Katherine Hayton | 2015 March

March 2015

21 Mar / Nearly back

After my incident earlier in the week where my book decided to go for a nice stroll and never came back, I’m happy to announce I’m almost back in the same place that I was.

Oddly enough, it doesn’t look or feel the same as it did the first time. The same basic stuff happens, but all the characters are thinking with different words in their heads, and different similes in their minds eye.

I don’t know why it comes out different every time, except that if it didn’t the second draft would just be the first draft, retyped. The characters are coming through a bit stronger too, bolshy things both of them.

Having lost a week’s work, and forever changed the course of the first quarter of my book, you’ll all be pleased to know now that I am once again backing up to the cloud.

And this time, when I say backing up to the cloud, I actually mean backing up to the cloud as opposed to previously when I meant not doing that at all.

So, all in all, a good week. I lost work, I put work back, I’m in the same place I was. One step back and one step forward. It’s almost like exercising on a treadmill, but without all the sweat.

And having spent time redoing the same things, I’m actually looking forward to seeing where these peeps go next. As opposed to just complaining about the work that involves.

If I’m going to get back on track completely, expect that next week.

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20 Mar / Powerpoint

Along with all the real work that I’m meant to be getting on with, today I realised that I’m supposed to have submitted the powerpoint slides for my portion of our quarterly presentation to our branch manager today.

I haven’t.

I did try very hard to do so, however. All in all I think I probably pulled together a good half-dozen slides. And when I say good what I really mean is below standard.

I tried to work out how to draw up some easy graphs to explain how great things I’ve done are.

I couldn’t work out a way. For a moment I even wavered and considered that maybe the things I do aren’t as great as I think.


So I decided to put a funny picture on a slide and just talk to it.

I was surprised to find that there are no funny pictures left on the Internet.

Nope. I’ve seen and shown them all.

So I ended up dazzling with screenshots (yawn) and raw numerical data (snooze).

At this point I’m thinking the only interesting thing I’m going to have in my part of the presentation will be if I can convince all the team leaders to stand in the cupboard and run in and out of the presentation.

Oh, whatever. It will so be fun.

I’m beginning to think that Powerpoint is a bit like Excel. I know that back when they first came out they were miraculous and ground-breaking and allowed people to do things that either couldn’t be done, or would take some serious moolah to do, but now they just exist as the bane of my life.

Maybe I could just pin a poster to the wall and trick people into staring at that instead? Or pre-record my session and not worry about checking in for the presentation at all.

Ohhhh yes. Girl, I like the way that you think.

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18 Mar / The lost story

An easter ago my computer threw a fit and decided that the hard drive was corrupted.

I spent a tough three days wondering if I would ever retrieve my completed manuscript, but eventually it was saved. I did, of course, have a backup copy – I’d be a fool not to – but that was a hard copy which would have required me retyping the whole blasted thing, and I was not in the mood.

Eventually I got my laptop back up and running. It turned out my hard drive was perfectly fine, but windows 8 had decided to go looking for the boot disc in the wrong place, and I had to tell it that the drive was a different type of drive before it could see it as a drive.

For these, and other good reasons, I no longer trust my laptop computer to hold my work-in-progress manuscripts.

Instead I’ve taken to uploading the precious wordies into the cloud. Directly after producing them. At least that’s what I do at home.

I also have a laptop in the office, which I sometimes use to write on in the mornings, or break times. Not often, because my preferred occupation during break times is gossip or staring into the middle distance, but sometimes.

It’s quite a rigamarole to hook up my mobile phone so the laptop can connect to the internet (and it drains the battery super-fast) so I usually carry a copy of the WIP on a USB stick that I use instead.

So at home I save it into the cloud, and at work I save it onto the USB.

Except, I also have trouble remembering to save the work in two places when I’m at home, so for the past couple of weeks I’ve only been saving it on the USB stick.

But that’s fine. It’s not like it’s going to corrupt or anything. I even carefully go through the steps to remove it safely from the computer each time. Often.

And I was right. That little USB stick didn’t corrupt. Not while I was in possession of it.

Unfortunately, I’m no longer in possession of it.

Not in my bag, not in my computer, not in the car, not at my desk.

Possibly on the street, possibly on the bus, possibly safely in my hand in another dimension.

So, in my pursuit of safety I’m now working on the second draft of my novel a lot more quickly than I thought I would be. Especially considering I hadn’t yet finished the first draft.

