Katherine Hayton | Crime. Murder. Death. My Pleasure.
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  • 16 Oct 2017
    Fading memories

    I remember the first time that one of my parents wasn’t equipped to handle modern technology. The good old copy/paste was something that eluded poor old Dad and stayed forever out in that exorable wilderness that consisted of everything he would never know.   It didn’t matter about writing down the instructions. For some reason, the part of his brain that would once have interpreted it and memorized the process within seconds was full up. No doubt the bulging wisdom contained therein had a lot of facts not useful after the fifties, sixties, or seventies. But brains are odd c

  • 27 Aug 2017
    Where do ideas come from?

    Back in March 2017, I was sitting on a plane feeling my ankles swell up like itchy inner tubes and watching a repeat of The Leftovers on the tiny wee personal screen. Although I loved the opening credits and music to series one of the Leftovers, this was series two with the starred outlines of people who have disappeared shown in poses with the people left behind.   While waiting impatiently for Justin Theroux to push Patty into a well, I started thinking about an outline for a short story I’d committed to writing for an anthology.   Wouldn’t it be great, I thou

  • 24 May 2017
    Making a friend

    Back in the old days when I smoked, I used to tear off the end of the cigarettes in order to get my full-scale nicotine hit faster. It was no use dragging in a breath when they were full-length – the smoke would dissipate to almost nothing by the time it reached my lips.   Although, every time I was asked, I laboriously pointed out the perfectly acceptable explanation for me doing so, people around me (usually also smoking) still used to give me funny looks. Of course, I could have fallen into step and smoked the damn things whole, but I’m stubborn and I would also m

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