Katherine Hayton | 2014 October

October 2014

22 Oct / Finished.

Hooray. I have officially finished the first draft of my latest novel. Wholehearted awesomeness all-around.

I already have a list of notes for my second draft, and will undoubtedly spend the next couple of days jotting down all the things that I should’ve written instead of the ones I actually did. But that’s something I can worry about another day. Or, this weekend for starters.

It’s going to be so much easier doing the second draft than the first draft because I’m getting on much better with my characters, and I’m really just going through and filling in all the gaps with putty to make sure everything makes some sort of sense.

And then the third draft will be even easier still because that’s just sorting out the sentence structure, and making sure it all sounds okay when you read it. Yes, that’s me muttering to myself at the back of the bus as I read my own book out loud. So too is normal.

And then it’s just a matter of handing my beautiful baby girl off to complete strangers to read and make fun of. Or, a better reaction, go all gaga over.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. For the moment I’m just happy with the thought that today I’m giving myself the night off writing. Apart from this blog obviously.

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21 Oct / Customer Service

Katherine Hayton Oct 18 04:59 AM

Hi – I placed an order for a Samsung Gear Live Purple Watch on your website a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t receive an email confirmation, and I haven’t received the item in the mail yet, although I had paid for express courier delivery and the shipping timeframe was 5-7 days.

The only confirmation I have that this order was placed is the charge to my credit card. I have guessed that the order number is the reference number provided on the credit card, but without a confirmation I’m not sure.

Would you please confirm that this order has been placed, advise what is happening with delivery as it’s now well outside the timeframe indicated on your website, and please send an email confirmation of the order so that I can track its progress.

The credit card charge details for this order are:
Transaction Date 3 Oct 2014
Processing Date 3 Oct 2014
Debit $259.80
Reference 276258

If you aren’t able to fulfill this order would you please refund this debit immediately.

Kind regards,

Kimberly (MobiCity Helpdesk)
Oct 18 02:14 PM

Hi Katherine,

We would like to inform you regarding ordered item Samsung Gear Live that only Black color is available, if you would like to switch please feel free to reply at this email for further assistance. Sorry for the inconvenience. Cheers.

Kind regards,
The MobiCity Helpdesk Team

Katherine Hayton
Oct 18 02:33 PM

No I don’t want to switch my order to the black colour. Please refund my credit card charge and send confirmation that this has been done.


Kimberly (MobiCity Helpdesk)
Oct 20 03:44 PM


I have already requested to cancel your order.
I’ll email you once I have an update.

Kind regards,
The MobiCity Helpdesk Team

[MobiCity Helpdesk] Pending request: Order # 200019731
Oct 21 07:03 PM

## In replies all text above this line is added to the ticket ##

This is an e-mail to remind you that your request (#291939) is pending and awaits your feedback.

Please follow the link below link to review and update your request or reply to this email with your response: http://support.mobicity.com/requests/291939

You may need to create an account to view your ticket. If so, please create your new account using your email address and a secure password under the create account option. Otherwise, if you have an account, please log into your account using your email address and previously chosen password to view your tickets.


My feedback that you have been awaiting is that you suck. Oh, I’m sorry. I meant, you have already sucked.

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Today was Monday.

I reluctantly accepted this after the alarm went, after I fell back asleep confident that it couldn’t possibly be so, and after I was rudely shocked back to wakefulness when my darling came back in the room in his weekday pattern.

Damn you weekend. Why do you always abandon me so soon?

I treat you with such love. I plan such exuberant things to share with you. I spend time and effort all week long thinking of how I’m going to fill every minute that we’re together, and what do you do?

You sneak away. You slip by. You catapult me forward while you stay behind.

We used to be such good friends. You’d give me a little nudge in the morning, and I’d shake my head and snuggle down for a couple more hours in bed. Then we’d go out and do something great. Something exiting. Something wonderful.

Like shopping. Remember the days when we used to go shopping? Sure, there’s still the supermarket but it’s just not the same.

And movies. Remember when we used to go to the movies? Remember when I’d stay up late at night so we could get a thrill and a chill long after I’d usually be in bed? Remember?

But those days are long gone. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who’s grown complacent. But it doesn’t seem that way. Saturday, I’m looking at you. Sunday… Sunday? Won’t you even look me in the eye anymore?

