The moment when floodgates of creativity open and you know, without thinking, which note goes after the next. To me the flute is the ideal vehicle for this because the sound moves so fast there is no time to get tense or hold back. I know no way other than forward. Some noted physicist compared the process to Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle (see Jazz of Physics)... well, I think that's stretching. (Admittedly, something musicians do.)
My writing is like this as well, thanks in no small part to cranking out 30 pages of Internet-ready prose each day. (Asimov eat your heart out) I can write anytime, anywhere. You are never lost for words when your ability to buy food, pay off bills, and have a somewhat comfortable life depends on having some to spare.
I am really getting into the groove with Arisugawa Park, it is no longer an albatross around the neck, some work of art (turned to product, thanks to agent) that I hope to monetize. If no one sees me as an artist (least of all those who know me best... or are they just following "rational" influencers, same as those who got us to this place) then I guess I will simply be one.
As I polish Kaori's incremental progress in following leads into the disappearance of Steve Loewe, I create an entirely new section that is almost pure thriller––David dealing with two hard men intent on extracting him from Eve's apartment, which he has returned to to retrieve.... stuff.
And Hayao, in his midnight jazz way, recreating scenarios of kinpatsu's love hotel killing of her lover (which we know was a setup). God I love complexity... getting it right, so the reader cares, is a quest for the ages. Now may I present to you Arisugawa Park 1.20 - Book Marks.
Back at the station, Kaori took in a surprising lack of static from above. Yamahito’s henchmen had not even raised an eyebrow when she delivered her report on the altercation on the landing––was this reprieve or merely lack of ammunition? The god of small mercies was with her at least, and maybe this was related––Yamahito was nowhere to be found. Which did not mitigate her pounding headache and deep-seated desire to pursue no further police business. She closed her eyes, waiting for the jagged edges to dissipate.
Drawn into a vortex of near sleep, Kaori pulled herself awake just before her forehead planted itself on the desk surface. She opened her drawer and examined the business cards she had found in Steve’s apartment––despite the inroads technology had made into daily life in Japan, exchanging business cards was still a hard and fast custom. This was how you defined yourself to others, the cards received with respectful bow, both hands grasping the corners. The card not placed directly into the wallet but left on the table, to be admired and studied, forever associated with the giver. That was the theory, at least––reality involved mountains of business cards thrown in some random closet or drawer. Kaori handled these particular thick-stock cards with care. Lacking cell phone, laptop, or other electronic device, they were her one tenuous connection to the world of Steve beyond Yuki.
“May I speak with Mr. Mizota?”
“My name is Kaori Inoue of the Chiba Police. I’m looking into the disappearance of an English eikaiwa teacher, Steve Loewe. Do you know anyone by that name?"
“No,” the abrupt reply.
“We found your business card in his possession and were wondering how he might have obtained it.”
“That’s a good question. I’m not in the habit of giving my card out to random gaikokujin––”
Kaori paused a moment, processing another iteration of the word of the day, foreigner–– polite version at least–– “Do you know anyone who might have been acquainted with Steve and given him your card––a colleague perhaps?” The dull throbbing at the edge of her temples was returning.
“I have no idea,” he said cooly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the last stages of a project I’ve been working on 15 hours a day for the past three weeks––I really must go.”
“Sorry to have taken your time, please let me know if––” A click and a buzz. Despite having detected an odd note of surprise in his initial greeting, Kaori crossed Mizota off her list. Unless the investigation took a turn, became a bona-fide missing persons case, she had no right to require his presence at a police interview. In any case, she would not be the one to conduct the interview.
Massaging her forehead, Kaori considered whether it was really necessary to call Jonathan Wales. Dealing with another random surly person, even on the phone, was the last thing she needed. This moment of indecision lengthened into minutes, her head dropping toward the desk, until resolve finally kicked in. Sitting up straight, she took a deep breath and dialed the number on the card. The voice that answered was not quite Australian––British, maybe, and unusually well mannered. For one, he remained on the line even after she had explained her business.
“I’m as concerned about Steve as you are. I’ll be glad to assist you in any way I can. Just name a time and I’ll make space in my schedule. Steve was––well, I wouldn’t call anyone you’ve known only a few months a good friend, but there you have it. I’d like to know his whereabouts as much as you.”
Kaori hung up with an distinct sense of relief. The smooth tones of Jonathan Wales’ voice remained in her head as she retrieved overcoat and hefted bag with Steve’s lesson plans over shoulder on her way out the door. She was rather looking forward to a visit to the Tokyo offices of Edu-Act Publishing tomorrow.