Kyoto.What is the collective noun for butterflies?

Spent the day meandering through temples then on through the timber-housed, cobbled streets of Gion. First sight of a real life Geisha was like seeing Cinderella. Then I saw more and more of them, and the simpler but pretty style of dozens of ordinary Japanese girls in bright, pretty kimonos and sashes. Life must be strange for a geisha. Of course, no woman would go out dressed like that and not expect to be stared at. But on the streets of Gion, every few metres they are stopped by tourists for photos, and the geishas seem to freeze in time and space--the breeze itself seems to dart around them. The baubles in their hair, their marzipan-white faces and gem-bright kimonos give them the look of candied butterflies.

l googled it. The collective noun for butterflies is either a swarm or a flutter. I'll go with flutter. A flutter of kimonos. Kyoto is beautiful.

(Grrr at centred text, my software won't let me change the justification on my phone!  I'll fix it when I get home)

Takayama: a few lists about Japan.

I'm staying in a gorgeous riverside antique ryokan (small house hotel) run by a family that seems obsessed with antique things. There is a samurai suit of armour in the foyer downstairs along with shelves of old pottery and musty old books that look even more mysterious than normal locked up books because I wouldn't be able to read them, even with a key. Well, not that kind of key. As mysterious as street signs. 

Up a very steep set of stairs with a suitcase large enough to make the ryokan owners laugh to a surprisingly large room that is actually three rooms put together, with sliding paper doors between each and tatami mats in the floors. I wase served a lovely Japanese style dinner in one of these rooms, sitting on the floor at what looks like a large coffee table, while futons were rolled out on the floor in the next room and someone's baby cried loudly very close by as a reminder that this is reality, not an idyllic episode of Getaway.

Times I need to change my shoes in a ryokan (using a quick midday pitstop as an example): coming into the ryokan, going into my room, going out of my room, going into the toilets (there are shared slippers specially offered for that, with toilet slippers printed on them in gold foil like airport novel titles), coming out of the toilets, walking down the hall, going into my room, coming out of my room, walking down the stairs, preparing to leave the ryokan.

Hardest thing to find: an ATM , closely followed by accommodation that accepts Visa cards.

Strangest thing I've found in a bathroom: Not the electric toilet seats, not even the bathtub built to be used by an entire family all at the same time (and filled with water already used by the previous family!)but... the Aladdin's cave/ KingTut's tomb that doubles as a washroom and features a Samurai suit of armour complete with helmet and with plates sewn together with dark blue yarn that looks like shoelaces.  

Ordering coffee in Japan

I'm usually more tempted by shoes but I'm here in Japan because of an Air Asia on-sale impulse buy from way back in 2013. My flight left after midnight with a 'slight delay' for 'operational reasons' (Code for: we're not going to tell you) and I didn't preorder food (it isn't included in the fare) so wasn't irritated with interruptions while trying to doze. 

I was upgraded for our next leg--yay! So was in some comfort for the next delay, when the captain was very upfront about telling us why. A drunk man was refusing to leave his seat in the exit  row. The dispute lasted an hour. Security was called and succeeded in getting him to the door of the plane, where he continued arguing. I was tempted to do the heroic thing, leaping to my feet and pushing him out the door myself. 

Business class was nice although I still don't really understand why I couldn't have a coffee (there seemed to be 3 or 4 different reasons, all of which entailed pointing at photographs of coffee and nodding). But they were quite clear about why I couldn't have even a single beer. Perhaps it was the drunk refuser who decided for them. The bar was 'closed'.

Most amusing meal: ramen in the hotel cafe, that turned out to be linguine carbonara.

Most Lost in Translation moment: stewardess trying to explain why I couldn't have coffee.

How many words per day?

Over the years, I've collected rumours about how much writers write. I used to think this was for inspiration. So, what has inspired me? In 'On Writing', Stephen King says he writes 2000 words a day so (get this) completes an 180,000 word novel in THREE MONTHS. I was at the Brisbane Writers Festival in the early noughties (or maybe the late nineties) where Matthew Reilly (on a panel with Kim Wilkins who writes so many books she needs two selves and is also Kimberley Freeman)... anyway, Reilly said sometimes he writes more than 9000 words a day when he nears the end of a novel. But, he added, he wasn't exactly writing anything literary so didn't need to worry about characters.

I haven't read any Reilly but King does (ahem) the odd memorable character and Freeman/Wilkins is frankly pretty amazing. And a writer who really worries about characters (or, if 'worries' isn't the right word, someone who creates truly authentic, memorable characters) is Joyce Carol Oates, who apparently writes from 8-1 every day and in that time has quite possibly written more books than I've read.

I'm in my forties and have published one novel, word count about 60,000 words. I've been writing all my life, so (leaving out the unpublished stuff under my metaphorical mattress i.e. on my hard drive) that's 1.5 words per day. One of my literature lecturers once said that Ernest Hemmingway wrote 500 words a day, so he could concentrate on quality. I write 1.5 words per day, so I can concentrate on deciding whether or not to get my hair recoloured, on whether the calories in a piece of cheese are worth it, on what to wear out on Friday, on Facebook, and on picking off bits of nail polish.

On a positive note, today I've written 600, which is well above average. Even more if blog posts count. If I ever meet Stephen King, I'll have to ask.

A morning in the writing life of an anxiety-struck second novel novelist.

This morning, I planned to work on my WIP. So far, instead, I have:

1. read a chapter in "Writing 21st Century Fiction";
2. showered;
3. considered creating a blog post concerning why my thoughts seem to be coming out in lists;
4. created, instead, an unpublishable blog post about plotting or pantsing, during which I (mostly) discouraged myself with the reminder that it's very possible to fail at either;
5. created a mental list of possible titles for my WIP (ranging from 'Burned' to 'Strawberry Jam and the Homesick Soul'--my attempt at the worst possible title, because after that, the right one will sound right... right?);
5. written, as an exercise, a paragraph of my WIP in which the action takes place completely in reverse (thank you, Martin Amis, for ''Time's Arrow");
6. replaced all my original commas in this post with semi-colons;
7. stared out the window at my view of hills, pock-marked with new housing development, and wondered about the death of the semi-colon; and
8. rehung my collection of cardigans so that all like-colours are grouped together.

Thus does 'Strawberry Jam and the Homesick Soul' come to life. Or not. Meanwhile, life will be a lot easier next time I'm wondering where all my yellow cardigans are.

Dear blog, it's me again!

I just realised you must be wondering what I've been up to, where I've been. I might get into more detail later, particularly if I can't think of anything new to write. Meanwhile, here's a tidbit.

Varanassi, India. New Year's Eve 2012/13.

Hello blog!

I've been 

1. thinking that I really should get into this blogging, and

2. wondering if you will help my writing, or

3. end up consuming too much time, and

4. thinking, again, I should give you a go, and

5. wondering how on earth to track down my old password, and yet

here I am.

Wish you could let me know a bit more about yourself, but hopefully I'll learn something over the next little while. Meanwhile, it's nice being back in touch. I'll try not to be such a stranger.

cheers,

Kimberley.