Nyomi,
I took the liberty of adding a few titles I thought might be helpful for your research. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask.
The Dragon insisted.
He said his writer needs her weapons.
—Sako.
I laughed. It was a broken, overwhelmed sound.
His writer needs her weapons.
I set the letter down and walked back to the shelves, running my hand along the spines again, slower this time. Taking them in.
The Elements of Style.Draft No. 4by John McPhee.
Several Short Sentences About Writingby Verlyn Klinkenborg.
This wasn't just a collection.
This was a writer's dream made real.
Sighing, I went to a large stack of notebooks and grabbed a thick, leather-bound one—also new, also perfect.
Wow. I guess my head is going to be blown away all day. I feel like it’s my birthday.
Sitting down at my desk, I opened the notebook to the first page, grabbed one of the expensive pens on my desk, uncapped it, and wrote:
HIROKO'S STORY - Timeline and Structure
My hand moved across the page, and the words began to flow:
Part One: The Ugly Duckling Childhood
Born in rural prefecture (which one again? Ask Hiroko). Physical appearance—how she was treated as "ugly." The shame and confusion she carried.
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, my whole body curved around the notebook like I was protecting it.
Part Two: The Geisha House
How she ended up there. Training as maiko. The beauty rituals. The discipline. The older geishas—mentors or tormentors? Learning to weaponize beauty she never thought she had. The clients—their power, their hands, their assumptions.
The pen moved faster.
My handwriting got messier, less careful, but I didn't care.
I was chasing the story now, following it wherever it wanted to go.
Outside the window, the ocean crashed and roared against the rocks, but I barely heard it. The sound faded into background noise, something my brain registered but didn't process. All that existed was the page, the pen, the story taking shape beneath my hand.
Time disappeared.
I had no idea if I'd been writing for five minutes or fifty.
My shoulders were tight, hunched forward, but I didn't straighten.
My neck ached from looking down, but I didn't stop.