I’ll make you a firm promise then. I’ll meet you here, same time, same place. Four and a half days from now. Don’t pike out on me now. Don’t you turn your back or pass me by when all I want to do is spend time with you.

Four and a half days weekend. I’ve got something special planned.

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The rosemary bush by the front gate opposite our letterbox is in full-on blossom at the moment. It’s glorious and fragrant for something that’s basically a bit of spiky wood the rest of the year.

But there’s something that’s been missing this year. I don’t know why but usually the little blue flowers are like catnip for bees. They flock to it; buzzing around all day long. They fly from one flower to another with drunken swoops.

Except for this year. Nowhere to be seen.

Out the other end of our property I have the black- and red-currant bushes merrily plumping out their fruits. There are some tiny and amusing wax-eyes that keep landing and dipping their beaks in. You can tell from their shocked expression that they know they shouldn’t.

Occasionally we even get a bumble bee bumbling by. But not a honey-bee in sight.

I realise that there have been a variety of ever-more-destructive diseases blighting our poor little honey-bunnies for a number of years, but they’ve still remained plentiful around our place. Mostly by virtue of not living very far away at all from a couple of extremely large berry farms.

This year it seems it’s even started to effect us. And by us I mean me because my darling doesn’t believe in fruit. At least not as a food-stuff. Not even when it’s cunningly disguised as a cake. Even a chocolate cake.

Farewell my little friends. I will keep my fingers crossed that you recover from your Varroa mites or your colony collapses and come back strong and healthy next year.

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18 Oct / Question.

It’s been beautiful weather all week long. Sunny days, from bright early in the morning all the way through to the evening. Extended thanks to daylight savings. Long, hot, sunny days.

I’d be celebrating except that it’s hard to enjoy them from inside an office. The concrete and glass seem to deflect all the goodness of the sun away. And the warmth outside is no match for our home-grade air-conditioning units vainly attempting to air-condition a commercial premises.

When you’re locked in all day long the weather outside either doesn’t matter at all, you’re not out in it to care, or it matters a lot, you’re not out in it to be carefree.

But it has been consistently nice all week long, so I was lulled into the expectation that I’d have a nice weekend. This would obviously entail finishing off the tag-end of the gardening, but at least the pain caused by that experience would be offset by the warm sun on the back of my neck. I love that. And the way it warms your hair up so if you crush it down against your scalp it’s hot hot hot.

The day was still warm this morning too. I got out of bed unreasonably early in order to beat the morning shoppers at the supermarket. It was still so warm from Friday that I only dressed in a T-shirt (and jeans – don’t be rude!)

When we hauled our groceries out to the car however, it was pretty obvious that a different story was well on its way. Dark skies loaded the horizon. By the time it got to lunch the wind outside was cold. By afternoon tea (and yes I do measure my days out by meals) it was spitting. I don’t know if you can hear it now, but yes – that’s full-on rain outside now. Another great Saturday.

And that leads me to my question.

Why is it that the weather is more often crappy on the weekend than during the week?

It’s shorter – right? The week is long. Why doesn’t all the rain happen during the longest part of the week instead of piling its awful self into the two short days that I have off?


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After having continued to gain weight over the past two years, along with experiencing depression, dry skin, dry hair and general lethargy, I have been given an out. No, it’s not the evil clothing elves. And apparently it’s not me being lazy either, although that probably doesn’t help. No – it’s my thyroid gland instead.

All those long days spent trying to avoid food because if I look at it I’ll gain weight, and trying to work out why my entire skin sheds all over the floor, or why I either need to sleep for twelve hours or can’t sleep at all, I may finally be on the way to a diagnosis.

It will be so nice to know that when sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night completely exhausted but also completely unable to sleep and with a horrible checklist taking place in the back of my head ticking off every awful thing I’ve ever done and every mistake I’ve ever made it wasn’t really because I’m useless and deserve to die but because a little gland at the base of my throat can’t be bothered to do the one job that it’s been given to do.

At the moment I have bruises all down my right arm from where my doctor took a few vials of blood, and nothing will be confirmed until I undergo another round of bruising in four weeks time, but after that I might finally have the excuse diagnosis that I’ve been craving.

No more is it going to be down to my lack of willpower that I gain weight through overeating. No – it’s my thyroid. No more is it going to be down to my lack of willpower that I don’t go for that hour and a half of exercise that I promised myself I would. No – it’s my thyroid. No more is it going to be down to my horrible life choices that I sit bolt upright in contemplative horror in the long dark teatime of the soul. No – it’s my thyroid.

