Unfolded Tongue by Yuxing Xi

There are 3,000 people – almost all teenage girls – attending the first ever BeautyCon London (BCL) event inside the enormous hangar that is London Olympia. Most, my 11-year-old daughter included, are quaking with excitement: there are squeals and flashes as famous YouTubers are spotted, shuddering bass sounds from the PA ratchets up the excitement. I have just one question: what's it all about? Read the rest of my Beauty Con feature at the IB Times...

"Eileen is 93. Her husband Les passed away in January 2014 after 73 years of marriage, and so for the first time in her life this Christmas she'll wake up alone - like half a million other older people nationwide. I feel a bit guilty about Eileen - because she's my nan. Usually I see her over Christmas but this year I'm taking my own children to Australia to stay with auntie Kate - nan's daughter. Eileen's sons, Michael (my dad) and Vincent (my uncle) will be in the country b

"Ever met a nice Scotsman? Me neither. I mean Armando Iannucci, Lou Macari and Wattie out of Exploited (get well soon) seem okay, though I wouldn't want to live next door to any of them, but the rest? Buckfast-slurping, sheep-stomach-scoffing, heart-attack-having, currency-stealing cry-babies. I jest, of course. I wouldn't mind having Armando, Lou, Wattie or indeed most other Scots folk living next door. In fact - that's what they do, isn't it? They live next door, our slight

My granddad, Leslie Piggott, died last month at the age of 98. He is much loved. Really pleased to announce that today The Guardian published his obituary in its excellent "other lives" series, which I wrote as neutrally as possible – not easy... (and yes he did make all those items on the windowsill).

"Morrissey and I have history - albeit one-sided. Since the astonishing moment I first heard "what difference does it make" in 1983 I've thought of "The Smiths" as somehow separate: not music but an integral part of life. When asked to contribute to a collection of stories about Islington ("Down the Angel and up Holloway") I called my story "Hatful of Holloway". When asked to write about my hard journey to publication I titled the essay "this is the fierce last stand of all I

"My nine-year-old daughter has started taking me to task for using "wicked" as a form of praise. At 47, she explains, I'm too old to use words and phrases which are the preserve of the young. She also says the punk music I've finally worked out how to load onto the iPod is too loud. For a moment I think she's going to complain you can't hear the words. I used to listen to a lot of punk, back in 1983. I was sixteen, had left school to the dole queue, and despised older people

"Nowadays I try not to judge people on appearances, even when that appearance is of a skinhead with 16-hole DMs and tattoos all over his...

"Being financially dyslexic I don't read the business sections much but have heard quite a few demands from the press and politicians that banks start lending again. Having failed my maths "O" level I have no idea whether this is a good thing or not, but then a lot about banking and finance puzzles me, such as: if I try to open a bank account, so I can pay in money, and don't want any sort of loan, why won't the banks help?" Read the rest of my latest Huffington Post here...

"Being a far-from successful author I bow to no man in my admiration for Julian Barnes, whose novels sit on the shelves of my modest two-bed maisonette in London. Each morning I walk my two kids past Mr Barnes's large detached house on our way to school; sometimes he stands in the window looking out, no doubt dreaming up his latest idea..." READ THE REST OF THIS HUFFINGTON POST HERE

A few months back, Private Eye published a letter I sent in about a hilarious cartoon (issue 1325). Then, last night, on my way home from Canary Wharf after my first weekend writing for the IB Times, what should I find in the Sunday Times diary column..? I’m not really bi-polar, by the way. Just –emotional.

"If I told you I know where you can buy a fancy new scanner-cum-printer-cum-photocopier-cum-helicopter for less than a hundred quid, you'd probably think it a bargain. But what if I were to add that after three years the damn thing will be obsolete and you'll need a new one - would it still seem a good deal?” Read the rest of my latest Huffington Post here...

"What's the League Cup called now? I lost track somewhere between the Coca-Cola and Milk Cup eras. As for the Europa, which would you prefer - top four in the league or a tricky second leg in Elfsborg? Come to think of it (Wigan), which would YOU prefer - FA Cup winners, or staying in the Premiership?..." Read the rest - plus my ten ideas to make football better - over at Huffington Post...

Kotka, Finland. Unfair, perhaps, to begin Martin Amis's "Success" right after Antony Beevor's "Stalingrad", which is staggering - the work, the dedication, the authority - and of course the subject, those vast losses on vast Steppes, that brutal, barbarous 20th C. "Stalingrad" gave me ideas - about reading Vasily Grossman, and the life of Vasily Chuikov, and in particular that pic of the young Romanian PoW, his head at a strange angle on his shoulders like someone cut it out

"When my second novel was named "book of the month" by a prestigious literary organisation three years ago, a title previously won by such luminaries as Hilary Mantel and Cormac McCarthy, I imagined there would be a corresponding boost to sales and in terms of reviews. Instead, my novel, "Out of Office", sank without trace. Not one national newspaper gave the book even a negative review; it flounders somewhere around the million mark on Amazon. My publisher, Legend, who had g

"If I include train fares and subsistence as well as fees, studying for my MA in Novel Writing at the University of Manchester probably cost me ten thousand pounds. I used to think it was worth it: without the guidance of fellow students, not to mention my excellent tutors, author Martyn Bedford and poet John McAuliffe, I'm not sure my first novel would ever have found a publisher. "My fellow students helped me see my work through fresh eyes, and when I rewrote "Fire Horses"

"Imagine for a moment you're sitting at your kitchen table making bombs. Knowing that should you sweat too much, or make a sudden move, you will be terribly maimed or killed. Then, later, weaving through the happy crowd: seeing the faces of smiling children. Knowing that if you succeed in your terrible mission, your name will be cursed by millions; and when you are eventually killed (the brothers Tsarnaev may not have been suicide bombers exactly, but they must have known the

"I left school in 1983, the same month Margaret Thatcher won her second election. In my Yorkshire hometown there was disbelief that once again the south had returned to power someone who had transformed the industrial heartlands in much the same way the US infantry transformed Baghdad..." READ THE REST OF MY BLOG IN TODAY'S HUFFINGTON POST

Just spoke on BBC Ulster about why the Beeb was wrong to "ban" the witch is dead, why I won't be celebrating or mourning on Wednesday and why "Kill the Poor" would have been far more appropriate. You can catch the show here...

...in more ways than one. When people (or, more frequently, forms) ask the name of my hometown, I’m never sure what to say. Is it London, home for the last 28 years? Hebden Bridge, where I grew up? Or the town where I was born? For today, I’ll make it the latter: Manchester, where I’m heading to attend a series of events at the university. Although I was born in Withington, living briefly in Burnage and Longsight, we left when I was five. I went back a few times, staying in F