Oh, and if anyone sees a blue USB stick in the greater Christchurch area with a manuscript in progress, and a slew of embarrassing photos, please feel free to drop me a line.

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17 Mar / The Jinx


Well that was a wild ride, wasn’t it?

Did he do it? Do he do the other it? He definitely had something to do with that third it, but how much?

Is there going to be a season two?

All these questions will remain unanswered (apart from that last one) and I’m sure that’s not how a good scripted television program should end.

What do you mean it wasn’t scripted?

I wish that I’d never heard of Robert Durst just like I hadn’t at the beginning of this series, so I could go back and watch it all over again.

That poor guy with his string of mysterious bad luck that somehow culminated in him being a blink-monster with spelling difficulties.

Kind of nice to see a series like this where you’re wondering if a free man should be locked up, rather than watching something like the staircase and wondering if a locked up man should be set free.

Maybe owls killed Kathleen Durst just like they did with Kathleen Peterson? (and if you think that theory sucks then you should definitely read this!)

And most awesome of all is the opportunity to debate someone saying “I killed them all” rather than the far more pedestrian “I didn’t do it.”

Andrew Jarecki, Marc Smerling, Zachary Stuart-Pontier and HBO – you rock. Now don’t take another five years to bring me the next incredible viewing experience.

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16 Mar / The 5:2 diet

In my quest to try every diet fad at least once before shaking my head and going “it’s just not safe,” and pretending that it wasn’t the ravenous hunger, or the carb cravings that turned the tables, I have recently embarked on the 5:2 diet.

Also known as the Fast Diet (which just makes it all the more attractive ’cause only the bad boys of the diet world go under a pseudonym) it basically consists of eating normally for five days, and being on restricted calories for two.

I realise that by saying “basically” above I may have misled you all into believing that there is a deeper and more complex premise awaiting your discovery, and that ain’t so. In this case the basic version is the version, and everything else is just personal experience or evidence based results.

Now, usually when I embark on a fad diet full of a mix of hope and cynicism I clean out the cupboards of all non-fad diet food related items (admittedly by eating them, but clean them out anyway) and then embark on my hunger and craving phase.

For this diet I don’t need to do this, because no food is disallowed.

That’s rather brilliant in and of itself because now I’m not behoven to any particular food group I don’t need to worry about not being allowed all the others.

Anyway, I started this diet on Friday and it went really well the first day. And then on Saturday it also went well. Sunday was just cruisy. Today, however, I started to experience some of its drawbacks.

This may be a design flaw in the diet, it may be a design flaw in me. It may be that Friday, Saturday and Sunday belonged to the five day part of the diet, and today belonged to the two.

It could be anything.

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Look what I found! It’s so purty…


In Hayton’s (Found, Near Water, 2014, etc.) latest novel, a 14-year-old New Zealand girl, dead for 10 years, tells the story of how her body came to lie beneath a half-finished house.

Three years after a 2011 earthquake in Christchurch, rebuilding is still ongoing. Workers lift a home off its foundations to repair the cracked earth beneath, and Daina Harrow describes workers exposing her skeletal remains: “Broken along a prior instability. That’s where I am,” she says.

In explaining what led up to her death, Daina tells what initially seems like a familiar story: a neglectful, single alcoholic mother; poverty; bullying students; clueless adults.

Readers may think it easy to guess at how she winds up where she’s found—but author Hayton, as she did in her excellent first novel, complicates her story well beyond the predictable. (Christine Emmett, the main character of Found, Near Water, even makes a tangential appearance here.)

Daina undergoes physical mistreatment, but she also begins having hallucinations: the colors of her face run, and she can taste sounds. Are her friends poisoning her? Is she going crazy? What really happened when she was 5 years old? And can she trust the Grey Man, who assigns her daunting tasks?

With courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness, Daina tries to do what’s right. Her story fully comes together only on the final page, and Hayton does a masterful job of keeping the pieces in play before then.

In some superficial respects, the novel resembles Alice Sebold’s 2002 bestseller, The Lovely Bones, which is also narrated by a dead 14-year-old girl, but Hayton’s sensibility is tougher-minded, more honest, and stranger.

Daina’s bitterness, her longing to be seen and known, and her helplessness are strikingly, utterly real; in some ways, she’s already a ghost before she’s dead.

As in her earlier novel, the author makes fruitful use of the Christchurch earthquake as a metaphor: disruption is violent but revealing. Her characterization is quick and effective but also thoughtful, avoiding stereotype; the school admissions secretary, for example, who at first seems a spiteful martinet, turns out to have surprising heart and grit.