I’m keeping that text message from my doctor. I may even have it framed. Nice to have a genuine full-on diagnosis at the ready when life’s pitfalls loom.

I had a T-shirt made up a few weeks ago with my logo and my website on it. I’m now considering whether I should have another one made (one size larger) that reads – it’s not me it’s my under-active thyroid. Then I could whip it out when the occasion calls.

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I’m just watching the latest episode of the Brokenwood Mysteries from our hard drive. At one point they went into the house of a beekeeper and I thought ‘he’s got a lovely home.’ He had lovely chairs with wood and a fabric backing. It all seemed very comforting. Very homely.

I realised after a while its because we have those same chairs in our front room. They used to be part of our dining room set until the table gave up the ghost and we invested in some dark brown dining chairs instead. The old ones migrated to the front room so that I had something to sit on when I was sewing, and something to sit on when I needed to work at the desk.

I kept watching with a keen eye because there was something else about the place. He had lovely wallpaper. Comforting. A good choice. I could see the individual details on the selection of dried leaves and grasses that formed the pattern. Which was odd since the wallpaper was actually out of focus. Then I realised it was because we used to have the very same wallpaper in the kitchen, dining room and lounge of the house that I grew up in. A nice shading of light greens and browns on a lovely cream background.

The scene was restricted to one room, so I wasn’t able to see if the rest of the house matched, but in my imagination I can see it now.

It has the lounge-suite that sits in the front room, not used outside of being where my clothes pile up when I’ve once again overflowed the wardrobe. The one that’s curved gracefully so that it forms its own corner. His spare bedroom doesn’t house a single, or a double bed, it has what used to be called a princess-sized bed, just like the one that my sister had in her room at home.

He’s got a bathroom with the shower curtain from my young childhood home, and the bathmat that we had the time before the time before the one we have now. It’s a nice pattern to step on. The rubber patterning on the surface really grips your feet.

If I keep imagining much longer I’ll probably be able to see the chest of drawers that he keeps because it belonged to his dead wife. And the silver backed brush, mirror and comb set that she arranged in the middle of it. For display more than utility.

I wonder how many other people looked at the same scene and saw the tiny bits and pieces of kiwiana that formed part of their own childhood homes. I wonder if they’d turned the camera around if we would have been able to see the three ducks flying in perpetuity. A family heading south for the summer. Or north for the winter. Or the opposite if you live on the wrong side of the world.

Trips down memory lane can be lovely, can’t they?

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Today I arrived late at the #gamergate party. Apparently it’s been going on for a while, but I waited until it had fully metamorphosed into full-on abuse before I bothered to check it out.

And was rather disappointed to discover that the label I’ve been applying to myself I apparently can’t.


Suddenly I have to be a white male who only plays games with set structure and little exposition to qualify? Dicks.

Apparently Dear Esther and The Path don’t count as games. I haven’t bothered to find out what the community I’m suddenly excluded from thinks of Dinner Date or Thirty Flights of Loving.

You know I have my own criteria for what constitutes a game – something that can be downloaded from Steam or bought on disk from EB Games. That means everything I play or have ever played instantly constitutes a game and I’m happy. If you insist on breaking it down further then get some freaking self-respect and invent your own genres.

I didn’t become a bestseller in the genre of Kindle>Mystery, Thriller & Suspense>Crime>Kidnapping without steering my way through a few genres mind-bends you know. If you can’t be bothered to think of a genre like death killing ray guns – zombie so you can easily tell it apart from visual non-interactive novel then that’s your own look-out.

How about you get off Twitter and start sorting yourselves out? Perhaps if you wore yourselves out by putting in the effort to categorise every item you can purchase in the world that might be reasonably (or unreasonably) be referred to as a computer game you won’t have enough time to call members of my gender c***s and send them death threats when they threaten your white masculinity in some way. Perhaps you could get all inspired and at the end of your categorisation you will have made a contribution to society instead of being an endless drain.

Of course I have drawn and formed all of my opinions from one evening spent trawling with ever-increasing horror through a downwards spiral of twitter hashtag doom, so I could’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Perhaps I wasn’t looking at the dregs of humanity and instead missed the whole point due to the English language’s sad failure to provide us all with handy satire or sarcasm punctuation marks.

Perhaps not.

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