A haunting novel that’s both tough and delicate and fulfills the promise of the author’s first.


You should like buy it RIGHT NOW.

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13 Mar / Returning Home

After six weeks plonked up on the lofty heights of the third floor I’m pleased to say that we’ll be heading closer back to earth over the weekend.

I’m definitely looking forward to the morning stair climb being a flight shorter. I’m also thinking that it’ll be easier to sneak downstairs for a sly coke zero when I can get back to my desk without having to pant like a… like a… well, like a forty year old who’s just descended and then climbed two flights of stairs.

Once again everything has been packed into boxes. Once again everything will need to be unpacked on Monday.

As an added treat this time around the rest of the Team Leaders have booked themselves into a course for the day. While they’ve been whining about missing three days of work (yeah okay, moaning about three days of boredom) I’m complaining about having to pretend to supervise their staff for the day.

Still, a pair of scissors should see me right. To assist with the removal of tape, you understand, not for the stabbiness.

It certainly will be nice to be back on our old floor, with all the new refurbishments. Helping all seventy staff unpack. Except I’ve just developed a bit of a nagging ache in my back.

We’ve also got a bunch of new staff starting that I get to greet and show around on Monday, amidst all the chaos. I’m really looking forward to that too. Except I’ve just developed a nagging headache.

I sure hope I feel well enough on Monday to actually attend. *cough* *cough*

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12 Mar / Water

There is a minor battle raging around the pages of some online publications at the moment. All about the results of a study into the healing powers of water.

Water. I mean I ask you, do you really need to do research into it?

Obviously it’s got healing powers. It cures thirst without question. It’s also pretty good at making little greeblies fall off your skin.

Well, not quite so good at that, otherwise they wouldn’t have invented that sterilisation stuff, but better than nothing. Soap just doesn’t work without it.

Why, at this very moment water is something that my main character is desperate to get her hands onto. And then get from her hands into her mouth. A few days without it will do that to a person.

Did you know you wouldn’t even be able to make Coke Zero without water? I mean, I’d die!

But apparently this isn’t your garden variety form of water they’ve been testing.

It’s magic water.

If you test it against your garden variety water it appears exactly the same, but you can charge money for it. If you charge enough money then the ailing human purchasing it will feel better, all by themselves.

This means they don’t have to spend all their money on medicine, instead.

Of course, it doesn’t work every time. In fact, the point of the research was that you could substitute anything for the magic water in question – even tap water for instance – and you would get the same result.

Come to think of it, I remember purchasing tap water for an exorbitant sum in Italy. If I’d known the true powers of doing this, I would have felt better instantly. Instead, I just grumbled and ate a pizza. At least my hunger was cured. Maybe that was the water at work?

Now, some people who make a living out of selling expensive water are upset because apparently you can’t perform double blind studies on their water. Their water is so special that performing this type of standard test on their not-medicine can’t possibly give you accurate results like it does with real medicine.

Instead, you have to rely on something known as anecdotes. I didn’t know that when you gathered a few people’s anecdotes together they formed data, I thought they formed small talk, but apparently they do.

I’d certainly trust the word of complete strangers with unknown education and life experience over the word of that Doctor with the high-falluting education who writes prescriptions for government funded medication. What does she know?

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11 Mar / First Aid

Today at the office we had a medical emergency. Somehow, a staff member managed to break themselves by stretching.


I don’t know. I didn’t want to get too close to the screaming.

It didn’t matter anyhow, because being a modern-ish corporate-ish office we have trained first-aiders on staff. Yes we do.

Admittedly, they were slow to react to my ever-so-slightly high-pitched calls for help and violent arm-waving. And when I say they, I mean her because the others were inconveniently taking leave as though they were entitled to it.

Never mind the wait, the first aider arrived and I pushed them in front of me. I mean, in front of the patient.

And then the calm tones of the first aider announced, ‘What do I do? I’m only good at putting on bandages.’

Yeah. Wow. Thanks.

I suggested that she take a pulse (there’s a first aid course deep in my past too) but there was a frantic head shake accompanied by the useless information that she could perform CPR.

Of course she could. However, as that would kill the perfectly heart-beating specimen in front of her I declined this kind offer and shooed her away.

Luckily the medical emergency passed as quickly as my confidence that someone could assist.

The first aider went back to sign out a plaster in case that would help.

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